In the Clearing (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 3)

by Robert Dugoni

  Rosa gave it a moment of thought. “That she was hit by a car? Ninety to ninety-five percent. That all the injuries are attributable to a car and not the river? Not as certain.”

  Tracy slowed the conversation. Her mind was spinning with questions. “So you’re saying she was run over, but she was still alive when she went into the water.”

  “Correct.”

  “Given the nature of her injuries, could she have walked to the river on her own?”

  “Highly unlikely,” Rosa said, “but I don’t know the distance we’re talking about.”

  “Considerable,” Tracy said.

  “Not very likely. In fact, I’d say no way.”

  “So the only way she could have made it to the water would have been if somebody carried her there.”

  “That would be my theory.” Rosa turned to Gabriel. “Do you agree?”

  “I do,” he said. “And here’s another thing to maybe consider. If she’d been capable of walking to the river on her own, I would have expected her to have had the physical capability to protect herself as she went downriver, and I don’t see that was the case, at least not from what’s in this report.”

  “What do you mean?” Tracy asked. “What would you have expected to see?”

  “What we discussed earlier—scratches and abrasions on her forearms and hands as she tried to protect herself,” Gabriel said. “Also, the coroner’s report noted that the body was found with both shoes on and that she was still wearing her coat.”

  “Why is that significant?”

  “If a body is found in the river missing both shoes and articles of clothing, it’s usually an indication the person was fighting for their life and still had clarity. One of the first things a person will do is remove clothing weighing them down.”

  Tracy looked again to Rosa. “Assuming she was hit by a car, in your opinion were those injuries life-threatening? Would she have died from them?”

  “It would have depended on how much time passed before she received medical attention. And remember, this was 1976 and in a remote area that didn’t have a trauma center,” Rosa said. “Bottom line, the longer she lay there, the more likely she wouldn’t have survived. But if you’re asking me could she have survived had she received immediate medical attention, I’d say yes. I think she would have.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Tracy remained alone at the table, feeling light-headed, in a fog that had nothing to do with the beer; she hadn’t finished her one glass. She needed a moment alone to consider what Rosa and Gabriel had told her and to consider it in conjunction with what she knew. Kimi Kanasket had been run over, almost certainly in the clearing in the woods. That’s what Buzz Almond had suspected. That’s why he’d taken all those photographs, why the ground was chewed up. She was kicking herself for not having kept copies of the photographs, or at least the negatives, before she gave the packets to Kaylee Wright, and now she had the irrational fear that Wright had somehow lost them.

  She recalled at least three photographs of the damage to Tommy Moore’s white truck, but she couldn’t recall if those photographs captured the tires, or only the damage to the hood and front right fender.

  She tried Wright’s cell phone, but the call went straight to voice mail. She left a message and tried the King County Sheriff’s Office, but she was having trouble hearing over the increasingly animated crowd at the Elysian. She put a finger in her ear to cut down the ambient noise.

  “She’s where?”

  “Tacoma,” the woman on the phone said. “She’s working a missing-person case.”

  “She’s back from Germany already?” Tracy said.

  “That would appear to be the case,” the woman said.

  Tracy left a voice-mail message on Wright’s desk phone. Until Wright called her back, Tracy would just have to be patient, which wasn’t one of her better-developed character traits.

  She gathered her purse and the materials Rosa and Gabriel had left her. As she stood to leave, her cell phone rang. She hoped it was Wright, but when she checked caller ID she got that terrible sick feeling that accompanied the realization she was supposed to be someplace and had completely forgotten.

  “Dan,” she said, answering.

  “Hey. I’m at your house. Where are you?”

  “I’m sorry. I got tied up. I’m on my way.”

  “I can hardly hear you.”

  “I was just in a meeting,” she said, trying to navigate the crowd to get outside and escape the noise.

  “This late? Sounds like you’re in a bar.”

  “I’m done. I’ll explain when I get there. I’m on my way.”

  “Maybe I should just go?”

  “No. I’m on my way. Just let yourself in.” She disconnected and hurried to her truck.

  It was drizzling by then, and traffic was heavy getting to the freeway because of some construction. On I-5, traffic remained heavy all the way to the off-ramp for the West Seattle Bridge. She tried to think of grocery stores along the way to buy something to cook, but nothing was leaping to the forefront of her mind and, given how late she was, she thought it best to not keep Dan waiting any longer than she already had. A mental inventory of her refrigerator contents consisted of a carton of milk, cottage cheese, yogurt, condiments, and various serving containers from leftover takeout.

  As she turned down her street, the drizzle had become a steady rain. Dan’s Tahoe was parked at the curb outside her gated front patio, and Tracy saw that Dan remained sitting in the driver’s seat. She parked in the garage and went back outside, using her jacket as a makeshift umbrella to deflect the rain. Dan lowered his window.

  “Why are you sitting in the car?”

  “The combination to the gate isn’t working,” he said, sounding irritated.

  Tracy had a second sinking feeling. “I’m sorry. I changed it again.” She’d been obsessive about changing the combination since a stalker had assaulted her inside her house.

  “Maybe I should just head back to Cedar Grove,” Dan said. “I really should make sure Sherlock and Rex are okay. I told the dog sitter I’d be home tonight.”

  “Don’t do that. Please.”

  “We’ve both had a long week. Maybe this isn’t a good night.”

  “It is, Dan. I got a late phone call from Kelly Rosa about the case in Stoneridge. I met her for a beer to discuss it. I’m sorry. I . . .”

  “Forgot,” he said.

  “It’s been crazy.” She looked up at the sky. Water was dripping down her back. “Can we get out of the rain?”

  He raised the window and got out, following her through the garage to the door leading to the kitchen. He did not carry his suitcase.

  Inside, Roger mewed loudly. “Let me get him fed to keep him quiet.” She grabbed a can of food from the pantry and popped the lid. “How’d the depositions go?” she asked, fending off Roger and spooning the food onto a plate.

  Dan shrugged. “Some better than others; the president of the company isn’t telling the truth. I caught him in a few lies. Unfortunately, I have to go back next week. I’m really not looking forward to it.”

  “We had a crazy development in that murder in Greenwood,” Tracy said. “The son walked in alone and confessed.”

  “I thought the mother confessed.”

  “She did.”

  “Wow. So what now?”

  “At the moment we’re sorting through it.”

  “Unless one of them recants, you have reasonable doubt no matter what.”

  “That’s the conclusion the prosecutor reached.” Tracy went to the pantry, searching for pasta but not finding any.

  “So what did Kelly Rosa want?”

  Tracy spoke from behind the wall. “She doesn’t think that girl in Stoneridge committed suicide. She thinks somebody ran her over with a car and then dumped her body in the river.”

  Dan came around the corner into the kitchen. “My God. Really?”

  “I know. Can you imagine someone doing something like that?
”

  He shook his head and leaned back against the counter. “Your week makes mine look like a picnic. Can Rosa prove it?”

  “She can prove the girl was run over and still alive when she went into the river.”

  “Still alive?” Dan said, thinking like a lawyer. “Would she have lived?”

  “Rosa thinks it’s possible, but there are a lot of factors to consider.” She walked to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I missed you.” She kissed his lips. “Should we get takeout from Thai Kitchen?”

  Dan gave her a thin-lipped smile. “Given the contents of your refrigerator, I’d say takeout’s a necessity.”

  She groaned. “I’m sorry. I meant to get home earlier.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Takeout is fine.”

  She stepped back and leaned against the counter, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and emotional. She couldn’t help but equate what had happened to Kimi Kanasket with what had happened to Sarah. “I know, but I wanted to make you dinner.”

  “Seriously, it’s fine.”

  Her eyes watered.

  He stepped closer. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Tracy thought of Angela and Tim Collins and about what Kins had said his and Shannah’s relationship had become, and she couldn’t help but think that at one time they had been just like Tracy and Dan, feeling intoxicated each time they saw one another. “Are we ever going to find time for one another? I know you must feel like you’re always an afterthought.”

  “I’m a big boy, Tracy. I understand the demands of a job when you’re not punching a clock.”

  She sighed. “Last weekend you seemed frustrated.”

  “Disappointed,” he said. “I told you, I just had expectations that maybe weren’t realistic. I get it—this is your job, and mine isn’t much better at times. We’re always going to have conflicts.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Well, for the moment, I’m not sure there’s much we can do about it.”

  “That doesn’t sound optimistic.”

  “Listen, if either of us reaches a point where this isn’t working, then we need to be honest and let the other person know. We were friends, Tracy. We should always remain friends.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “No. I don’t. Is that what you want?”

  “No.”

  He placed his hands on her hips. “I was married for twelve years. Being together in the same house doesn’t mean being with someone. My wife and I shared the same bed, but we found a lot of excuses to not be together. Eventually, I found reasons to work, and she found reasons to have an affair. So let’s just a make a deal that when we are together, we’ll appreciate that time and try to maximize it.”

  Tracy looked up at him. “I imagine you’ve been feeling underappreciated lately.”

  He smiled. “Like I said, I’m a big boy. I’ll let you know if it comes to that. Let’s order. I’m starving.”

  She leaned in to him. “We’ll have at least twenty minutes before the food arrives. How about I show you how much I appreciate you.”

  “Twenty minutes? You’re talking to a man who made love once in the time it takes to boil noodles.”

  “I recall. But I don’t think that’s something to be proud of.”

  “You did then.”

  “Let’s use the full twenty this time.”

  CHAPTER 20

  It had poured during the night. Tracy and Dan had lain in bed eating Thai food straight out of the cartons and listening to the rain. It rushed against the roof shingles and pinged like coins from a slot machine paying off as it funneled down the gutters and downspouts. By morning the rain had subsided, but a suffocating gray cloud layer had settled over the city.

  Dan gave Tracy a kiss at the front gate. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to come to Cedar Grove and help me fend off two hundred eighty pounds of frenzied dogs?”

  “I’d love to see them,” she said, “but it sounds like you’ll have most of your day full preparing for next week, and I can use the time to go over some things and hopefully talk with the tracker.”

  “Coward,” he said. “You’ve left me alone to the beasts.”

  After Dan left, Tracy cleaned up the living room. She was about to jump in the shower when her cell phone rang.

  “Sorry I missed your calls last night,” Kaylee Wright said, sounding tired. “We were trying to find a body in Tacoma.”

  “I heard. What happened to Germany?”

  “Cut short when they found the body and thought it could be related to Ridgway,” she said, meaning Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer. “Had to take a red-eye back.”

  “Any luck finding the body?”

  “No. It got too dark, and the weather turned on us. I’m waiting to hear if we’re going out again today.”

  “No rest for the wicked.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m still jet-lagged. The last thing I needed was an evening romp through the woods in the rain.”

  “Well, I won’t add to your workload. I was just hoping I could stop by and take a look at the photographs I gave you. You don’t even have to meet me. Just tell me where to find them.”

  “Actually, I have them here with me at home. I was hoping to finish my report this weekend, but I’m not sure I’ll have the time now.”

  “You’ve gone through them?” Tracy asked. She’d assumed Wright hadn’t even started.

  “I took them with me on the plane to Germany; I told you I like a challenge, and you had me interested. I haven’t typed up anything formal, but I got a good start.”

  “When will you know if you’re headed back to Tacoma?”

  “They’re supposed to let me know by ten. I could meet you for a lot of coffee while I’m waiting. Can you come my direction?”

  They met at a coffee shop near Wright’s home in Renton. Like Kelly Rosa, who technically worked for King County but whose unique skills were available to every county in the state, Wright’s abilities were in high demand. She’d been with the King County Sheriff’s Office for nearly thirty years, including stints as a CSI detective and a homicide detective, but her claim to fame was becoming the county’s first certified tracker, a skill she’d since cultivated over many years. Among the detectives who used her services, the consensus was that Wright didn’t see as much as the camera lens; she saw more—things that even seasoned investigators walked right past.

  The Pit Stop looked to have once been an automobile repair shop before some enterprising soul with a greater imagination than Tracy turned it into a coffeehouse. The concrete floors had been painted rust brown, and the walls were adorned with metal auto-part signs and posters of scantily clad women draped across the hoods of cars and lounging on motorcycles. Slabs of wood had been fitted onto the lifts, turning them into customer tables and a barista counter, from which emanated the rich aroma of coffee.

  Wright had set up in a corner near one of three roll-up garage doors. Glazed windows atop the doors provided murky light. The sky outside had darkened to a charcoal gray, giving every indication it would again rain hard. On the table, beneath a cone-shaped lampshade dangling from a wire, Wright had arranged Buzz Almond’s photographs in multiple stacks. She was standing there, flipping the pages of a legal pad. Tracy nodded to Wright’s half-full porcelain mug of coffee, a latte judging by the foam and swirl. “You need a refresher?”

  “I’m good for now. I’ll probably be injecting it later today.”

  They greeted one another, and Tracy rested on a barstool across from Wright. She considered the stacks of photographs arranged on the table. “Looks like you’ve put in a lot of work already,” she said.

  “Like I said, you got me curious. I want to find out if I’m on the right track. I typed something up for you to follow.” She handed Tracy a copy of a draft report. “I’m assuming the person who took these photographs had some law-enforcement training or some well-developed instincts.”

  At the time she’d give
n Wright the photographs, Tracy had no idea what the pictures were meant to depict, beyond the obvious. After speaking to Kelly Rosa and Peter Gabriel, however, she suspected she knew what had happened, though she was still a long way from proving it: Tommy Moore had run down Kimi Kanasket, then tossed her body in the river.

  “Tell me why,” she said.

  Wright remained standing. She looked like a blackjack dealer at a casino table. “The photographs were taken in a linear fashion.” She reached for one of the stacks and flipped to the first page of her report. “It took me a while to figure it out, but once I did, it made sense. Let me walk you through it.”

  Wright removed a rubber band from the first stack and methodically handed photographs to Tracy as she narrated from her report. “The photographer took the first photographs at the road, where this path started. I’ve marked it with a number one on the back. He, or she—”

  “He,” Tracy said.

  Wright nodded. “He then proceeded to take photographs as he walked down the path.” She pointed out that in her report these photographs were numbered two through twelve, and methodically went through them with Tracy. Wright set down number twelve, removed a rubber band from a second stack, and began handing the photographs to Tracy. “When he reached this open area of dirt and grass, he photographed the site in a clockwise pattern, starting along the perimeter and working his way into the center.” These were photographs thirteen to thirty-two. After going through the second stack, she handed Tracy a third stack. “Then, he took photographs as he worked his way out. Judging from the direction of the shadows on the ground as these photographs progress, I’d estimate it was mid- to late afternoon and early fall to the middle of fall.”

  “November,” Tracy said.

  “When he walked in, he was heading east or southeast,” Wright said. “He walked out facing north or northwest.” She handed Tracy photographs thirty-three to forty-five. “So I’m assuming your guy had some law-enforcement training, though it’s doubtful he or anyone in his office had any real training in interpreting these. If they had, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  “He was a sheriff’s deputy,” Tracy said, “but he was a newbie, just on the job. Why do you say I wouldn’t be sitting here?”