Always Look Twice

by Elizabeth Goddard

  He pressed his hand over the familiar throb in his side. He’d received a gunshot wound last fall, and though it had fully healed, he could still feel the pain. The doctor had explained that his experience was psychological. In other words, the pain was all in his head. He could definitely believe that. With each throb, the experience flashed in his mind.

  He’d already been through tragedy in his life, and he’d had plenty of stressful experiences during his time overseas as a Green Beret—so why was it that this one event had stayed with him? Changed him?

  Left him doubting himself.

  He pushed the doubts aside for now.

  “This is it. I tethered Boots to that twisted pine to the left. I made my way down where the trail slopes to the river right here.”

  “This is the spot then. Ms. Reynolds led us here earlier. Rangers identified that trench for us. Called it Draper’s Gully.”

  He glanced at Cook. “I thought Taggart was going to meet us.”

  Deputy Cook shrugged. “He was supposed to, but looks like he’s over there now.” He lifted his chin, gesturing across the river.

  Heath couldn’t see them and made his way down a bit, then recognized the Bridger County Sheriff uniforms as well as the park ranger uniforms. The red-haired woman must be Harper. The other small woman was a brunette. Detective Moffett. She didn’t wear a uniform. He’d been on the receiving end of her interrogation skills last fall when they’d needed to unravel the thick tangle of murders, deception, and betrayal spanning two decades.

  Someone held a leash for what he would guess was a search dog.

  Heath figured they’d already had the dogs out looking for the body last night, searching for a criminal on the run, but they’d come up empty-handed. Today they needed to confirm the location.

  Cook followed him down. “He’s beginning to doubt her story, especially since there is no camera so there are no pictures. What do you think? You were there.”

  “I didn’t see the murder. I only faced off with the grizzly and Harper showed up with the bear spray.”

  “But what do you think about her story? What’s your impression of her?”

  Heath didn’t like Cook’s insinuation. “I think she’s telling the truth. Why would she make this up?”

  “It could be that she believes her story, but it never happened. She did bump her head, you know.”

  He’d heard of amnesia, but could a person remember events that never happened?

  “My Aunt Johnida experienced that. She had memories of stuff that never happened. It’s called . . . wait . . . it’s on the end of my tongue.” The deputy snapped his fingers. Tilted his head. “Confabulation. That’s it. When someone gets a brain injury, they can have false memories.”

  “She doesn’t have a traumatic brain injury.” He didn’t think. Had Dr. Jacob looked into that? He couldn’t remember if Harper had gotten an MRI last night while he waited or if she would need to go into Jackson for that. Maybe Dr. Jacob had scheduled one for her. Harper hadn’t said.

  Since Heath wasn’t a medical professional, he didn’t want to have this conversation and say the wrong thing, considering the deputy had asked his opinion. His opinion shouldn’t count one iota.

  Only the facts mattered.

  He thought back to everything that had happened. Again. Not like he hadn’t relived the incident in his mind a hundred times already. He believed Harper was telling the truth about what she saw. If he was wrong about that, and she had false memories—that would mean a woman hadn’t been murdered. That would be for the best.

  But it would also mean Harper had some significant issues to deal with.

  “Let’s look around here and then you can take me across the river,” Heath said.

  “That’ll take a half hour or more. They might be gone by then. Besides, they already looked here.”

  “Still. I want to look around myself and see what’s what.” The rain had come down hard, but the tree canopy would have sheltered the area from the full torrent.

  He found the boulder next to the gully, the position that matched Harper’s description of where she’d been standing when she took her photographs. Whatever evidence the rain hadn’t washed away, he hoped Detective Moffett had collected and documented earlier.

  Across the river, maybe Moffett would find specks of blood where the body had fallen. Taggart was claiming that so far there was no evidence of a crime. How could that be if someone shot and killed a woman? Even if it had rained last night, and from the looks of it, harder here than in town.

  Heath returned his attention to what had happened on this side of the river.

  Harper said the shooter had seen her. Heath imagined Harper looking on, watching the crime through her telephoto lens and seeing the murderer look at her through his scope. She panicked. He could definitely see that happening. He gazed upward and could see how if someone was in a hurry and scared, it would be easy for them to stumble and hit their head. Somewhere between that boulder where she’d taken her pictures and the trail, she’d lost her camera.

  He glanced down the gaping gully and saw nothing but rocks, broken limbs, and pine needles. Then something shiny wedged under a fallen branch caught his attention. He slid down the incline and peered under the branch.

  A cell phone. Harper’s? Or someone else’s? He was surprised those gathering evidence hadn’t found the cell. Then again, a person would have to be standing at the right location with the sun shining in that specific position for the reflection to be seen. So he was at the right place at the right time.

  He looked up and spotted Cook searching near the edge of the gully but closer to the trail. “Hey, Cook, get down here.”

  The deputy scrambled to the edge. “What have you got? The camera?”

  “A cell phone. I don’t have evidence bags. I’ll let you handle it.” The rain could have ruined the cell and it might be useless to them.

  Heath moved out of the way so Deputy Cook could take care of the possible evidence. The deputy snapped a few pictures while Heath turned his attention to the gully, which was washed out from decades of runoff. Branches lay broken. Rock scuffed along the ridge. Someone had gone down into the gully today. The deputies had indeed searched for the camera. But had they also searched for footprints—someone who could have gotten to the camera first? If the killer had watched with his scope for any length of time, he might have seen her drop the camera. He also would have seen her fall and hit her head. He might have made his way across the river so he could get a better shot at Harper.

  And found her camera instead. And dropped his cell phone in the process.

  Heath lowered himself to sit on a flat boulder and dragged in a breath of mountain air. He listened to the roaring Grayback River echoing off the slope, the encounter with the grizzly still fresh in his mind.

  If the killer had Harper’s camera, then he could destroy the pictures. The evidence. Or use those same pictures or other identifying information found on the camera to find her. Taggart’s suggestion that she wasn’t in danger was way off.

  CHAPTER TEN

  TUESDAY, 10:36 A.M.

  CRIME SCENE ON THE GRAYBACK RIVER

  Harper’s head throbbed, and the sun blazed down on her until she thought she would be baked alive. Maybe that’s because she sat on a flat rock—the perfect baking stone—avoiding the grassy meadow, now muddied. She watched Detective Moffett and other deputies comb the area, along with a US Forest Service ranger and a Wyoming Game and Fish Department agent. Multiple agencies and nothing but her word to go on. Multiple people trampling whatever evidence might have remained.

  The sheriff had asked Harper for her assistance in pinpointing exactly where the woman who was shot had exited the woods—but he hadn’t allowed her to walk anywhere near the actual scene. She’d had to pinpoint from a distance. His mood wasn’t too friendly, because right now, Harper couldn’t prove that anything she said had taken place.

  Add to that, she knew that the person who called
to report the murder was often considered a suspect. Most murders were committed by people who knew the victim. In this case, she didn’t know the victim or the murderer. She only knew she wasn’t guilty.

  But without those pictures—if they found the body—Harper could be considered a suspect.

  Her presence could contaminate the crime scene.

  Unbelievable.

  She didn’t think Sheriff Taggart actually believed she was a killer. He seemed to lean more toward thinking she was unstable, but he had to work things by the book in his search for the truth.

  She’d wanted to tell him, “Well, make up your mind, already. Am I unstable or am I a suspect?”

  But Harper knew when to keep her mouth shut. Usually.

  And if she put herself in his shoes, she could understand. She showed up with a gash in her head and reported that a woman had been murdered. For all the sheriff knew, she had fought with the woman and made her way to the other side of the river, where she called for help.

  The sheriff had insisted that Deputy Herring return her to the campground. She’d argued and he’d relented and let her wait there. Deputy Herring was supposed to stay with her. Watch out for her. Watch over her. Guard her. Instead, he drifted closer to those with like minds and stood near the river discussing the weather or the murder or both.

  Buffalo droppings and divots of grass scattered the area. In addition to a rainstorm, a herd of buffalo had taken up residence in the area long enough to destroy more evidence—any proof that a man had murdered a woman was gone.

  There could be a fine blade of grass hanging onto blood, clinging to DNA, calling out for someone, anyone willing to search. But she understood that the elements had destroyed too much. The search area was too vast.

  If they found the body, the atmosphere would change. Additional resources would be called in to search the crime scene. Right now, they had a witness but no evidence. No body. Sheriff Taggart might not even know the best way to go forward.

  Her heart rate spiked as frustration pumped through her veins.

  He did this. The shooter knew how to cover his tracks. He herded the buffalo over to the river. The beasts remained grazing in the meadow right over the hill.

  Despite wanting to escape blood and murder, Harper couldn’t let this go. He wasn’t going to get away with it. She would remind the sheriff she wanted to meet with a sketch artist. She didn’t need the pictures from her camera. She’d committed everything to memory. At the very least, the murdered woman would be identified.

  Closing her eyes, she saw the woman’s terror-stricken face. A sob rose up and she might have released it, except someone was coming.

  Footsteps drew near. Taggart? Moffett? She wasn’t ready to talk to either.

  Someone sat down next to her on the other half of the flat rock. Harper opened her eyes.

  Heath McKade.

  She was happy to see him.

  He propped his knees up and dangled his arms over them.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  The Stetson shaded his face. “The sheriff brought me in.”

  Harper released a slow breath. “I shouldn’t have left without retrieving my camera last night.” She squeezed her eyes shut and forced back the tears. “They don’t believe me.”

  “So I heard.”

  Harper feared asking Heath, but she wanted—no, needed—someone to believe her. Though she didn’t know why, it would mean a lot if that person was Heath McKade, her childhood friend. He’d been such a tough boy on the outside, trying to remain strong for his brothers. For his mother, until the accident that killed her. The accident for which he blamed himself. He appeared to have gotten over that and Harper couldn’t be prouder of what he’d become.

  Everyone seemed to respect him. Though she didn’t know Heath the adult, she could easily understand why he was respected. And there was something about his presence that made her feel that he could be trusted. Right now, he was exactly the kind of person she needed. It didn’t hurt that she’d known him years ago and, if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that Heath McKade the kid sat next to her.

  She looked him in the eyes. Though he squinted, one bright blue eye returned her gaze. Dare she? Her heart stumbled around. “I’m almost afraid to ask you, but I need to know. Do you believe me?”

  He stared at her long and hard, then dropped his head. Pain slipped across her chest. Harper averted her gaze to watch the river, where Detective Moffett was crouching. Had she found something? She stood again as if she’d lost interest. Archie, the guy with the cadaver dog named Darla, approached the investigator. They huddled in deep discussion. Maybe Harper had imagined the murder, after all, and she had squandered their time. She was impressed with how much effort they had already put into it based on her words alone.

  “Harper.” Heath’s tone was gentle.

  Something about the way he said her name made her feel warm inside. She turned her face back to his, not wanting to hear his words, his answer to her question.

  Both bright blue eyes stared at her now, taking her in. “I believe you.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “What you mean is that you think I believe I saw what happened, but it never happened. This is all due to my head injury. I heard one of the deputies talking. I know what they’re thinking.”

  He tugged his Stetson off, ran a hand through his thick hair, then stuck it back on his head. His picture could go on a magazine cover.

  “No, that’s not what I mean. I believe you witnessed a murder.”

  “Why? Why would you take my word for it when there’s nothing here? Not even a speck of blood.”

  “What? Are you starting to doubt yourself now?”

  She grimaced. She couldn’t give in or let them persuade her. “No. I saw what I saw. But please tell me why you believe me.”

  “Because I heard a woman’s terrified scream. I also heard the gunfire that came after the scream. It’s the whole reason I went looking, and then I found you. I heard you call for help, but you ended up saving me from a bear.”

  “Well, did you tell the sheriff?”

  “Yes. Like your words, my words won’t count for a whole lot without other evidence. The sheriff could reason that the scream I heard and the gunfire were unrelated to each other or to the crime you witnessed. Sounds can echo from miles around in these mountains.”

  “Thank you for putting it that way. The crime I witnessed rather than the crime I claimed to have witnessed.”

  “Honestly, Harper, I would believe you anyway.”

  Her breath hitched a little at the way he looked at her, and she knew without a doubt he would have believed her even if he hadn’t heard a scream or gunfire. She didn’t understand why. Still, she’d needed to hear those words from him.

  “You’re the only one,” she said.

  “I’ll talk to Taggart and Moffett. I carry an ounce of persuasion in this county.”

  “There’s still a problem if they can’t find evidence.” Harper wanted to search more. There had to be something. A hair. A speck of blood. A piece of torn clothing.

  Looking out over the flowing Grayback River, Heath leaned back on one hand and sighed. “There’s that, yes. Taggart won’t be inclined to call in any additional help from the surrounding counties or the state unless he has a solid reason. He wants to find the truth, Harper, don’t worry. But that means that right now all possibilities are on the table.”

  She understood what he meant—including the possibility that the crime never happened. Still, she found reassurance in his words that the sheriff wanted to find the truth.

  Heath had made her feel better. “As for finding evidence,” she said, “maybe I can help him with that.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I was a crime scene photographer.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I realize that Taggart probably won’t let me be involved. But from my point of view, I need to prove what I saw.” And just how would she do
that?

  “How’d you end up becoming a forensic photographer?”

  “I . . .” Memories blew through her. “Remember when my dad was killed? Murdered?”

  “That, I do. I couldn’t be more sorry, Harper. I never got to tell you. Not really.”

  “No. Because Mom took us away. She let me tell you we were leaving, at least. Let me see you one more time. I . . .”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Her chest grew tight. I want to. It’s what she might have told him years ago if she’d had the chance. Still, the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t tell him everything. Not at the moment. “They never caught the guy. That’s why I decided to go into evidence photography, so I could help put criminals away. Be part of that process.”

  There was more to it, and in his eyes, she saw that he understood. But this would have to be good enough for now.

  “Because you’re a survivor, Harper. You’ve always been strong.”

  Her shoulders drooped. Heath had no idea what he was saying. He couldn’t truly understand what she’d been through. “Yeah. I’m always the survivor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Taggart approached. Though Harper appreciated that Heath listened to her story, she was glad she didn’t have to tell him the rest. He would think she was pathetic and weak. And right now, she needed him, the sheriff, Detective Moffett, and whoever else was investigating this case to believe that she had her act together. That she was strong. Someone needed justice. There was a killer on the loose.

  Heath stood and offered his hand. She didn’t need it but took it anyway and stood.

  The sheriff opened his mouth to speak, but Heath interrupted him. “Taggart, I believe Harper’s story, and I’m worried that the killer has her camera. He might be able to identify her that way.”

  “We haven’t established that a crime happened here.”

  “You have to admit that there could have been a murder committed here last night and the buffalo destroyed the evidence. The killer could have driven the herd to the river to cover his tracks. Am I right?”