by Nora Roberts
Willy took a thoughtful breath that came out as a wheeze. “You think he killed that waitress, and the intern.”
“Damn right I do.”
“And you think he’s the same one who’s been causing this trouble for Lil.”
“He connects, and she fits his type.”
“And if Tyler crossed paths with him . . .”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be seen, doesn’t want some guy going back and talking about this man he met on the trail. Or Tyler stumbled over his campsite, found him poaching. Or maybe he just likes to kill. There’s more.”
“Jesus.” Willy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s have it, then.”
“Melinda Barrett. Age twenty.”
Willy’s forehead creased. “That’s the girl you and Lil found.”
“Strong, pretty, athletic. Alone on the trail. I’m betting she was his first. He’d’ve been about the same age. There’ve been others.” Coop dropped a folder on Willy’s desk. “I copied my file for you.”
Willy stared, not at the file, but at Cooper. “Jumping Jesus, Coop, you’re talking serial killer. You’re talking about a dozen years of killing.”
“Which stopped, as far as I’ve been able to determine, during the year and a half Howe was in prison. The problem with tying the first killing to the others I tracked, the like crimes, was the wide time lag between. But when you add in missing persons, bodies that weren’t found, by chance or by his design? It plays then.”
Willy looked down at the file, started to speak, then broke into a hacking cough. He waved his hand until he’d caught his breath. “Goddamn spring,” he complained. “I’ll look at what you’ve got. I’ll read through it, and I’m going to want to talk to you about it after—one way or the other.”
He took a last swallow of his now lukewarm soup. “Want a job?”
“I’ve got one, thanks.”
Willy smiled. “Cop’s in the blood.”
“I just want my horses, that’s the fact. But in this case, I’ve got a vested interest. He doesn’t get a chance to touch Lil. He doesn’t get that chance.” Coop got to his feet. “That’s where I’ll be, most likely, when you’re ready to talk this through.”
He went home to toss fresh clothes in a duffel. He glanced around the converted bunkhouse and figured he’d spent less time sleeping there than he had on Lil’s couch. Or in her bed.
That’s the way it had to be, he decided, and trudged through the relentless rain to toss the duffel in his truck before going back to the farmhouse.
He sat his grandparents down at the kitchen table and told them everything.
When he’d finished, Lucy rose, went to the cupboard, and got out a bottle of whiskey. She poured three short glasses.
Sitting, she tossed hers back without a blink or hiss.
“Have you told Jenna and Joe?”
“I’m going by there on the way to Lil’s. I can’t prove—”
“You don’t have to prove,” Sam said before he could finish. “It’s what you believe. That’s enough. We’ll pray you’re wrong about this man they’re looking for. We’ll pray you’re wrong about that, and he just got lost, got himself a good soaking and a good scare.”
“While you’re praying I want you to stay inside. The stock’s fed and bedded down. I’ll be back around first light. You stay in, doors and windows locked, and the shotgun close. I need you to promise.” He pressed, and pressed hard when he recognized the stubborn set of his grandfather’s jaw. “If you don’t give me your word on that, I can’t leave. I can’t look after Lil.”
“Putting the squeeze on me,” Sam muttered.
“Yes, sir. I am.”
“You got my word on it, if that’s what it takes.”
“All right. If you hear anything, feel anything off, you call me, and you call the police. You don’t think twice, you just call, and don’t worry about false alarms. I need your word on that, too, your promise, or I’m getting a couple of men to guard the place.”
“You think he’ll come here?” Lucy demanded.
“No, I don’t. I think he’s on a mission. I don’t think he’s going to come here because here isn’t part of the plan. But I’m not leaving without your word. Maybe he’ll want some supplies, or a dry place to sleep. He’s a psychopath. I’m not going to try to predict what he might do. I’m not taking any chances with either of you.”
“You go on to Lil’s,” Sam told him. “You’ve got our word on all of it.” He looked at his wife, and she nodded. “Joe and Jenna are probably on their way over there, or will be soon enough. You can talk to them over there. Meanwhile I’ll call them myself, in case they’re home. I’ll tell them what you told us.”
Nodding, Coop picked up the whiskey and drank. And stared into the glass. “Everything that means anything to me is here. In this house, with Joe and Jenna, at Lil’s. That’s everything there is.”
Lucy reached over, laid her hand over his. “Tell her.”
He looked up, looked at her and thought about the morning conversation. He smiled a little, and gave her the same answer. “Working on it.”
BY THE TIME he got to Lil’s, feeding time was in full swing. He’d watched the process before, but never in a violent rain. Staff hustled around in black slickers, hauling and carting enormous hampers of food—whole chickens, slabs of beef, tubs of game, all processed in the commissary. Hundreds of pounds of it, he estimated, all cleaned, prepared, transported every evening.
Tons of fortified feed, grain, bales of hay, hauled, poured and spread night after night, whatever the weather.
He considered offering a hand, but he wouldn’t know what the hell he was doing. Besides, he’d had enough of the wet for now, and would have more than his share of it later.
He carried the tub of beef stew his grandmother had pressed on him into the cabin. He’d be more useful, he decided, putting a meal on the table.
He opened a bottle of red, let it sit to breathe while he heated the stew and buttermilk biscuits.
It was oddly relaxing, to work in the cozy kitchen with the rain beating on the roof and windows, with the sound of the wild rising with the dark. He took two candles from her living room, set them on the table, lit them.
By the time she came in, drenched and surly of eye, he’d set the table and heated the stew and biscuits through and was pouring a glass of wine.
“I can cook my own damn dinner.”
“Go ahead. More stew for me.”
“They’re going to start installing the new security tomorrow, weather permitting. Then we can stop this insanity.”
“That’s good. Want some wine?”
“It’s my wine.”
“Actually, I brought it with me.”
“I have my own.”
“Suit yourself.” He watched her as he took the first sip. “This is pretty nice.”
She dropped down on the bench, gave the candles the evil eye. “Is this supposed to be romantic?”
“No. It’s supposed to be a backup if the power goes out.”
“We have a generator.”
“Takes a minute to kick on. Blow them out if they bother you.”
She huffed, but not at the flames. “I hate that you can do this. Be all casual and reasonable when I’m feeling bitchy.”
He poured a second glass of wine, took it over, and set it on the table. “Drink the damn wine, bitch. Is that better?”
She sighed, nearly smiled. “Maybe a little.”
“It’s some job, feeding that zoo in this rain.”
“They have to eat. And, yes, it is.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I’m tired. I’m edgy. And I’m hungry, so that stew—which I’m assuming is Lucy’s doing—is welcome. I haven’t written out a list, but I have it in my head, and we need to discuss things. I changed things. My choice, my move, my doing. I’m sorry if it was a mistake, if it affects our friendship. I don’t want that.”
“You changed things the first time around, too. Your choic
e, your move, your doing.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“It can’t always be your way, Lil.”
“I’m not talking about my way, or your way. Besides, it sure as hell hasn’t been all my way. I just want to put us back on solid ground, Coop. So—”
“We may need to wait to get into all of that. I need to tell you what else I’ve found out about Ethan Howe.”
“The man you think abducted Carolyn Roderick.”
“Yeah. And the man I think abducted other women, killed other women. The man I think killed Melinda Barrett.”
She went very still. “Why do you think he killed her? That was nearly twelve years ago.”
“We’re going to eat, and I’m going to tell you. And Lil? If there’s anything on that mental list of yours that gets in the way of me being here, of me making sure nothing happens to you, you’d better scratch it off now.”
“I’m not about to refuse any help that protects me, my staff, my family, my animals. Any of it. But you’re not responsible for me, Cooper.”
“Responsibility has nothing to do with it.”
He set the stew, the biscuits on the table. Candlelight flickered between them as he sat and told her of murder.
19
She heard him out, saying little as he related facts, wove them into theory. She tried, again, to get a clear picture in her mind of the man Coop spoke of. But all she could form was vague outlines, smudged details, like a faded pencil sketch.
He’d meant nothing to her, made no real impression. They’d had only a few conversations when he’d come to volunteer or see Carolyn.
“I remember him asking me about my ancestry, the Lakota Sioux bloodline. It’s the sort of thing people I don’t know ask fairly regularly. We use it in my bio because it sparks interest, and it shows that my family’s lived here, in the hills, for generations. But he wanted more specifics, and told me he was Sioux, descended from Crazy Horse.”
She lifted her hands. “You get that, too. Some people want to claim the heritage, and since they do, why not go for the gold, so to speak? I didn’t pay that much attention, because the Crazy Horse or Sitting Bull claim is usually an eye-roller for me.”
“So you dismissed that, and him.”
“I was probably polite. I don’t make a habit of insulting people, especially volunteers or potential donors. But I didn’t offer to buy him a beer and talk about our ancestors.”
“You dismissed him,” Coop repeated. “Politely.”
She blew out an annoyed breath. “Probably. I just don’t remember that well. He was ordinary, mildly irritating but only because he seemed more interested in asking me about that sort of thing than about the refuge. Coop, I have dozens of conversations any given week with people I don’t know and don’t remember well.”
“Most of them don’t kill people. Try harder.”
She pressed her fingers to her eyes, thinking, thinking, trying to put herself back to that summer, that brief period. Hot, she thought. It was hot that summer, and insects—the parasites and diseases they could carry—were something they battled constantly.
Cleaning, disinfecting. They’d had an injured marmot. Or was that the summer before?
The smells. Sweat, dung, sunscreen.
Lots of tourists. The summer was prime for that.
She got a vague picture of standing in an enclosure, giving it a second rinsing after cleaning and disinfecting. Explaining to him? Yes, explaining to him about the procedures and protocols for providing safe, clean, healthy environments for the animals.
“The cougar’s enclosure,” she murmured. “I’d cleaned their toys. The blue ball Baby especially liked, the orange pylon, the red ball. All cleaned and stacked while I rinsed, and I explained all the steps to the daily cleanings. And . . .”
She struggled, but still couldn’t really see him. Just another guy in boots, cowboy hat, jeans. But . . .
“At some point he asked if I thought I was reclaiming sacred land for my people and their spirit guides—the animals. I was busy. I’m not sure exactly what I said. Probably that I was more interested in protecting the actual animals, and educating people, than spirit guides.”
Coop nodded. “So you dismissed him again.”
“Damn it.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “Now I sound like a bitch. I wasn’t bitchy about it. He was helping out. I wouldn’t have been bitchy. And what I said isn’t even entirely true. The cougar’s mine. Spirit guide or talisman, or whatever you choose to call it. But it’s private, it’s personal. I don’t trade off it.”
“Do you remember anything else? What he said, or did? How he reacted?”
“We were busy. Chichi was sick—the leopard we lost that fall. She was old and sick, and I was distracted. I don’t know, honestly, whether it’s hindsight or I’m projecting now that I know all this, but I didn’t particularly like him. He’d just sort of pop up out of nowhere. Just be there. He spent a lot of time around the enclosures, watching the animals, and me.”
“You? Specifically?”
“It feels like that now. But people do—it’s my place. I’m in charge and the refuge carries my name. Except . . . Baby didn’t like him. I’d forgotten that. Baby likes attention, but he wouldn’t come to the fence when this guy was around. He wouldn’t purr. In fact, a couple of times he charged the enclosure fence when Ethan was around. And that’s not Baby’s normal behavior. He’s not aggressive, and he likes people.”
“But he didn’t like this one.”
“I guess not. Otherwise, Ethan wasn’t here that much or that long, and we didn’t interact much. He didn’t wear a bear-tooth necklace or anything like that. I would’ve noticed, and remembered.”
“It would’ve stood out in a place like this. Animal refuge. You’d have noted it, commented.” Coop studied her face. “You wouldn’t have liked it.”
“You’re right about that. Coop, do you seriously think this man has killed all these people? That he’s the one who killed Melinda Barrett?”
“No proof. All of this is circumstantial. It’s speculation.”
“That’s not what I asked. Is it what you really think?”
“Yeah. Why aren’t you afraid?”
“I am.” The shudder caught her unexpectedly as if to prove it. “But being afraid doesn’t help. I need to talk to my parents. They need to know.”
“My grandfather’s taking care of that. I thought they’d be here.”
“I asked them to stay home tonight. I used guilt,” she added with a tight smile. “You’re worried about me? How about me being worried about you? I’ll worry if you don’t get a decent night’s sleep, and so on. My father put in six hours on the search today. My mother rode fence, they brought Jerry Tobias in to ride with her, and he hasn’t ridden fence in five years. Now I wish I hadn’t said anything. If they were here, they’d be tired, but I’d know they were okay.”
“Call them. You’ll feel better.”
She nodded. “If you’re right, he’s been killing since he was basically a boy. I can’t understand what drives someone to that, to make death his life’s work.”
Coop sat back, scanning her face. “That’s exactly what it is. His life’s work. You may not understand what makes him, but you understand that. I got some background. He spent some time in the system as a kid. Bounced from his parents to foster homes and back again. His father did some time, small time. Knocked him and his mother around off and on. She never pressed charges. They moved around a lot. Then he’s off the grid for a while. It looks like they did itinerant work, around here, in Wyoming, Montana. His old man got busted for poaching right here in the national forest.”
“Here?”
“When Ethan would’ve been about fifteen. No record of the mother at that time.”
“I could have met him,” she murmured. “I don’t remember him, but it’s possible. Or passed him in town or on the trail when we went hiking.”
“Or he might’ve seen you. Your family
. Maybe he and his father came by looking for work.”
“I don’t remember.” She sighed, irritated with herself, and got up to dig up some crackers. She pulled a hunk of cheddar out of the fridge while she talked. “My parents don’t hire drifters as a rule. I think that policy was mostly because of me. They’re generous, but they’re protective. They wouldn’t have hired strangers, especially not when I was about thirteen and we’re talking about a man and his mid-teenage boy.”
She paused, worked up a smile as she set the quick snack on the table. “And I’d remember a fifteen-year-old boy who worked around the farm when I was that age. I was just really starting to find boys interesting.”
“In any case, from what I’ve been able to put together Ethan took off right around that time, and that’s when I lose him for a couple years. I picked him up when he got work as a trail guide in Wyoming. He’d’ve been eighteen. He lasted six months. Took off with one of the horses, some gear and provisions.”
“A man doesn’t steal a horse when he’s going to hit the road. He steals it when he’s going to hit the trail.”
With a nod that might’ve been approval, Coop topped a cracker with cheese, then handed it to her. “You might’ve made a half-decent cop.”
“It’s just plain logic, but what about his parents? Maybe if we were able to talk to them we’d get a clearer picture.”
“His father died eight years ago in Oshoto. Complications from a lifetime of alcohol abuse. I can’t find anything on the mother. Nothing for the last seventeen years. The last I had, she cashed her paycheck in Cody, Wyoming, where she worked as kitchen help in a diner. Nobody remembers her. Seventeen years,” he said with a shrug. “But up until then she worked. A few weeks, a few months, some space between jobs. But she picked up jobs wherever they were. Then she didn’t.”
“You think she’s dead.”
“People who are motivated enough, afraid enough, figure out how to hide. She could’ve changed her name. Hell, she could’ve moved to Mexico and gotten remarried and is at this moment bouncing a fat, happy grandkid on her knee. But I figure, yeah, she’s dead. Had an accident, or maybe her husband tuned her up once too often.”
