Mountain Witness

by LENA DIAZ,

Another pickup suddenly barreled into view, gravel and dirt spitting out in a dark cloud from beneath its wheels as it raced toward the corral. Lights flashed in the grill and its shrill siren filled the air. Julie recognized the driver as one of the SWAT officers she’d met after her husband was shot—Randy Carter.

  Chris jumped up, motioning in the direction where the gunman had disappeared.

  Another cloud of dust billowed up as a black Dodge Charger raced from the other side of the barn where it must have been parked. It took off across the open field, bumping and weaving like a drunk between the enormous hay bales.

  Julie heard Chris’s shout as he waved for Randy to pursue the Charger. More sirens sounded from somewhere out front. Chris watched the truck chasing the Charger across the field. Julie could no longer see them because of the trees. When she looked back at Chris, he was jogging toward the ruins of the exploded propane tank and what was left of the rifleman’s last hiding place.

  Her fingers curled against the tree trunk again as she waited like he’d asked.

  Two vehicles—an old black Camry and a white Ford Escape—pulled up on each side of the house, parking sideways at the far corner where the side yard and backyard met.

  The drivers, a man and a woman, hopped out in full SWAT gear, both of them crouching down behind the engine blocks of their respective vehicles. They kept their long guns pointed up toward the sky in deference to Chris, but obviously they were there to support him in any way he might need.

  He slowly straightened from crouching over something on the ground and motioned for both officers to join him. They rushed forward in unison, their motions well-rehearsed and sure, as if they’d practiced this type of situation hundreds of times.

  After a brief consultation with Chris, the officers took off their helmets. Julie recognized them as having been at her rental home and later at the police station. She couldn’t remember the man’s name, but the woman, the one who’d arrived in the Escape, was Donna Waters. She’d sat beside Julie after the shooting.

  And heard Julie praying her thanks.

  She winced as Donna started toward her, apparently at Chris’s request. Officer Waters probably thought Julie was a horrible person, as Chris had.

  Straightening her shoulders, Julie pushed away from the tree to meet her halfway.

  Donna was probably only a few years older than Julie, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Her blond hair was cut in a short, wavy style that flattered her heart-shaped face. They met in the side yard. Contrary to the chilly reception that Julie had expected—given the misunderstanding over her prayer after Alan’s death—Donna gave her a sympathetic smile and hugged her.

  “Bless your heart,” the officer said when she pulled back. Genuine sympathy stared back from her blue eyes. “Not the best reception Destiny has ever given a newcomer. I’m so sorry, sweetie. How ya holding up?”

  “Um, fine, I guess. Thank you.”

  Donna squeezed her shoulder. “I really hate to ask this. But Chris wants you to ID the body.”

  Julie took an instinctive step back. “The body?”

  “You don’t have to. It’s totally okay, and understandable. But we think you might know the guy who tried to shoot you two. He was apparently facing away from the blast when Chris shot the tank. So...”

  “His face wasn’t burned up.”

  Donna nodded. “It’ll just take a second. Only if you’re okay with it. Chris told me to make sure you know you don’t have to do this.”

  She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “But he thinks, you all think, that I know the man who...the rifleman?”

  “We do.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s something you’d have to see to understand.” She waited, then nodded again, smiling. “It was a lot to ask, after everything you’ve been through. Just wait here and I’ll tell them you can’t—”

  “I’ll do it.” Julie hurried past her, walking at a brisk pace. For some unfathomable reason, Chris wanted her to look at a dead man. So that’s what she was going to do. And if she didn’t do it fast, before she had time to think, she knew she couldn’t go through with it.

  Donna rushed to catch up to her. Together they approached the two men. Julie kept her gaze trained on Chris. He was watching her like a hawk, looking as if he would grab her and pull her away if she showed any signs of faltering.

  She stopped a few feet in front of him, sensing more than seeing the body on the ground at her feet.

  “You don’t have to do this,” he said.

  “I know. But you want me to?”

  He slowly nodded. “I do.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Okay. Then I will.”

  The man standing beside him—Max maybe?—gave them both a surprised look. She could see him in her peripheral vision, as if he was puzzled by their exchange. Was it unusual for a witness to trust a cop the way she did Chris? Maybe, probably. But she’d been through more trials and tribulations in the past twenty-four hours with him than she’d ever been with most of the people in her life. And every single time she needed him, he was there. She did trust him, completely. And that had her so scared she was shaking inside.

  She closed her eyes, gathered her courage, then did what he’d asked.

  She looked down at the body.

  And then she knew why he’d asked her to come over here, hoping she could identify the man who’d most recently tried to kill her. Sadly, no, she didn’t recognize him. Had, in fact, never seen him before in her life. Because if she had, she’d never have forgotten him.

  He could have been her twin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chris thanked the restaurant manager and closed the door to the private dining room. Several tables had been pulled together in the center of the room to accommodate Julie, the chief and the entire SWAT team minus Dillon—who was staying at the hospital with his wife.

  Surprisingly, the chief was treating Chris just as if he was on active duty and had yet to gripe at him over spiriting Julie away from the station. Maybe the chief was giving him a break for surviving another close call. Or maybe he was rewarding Chris for getting Julie to really talk to them. Then again, it could just be that without Dillon the department was stretched too thin. Regardless of the reason, Chris was glad to be part of the team again.

  A banquet of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, lima beans and corn bread was laid out in front of them—the perfect Sunday lunch spread after a long morning at church. Or, in Chris and Julie’s case, a morning spent dodging bullets and blowing up propane tanks.

  He sat beside Julie, who seemed a bit stunned at the volume of food in front of them.

  “Go on,” Chris urged. “You haven’t had anything to eat today.”

  She nodded and accepted a bowl of mashed potatoes from Donna, who was sitting on her other side.

  Everyone was quiet as they ate, without the usual conversation or gossip they usually shared when all of them ended up at the same table—an event that was rare and usually enjoyed. But not today. Today food was just that—food, energy to get through whatever else was going to happen during this investigation.

  Since Cooper’s farm was a crime scene, it had been cordoned off and a dozen CSU techs and police officers were processing it for clues. Only five of those officers were Destiny police. The rest had been “borrowed” from the state police and neighboring counties, as often happened whenever there was a major crime scene.

  Julie set a chicken leg on her plate and offered the platter to Chris. He murmured his thanks and put a breast and a thigh on his own plate before handing the platter across the table to the chief.

  “So, the guy in the Charger got away?” Julie asked.

  Randy winced beside the chief. “He got off a lucky shot and took out my left front tire. I overcorrected the resulting
skid and slammed into a tree.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Julie said. “You’re okay?”

  He nodded, looking pleased that she’d ask. “I’m fine. My truck needed a new paint job. Now I get it for free, courtesy of the Destiny Police Department.”

  Thornton frowned his displeasure at his officer, but didn’t deny that the department would pick up the tab.

  Chris noted that Julie played with her food more than she ate. Not that he could blame her. His own usually healthy appetite—especially when it came to fried chicken—was nearly nonexistent. There were too many questions rolling around in his head. Plus the worry that something could happen to Julie. There was zero doubt now that more than one person was after her, trying to kill her. Whatever was going on was bigger than a soon to be ex-husband wanting to settle the score.

  Several minutes later, Chief Thornton pushed back his plate and wiped his hands on his napkin. That seemed to be the signal that everyone had been waiting for. They all put their forks down.

  “Before anyone asks,” Julie said, “I’ve been racking my brain about the rifleman, like you all told me to do before we left Cooper’s farm. I still don’t know who he is...was.”

  “He sure had an uncanny resemblance to you,” Chris said. “Just how sure are you that he wasn’t a long-lost brother?”

  She rolled her eyes. “If I had a brother, I’d know about it.”

  “Doppelganger,” Randy said, with the solemnity of a sage oracle, as if he’d just figured out the secret to life.

  Julie frowned. “Doppelganger?”

  “Don’t,” Chris warned.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Encourage him. He’s got all kinds of crazy theories. We try not to get him started.”

  Randy pressed a hand against his shirt, feigning hurt even as he winked at Julie. “A doppelganger is an evil twin. They say everyone has one somewhere in the world. Today you met yours.”

  “Evil twin?” Julie asked.

  Donna shook her head. “That’s not what a doppelganger is. A doppelganger is a ghost, an apparition who’s the spitting image of you. Obviously, if you’d met your doppelganger it would be a woman.”

  Randy crossed his arms over his chest. “Then how do you explain the gunman? He looked just like Mrs. Webb. But she insists she doesn’t have any long-lost brothers. So what other explanation is there?”

  Chris tossed his napkin on top of his plate. “Obviously, Julie is related to the gunman somehow. The CSU guys submitted his prints. Hopefully, we’ll get a hit, and get it soon. In the meantime, we need to shake the Webb family tree and see who falls out. Julie, you can help by giving us some background on your family.”

  “I already told you about my sister, and what happened to my parents.”

  The pain in her voice had him hating himself for having to ask her even more questions. But worse would be standing at her graveside while they lowered her casket. To help, he briefed everyone on what she’d already told him.

  Donna took a small notebook and pen from her purse. Like the others, she was still dressed in her Sunday best. But her dark blue dress was horribly wrinkled because of the body armor she’d worn earlier. She didn’t seem to mind.

  She made some notes and smiled at Julie. “Can you tell me your parents’ names?”

  Julie looked at Chris. “This is supposed to help you figure out the gunman’s identity?”

  “It’s a starting place, victimology,” Chris said. “In order to find out why your husband tried to kill you, and who else is after you, we need to know as much as we can about your history. That includes your family, your friends, your work—everything.”

  She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay. Fine. My mom was Beatrix. My father was Giles Linwood. They were both born and raised in London, England. But their parents didn’t approve of them dating. Well, mostly my mom’s parents didn’t approve. Mom said they had some money and thought my dad was a gold digger. After my grandfather died, my grandmother—Elizabeth—took an even harder stance against my mom and dad dating. They ended up getting married anyway. Grandmother disowned my mom and she and my dad moved to America to start a new life.

  “Disowned,” Donna said. “Sounds old-fashioned.”

  Julie shrugged. “I don’t know much about my grandmother, but old-fashioned covers it. She was big on loyalty and felt my mom had turned her back on the family by marrying my father.”

  “Did you ever meet her?” Chris asked.

  “No. I’ve never heard from her or any of my parents’ relatives. But my mother had a necklace that was given to her by my grandmother when Mom turned eighteen. She passed it on to my sister, Naomi, on her eighteenth birthday, saying it was a family tradition and that she must promise to always keep the necklace safe. When Naomi...when Naomi died, my mom told me to take the necklace, that it was mine now.”

  She shook her head. “That’s all I have of my English heritage, just a stupid necklace. Once my parents died, I had an estate sale, got rid of the furniture, clothes, things I figured someone else might need. I’ve never been much of a packrat. But I couldn’t bear to let go of some things—pictures mostly, my mom’s costume jewelry that she loved so much, Dad’s baseball card collection. And the few things I had of Naomi’s, including that necklace and her hairclips.”

  The earlier tortured look in her eyes faded as she smiled at the memory of her sister. “She had a fetish for the darn clips, snatched them up at flea markets and estate sales, the gaudier the better. If you pasted rhinestones or fake gems onto something to put in your hair, Naomi would drool over it. I’d forgotten about that. I put the box away for safe-keeping, but haven’t looked at it even once since then. I think...looking at their things would make it too real that I’ll never see my family again.”

  Chris was about to ask her more about her sister when the chief’s phone rang. The chief apologized and stepped away from the table to take the call.

  A few seconds later, Max’s phone rang, too. Conversation stopped while both men took their calls. When they were done, Chris glanced back and forth between them.

  “Well?” he asked. “Something about the investigation?”

  The chief nodded. “Mine was. Kathy Nelson said she needs Mrs. Webb to return to Nashville in order to wrap up the loose ends of the criminal case that was pending against Mr. Webb. She’s demanding that we escort her there right away.” He arched a brow at Julie.

  “I don’t see why I need to be there. She already has my statements about Alan breaking into our home in Nashville. What happened here doesn’t change the case.”

  “I agree,” the chief said. “Which is why I told her not to hold her breath, that you’d leave if and when you were ready.”

  Julie blinked, looking half-horrified that he’d talk to an ADA that way, and half-amused. “Um, thanks. I think.”

  Detective Max Remington leaned forward, resting his arms on the table at his seat on the end. “My call was about the case, too. The license plate check on the black Dodge Charger came through. The car is owned by a rental company. You’ll never guess where it’s based.”

  “Nashville,” Chris said. “Do I get to guess who rented it?”

  “You could, but I’d rather tell you. The car was rented by assistant district attorney Kathy Nelson.”

  Julie let out a gasp of surprise.

  “She wasn’t driving,” the chief said. “The call I just took was from a landline in Nashville. I know because it was the ADA’s receptionist who put the call through. And she told me Nelson was in court all morning, with another ADA, and they’d both just gotten back into the office. No way could she have done that and been driving through hay fields a few hours ago.”

  “Agreed,” Chris said, still watching Max. “But I don’t think the car was rented for her use. The Charger was rented for one of her as
sistants, wasn’t it, Max?”

  “Yep. The winning answer is Brian Henson. A second car, also black, this one a Chevy Camaro, was rented by Nelson for her other assistant, Jonathan Bolton.”

  “I don’t remember seeing a Charger or a Camaro parked in the police when they were at the station,” Chris said. “All I saw was Nelson’s silver Mercedes. Why would she rent cars for her assistants—separate cars—but all three of them arrive together at the station?”

  The chief stood and pulled out his phone again. “You don’t have to say it. I’m calling Nelson back right now to ask about her assistants and her rental-car habits. This is getting really weird is all I have to say.” He headed to the other side of the dining room.

  “I don’t understand,” Julie said. “We’re saying that Kathy’s employee, Henson, tried to kill us this morning? And that because Kathy drove both of her administrative assistants to the police station for my interview, that she was—what—planning the attack and didn’t want us to know what cars her men drove? That doesn’t make any sense. She’s an assistant district attorney. An old college friend. What would she have to gain by having me killed?”

  “I’m not sure we’re ready to make all of those leaps in logic, yet,” Chris said. “We’re just gathering facts. But if we do assume that Nelson is behind the attempt on your life this morning, then it makes sense to also assume that she could have been working with Alan and that together they may have orchestrated both times that he attacked you.”

  She pressed her hand against her throat. “I don’t... I don’t see how that’s possible. She and Alan couldn’t stand each other.”

  Chris leaned forward. “You sure about that? For all you know, Kathy and Alan may have been far more than friends in college and hid it from you. Maybe they already knew each other when you and her supposedly first met him.”

  Julie shook her head. “No. No, that can’t be. I’m telling you, they really didn’t get along in college. Besides, even if I were wrong—which I’m not—if they were interested in each other, all they had to do was date and leave me as the third wheel. We’re the same age. We were all struggling college students, with nothing to gain or lose by becoming friends or hiding any attractions. What would be the point? If Kathy liked Alan, and vice versa, they’d have become an item instead of Alan and me.” She spread her hands out in front of her. “On top of that, if Kathy liked Alan, it would have been in her best interest to let him know back then, not hide it and encourage me in my relationship with him, which is what she did.”