“Why were you out of the country?” asked Decker.
“I was buying the place in France. Caroline was with me.”
“So she was going to live there with you?”
“She was tired of this place, too. Fresh start all around. And it’s what Maddie wanted.” He glanced at Decker. “But, again, why would any of that be relevant to your investigation?”
Decker rose. “I take the position that everything is relevant until it isn’t.”
“And you didn’t answer my question from before. I still don’t know why you Feds got called in on a local killing.”
“Well, on that one, you can join the club,” said Decker as he headed for the door.
AS THEY DROVE BACK to town, Jamison glanced at Decker and said, “You should fill Kelly in on what you found.”
Decker proceeded to tell Kelly about what he had done with Cramer’s corpse.
The local detective’s eyes kept widening the longer that Decker talked.
“Okay, I thought I had heard it all, but you just took it to another level.”
“Wasn’t on my wish list, I can tell you that.”
Kelly said, “You really think she was carrying something inside her?”
“It would explain why her intestines and belly were sliced open. I think the rest of the ‘autopsy’ done by whoever killed her was just to cover that part up.”
“It would have to be a lot of drugs to justify killing someone.”
Jamison shook her head. “But these days you don’t need mules to transport drugs. The U.S. Postal Service unwittingly does it. Or FedEx. Or UPS.”
“Which is why I don’t think it was drugs,” replied Decker, causing Jamison to gape.
“Well, thanks for sharing, Decker,” she groused.
He looked back at Kelly. “Tell me something. How well do you know Walt Southern?”
“Pretty well. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
Jamison caught a look from him that said not to comment further.
“And now, let’s head out and do something we should have already done,” said Decker.
“What’s that?” asked Kelly.
“Go to the scene of the crime,” answered Jamison.
* * *
It was a breathtakingly beautiful view, made ugly only by the purpose of the visit.
Decker was staring out over the spot where Cramer’s body had been found. In the distance one could see the humps of the Badlands. The sky was the clearest it had been since they had arrived. To the north was Saskatchewan, to the west the vast footprint of Montana.
Decker was interested in neither. His sole focus was this little patch of North Dakota soil where someone had dumped Irene Cramer’s body. As he gazed around, his mind was analyzing a million different factors. Only one of them might hold any importance for the investigation, but you had to go through all of them to get there. It seemed both a likely and an unlikely place to find a dead body. Likely in that it was isolated and remote, and that was good for getting rid of unwanted dead bodies without being seen. But unlikely in that such wide-open spaces allowed no cover for anyone disposing of said dead bodies. One could literally see for miles. But at night, it would have been a different story.
“What’s near here?” he asked Kelly, who was leaning next to the SUV. Jamison was hovering to the right of Decker and staring at the spot where Cramer had been found.
“Hugh Dawson’s cattle ranch is that way.” Kelly pointed west. “About two miles. It’s a big place. He has a lot of land. But we have an abundance of that around here.”
“Dawson said they found the wolf. Where?”
“About three hundred yards from here. With Parker’s round still in it, like Hugh said. Dang thing was pretty big. If Hal had arrived much later, that critter would have torn up Cramer’s remains. We lucked out there.”
“Did he say why he was hunting in this particular area?” asked Jamison, who was now kneeling down and more closely examining the ground where the body had lain.
“He told me he’d been tracking it the last three nights. He drew up a range of places to check, based on the animal’s hunting pattern. I hunt too, but not like Hal. He’s a real pro. Can track anything anywhere. He said this quadrant was a likely spot to pick the wolf up based on that analysis. He’d been at it about two hours before he caught sight of the thing and took his kill shot.”
“Are we sure it was the same wolf that had attacked the cattle?”
“Yeah, they found some of the remains of the animals in its belly.”
“Were there any tracks around Cramer’s body? Foot or car tire or anything like that?”
“We did check for that but the problem was a heavy rain had started up right when Hal found the body. If there were any tracks, they got washed away when that happened.”
“And Parker didn’t mention seeing any before the rain hit?” asked Decker.
“No. And that’s the other reason I don’t think there were any. The guy’s a seasoned hunter and tracker. If there had been any, he would have spotted them and told us.”
“So the fact that the body was untouched by animals could be because it was dumped here shortly before Parker found it, like you suggested previously, Decker,” said Jamison. “So we might have lucked out there.”
“And the wolf might have been in this area because it caught the scent of the dead body,” added Kelly. “But that doesn’t explain the insect infestation.”
Decker said, “She could have been kept somewhere else, where flies and insects could have gotten to her but animals couldn’t have.”
“But why would the killer bother doing that?” asked Kelly.
“He might want to screw with the timing of death, which would make our job harder. And if there was something inside her that he wanted to get, that would have taken time and he couldn’t cut her open while she was alive. At least I hope he didn’t.”
Jamison said, “Was anyone else around to see or hear anything?”
Kelly shook his head. “No, just Hal. Doubt there was another living person anywhere near here at that time of night.”
“How far away does Parker live?” asked Decker.
“About forty-five minutes from here.”
“Well, let’s go hear his story.”
THE ROAD WAS LONG, dusty, and wide open to the waves of heat shimmering under a sun that seemed closer to the earth than it should have been.
In the distance they could see oil rigs pumping and a sea of gas flares burning off straight into the atmosphere. They passed one tanker truck that had gone off the road and was driving through what looked like farmland.
“What the hell is he doing?” asked Jamison, who was driving the SUV.
“Dumping his saltwater waste,” Kelly replied, looking angry. “Some of what comes back up the pipe after it goes down it to fracture the shale. What that trucker is doing is against the law. He’ll ruin that land for farming forever because the salt permanently burns the soil to nothing. They pull that shit all the time just to save themselves time and trouble. We fine the crap out of them and they still keep doing it.”
“How much farther?” asked Decker.
“It’s right up ahead, on the left.”
They rounded a curve and a modest ranch house came into view. An old and battered gray pickup truck was parked outside.
“Parker have any family?” asked Jamison.
“No. His wife died. His kids are grown and gone.”
As they climbed out of the SUV Decker glanced down at the bumper sticker on the rear of Parker’s truck.
GUN CONTROL MEANS USING BOTH HANDS.
Kelly led the way up the plank steps.
The front door was standing partially open. Seeing that, all three instinctively pulled their weapons.
Kelly called out through the opening, “Hal? It’s Joe Kelly. You in there? You okay? We want to ask you some questions.”
There were sounds coming from inside but they were unintellig
ible.
“Hal? You okay?” Kelly cried out again. He looked at Decker. “What the hell is going on here?”
Decker looked at him. “Your call. Do we go in?”
“You bet we do.” Kelly took the lead, pushed the door fully open with the palm of his free hand, and they all charged inside.
The front room was plainly furnished with a Remington shotgun and Winchester rifle on a rack on one wall and two fishing rods leaning in a corner. An open beer can was on a table next to a recliner. But there was no sign of Parker.
“Hal?” called out Kelly again.
Decker took in the space, top to bottom, left to right. It looked like Parker had just stood and walked out of the room. The TV was still on. Those were obviously the sounds they had heard.
On one wall was a series of photos. Decker ran his gaze over each of them. They were pictures of Parker and members of various hunting parties next to the carcasses of large, dead animals.
“That’s Shane in that one,” said Decker.
Kelly nodded. “Yeah, they hunt a lot together. I’m in that one over there. Got an eight-point buck on that trip,” he added, indicating another photo. He looked around. “I don’t like this one bit. He wouldn’t leave his door open like that.”
“Does he have a vehicle other than the truck?” asked Jamison.
“He has an ATV. Keeps it in the shed out back.”
They quickly searched the house including the small bedroom but found no one there.
“Bed is still made,” noted Kelly.
Decker walked back into the front room and touched the beer on the table. “Warm. Would he be drinking during the day?”
“Not the Hal Parker I know.”
Decker went into the kitchen, slapped on a pair of latex gloves he’d pulled from his pocket, and opened the dishwasher. There was one plate, a set of utensils, and a water glass inside. He eyed Jamison, who had followed him. “Dinner last night. Beer while watching the TV. Whatever happened, I think it took place last night.”
Next, he eyed the two wineglasses and a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter. “One beer can but two wineglasses. How does that figure in?”
“Somebody showed up while he was drinking beer and watching TV, maybe?” speculated Kelly. “They crack open some wine and drink it. Then either that person takes Hal, or somebody else comes in here and takes him and the other person. But I don’t know who that could be.”
“He have any enemies?” asked Jamison.
“Never heard anyone say a word against him. Everybody liked Hal.”
“Let’s check the shed,” said Decker.
They trooped outside to the small plank shed. It had an overhead garage door that wasn’t locked. With his latex gloves still on, Decker carefully lifted the door and it rolled up on well-oiled tracks while the other two stood ready, their guns pointed at the emerging opening ready for whatever might be revealed.
There was a Honda ATV parked right inside the small space.
Decker had half expected to see the body of Hal Parker in here.
Parker wasn’t inside.
But another dead body was.
She was on the ATV, lying forward on her front side so her torso and head were resting against the handlebars with her legs splayed out behind her. She was dressed in a short tight skirt, a low-cut body-hugging midriff top, thigh-high black stockings, and spiky shoes.
On the right side of the woman’s head was a bloody hole where a bullet had ended her life.
They all just stared at the body for a few moments.
“She’s young, looks to be in her early twenties,” noted Decker as he gazed at the body. He glanced at Kelly. “Do you know who she is?”
Kelly nodded, looking grim. “She’s Pamela Ames, Susan and Milton’s oldest daughter, from the Colony.”
“But she’s not dressed like the other women there,” pointed out Jamison. “She’s dressed, well, pretty alluringly.”
“And I wonder why,” said Decker.
AS DECKER STARED ACROSS the width of the London Police Station’s main room, he had a sense of déjà vu, and for a horrible reason. Milton and Susan Ames were sitting in two straight-back chairs after having been told of the murder of their daughter and having viewed and identified her remains at the funeral home.
Years ago, Decker had found the bodies of his wife, daughter, and brother-in-law in their home in Burlington, Ohio. He had called the cops and then sat on the bathroom floor staring at his daughter. Molly Decker had been bound to the toilet using the belt of her bathrobe after her killer had used that very same belt to strangle her to death. Decker had sat there with his service pistol in hand. He had finally stuck it into his mouth and was seriously contemplating eating a round and dying with them. But something, he wasn’t exactly sure what, had stopped him.
After his brain injury his personality had also changed. Thus, he was no longer adept in moments like this, that called for delicacy and empathy. He usually said the wrong thing or made the wrong gesture. It was just a disconnect he often could not control.
He refocused on the grieving Ameses. He would ordinarily leave this sort of thing to Jamison. She was now sitting next to him and studying the Ameses as well. She touched his hand and started to say something, but at that moment Decker got up and walked over to the stricken people. He knelt down in front of them.
Jamison looked on fearfully, no doubt thinking her partner would not be up to dealing with the bereaved parents.
Susan Ames had aged a decade since he had last seen her. The woman’s face was fallen in, her eyes bloodshot, her hands shaking, her thin chest heaving unevenly. Her scarf had fallen off, and she hadn’t seemed to have noticed.
Milton simply stared down at his hands, his eyes reddened from the tears shed.
Susan focused on Decker when he picked up the scarf and held it out to her.
As her fingers closed around it, he said, “I’m so very sorry.”
Susan nodded. “She . . . she was very smart. She could have . . .” She shook her head, unable to finish.
Decker cleared his throat and said, “I had a daughter. She was smart and could’ve been anything, too. But somebody took that opportunity away from her.”
Now Milton looked at Decker, as though he were just now seeing him for the first time.
Decker continued. “And I caught that person. And I will do the same for your daughter because she deserves nothing less.”
Susan slowly nodded and murmured, “Thank you.”
Jamison sat there transfixed by what she was seeing. When Decker turned to her she tried to assume a normal expression, but she wasn’t quick enough. He showed no reaction to this.
He rose and said to the Ameses, “I know this is a really hard time, but the sooner we can get some information from you, the faster we can catch whoever did this.”
Milton just sat there, but Susan nodded. “We understand.”
Kelly appeared in the doorway having overheard this last part. “If you’re ready, then?” he said quietly.
The Ameses rose as though roped together and followed them down the hall to a small, windowless room with one rectangular table and four chairs, two on either side. They all sat except Decker. He leaned against the wall, his thick arms folded over his broad chest.
“Okay, the most obvious question: Was there any connection between Hal Parker and your daughter?” asked Kelly, his small notepad open and his pen hovering.
“None that I know of,” said Susan. “There would be no reason, you see. He never worked for us. We didn’t require his services. He never came to the Colony. She never mentioned him.”
“Okay,” said Kelly. “When was the last time you saw Pamela?”
At this, Susan glanced nervously at her husband.
Decker said, “We found her at about one in the afternoon. Prelim on the time of death was around nine o’clock last night. So there’s a long gap of time unaccounted for.”
Milton looked up, his eyes water
y. “She had left the Colony. Pammie had left us.”
“When did this happen?” said a clearly surprised Kelly. “I hadn’t heard anything about that.”
“Well, we don’t broadcast when people leave us,” said Susan, assuming a more measured and prim manner. “It’s not something we like to dwell upon.”
“And it happens very infrequently,” Milton hastened to add. “But we can’t keep someone against their will, not when they’re of age. We would never do that.”
“But we did counsel her, we tried to show her how bad it would be,” said Susan.
“Let’s get back to what happened to your daughter,” said Decker.
At this comment, both Milton’s and Susan’s eyes filled with fresh tears.
Jamison handed them both Kleenexes, which they used to wipe their eyes.
“Pammie was . . . bored with life at the Colony,” began Milton. “And because of that we let her go and stay with my cousin’s family in San Antonio last year. She got a taste of . . . life outside. She apparently liked it very much. When she got back she told us she wanted to leave, go back to San Antonio and enroll in some classes, find a job and—”
“—start living her life,” finished Susan.
“But then you tried to talk her out of it,” said Jamison. “Like you said.”
“And we were unsuccessful, as we also told you,” replied Susan stiffly.
“When exactly did she leave the Colony?” asked Kelly.
“A month ago,” answered Milton brusquely.
“But she didn’t go to San Antonio?” Decker pointed out. “She was still here. Unless she went out there and came back.”
“She . . . she hadn’t gone yet,” said Milton in a small voice.
“What was she waiting for?” asked Jamison.
Milton was about to answer when Susan cleared her throat. He glanced at his wife, who was staring at him with such a rigid expression that it was like she had been transformed from flesh to wood.
Milton shut his mouth and looked away while Decker watched this interaction closely.
Walk the Wire Page 10
