How much water would it take to hide a pickup? Eight feet minimum, she estimated. As she started to lower the binoculars a windmill caught her eye and past it, a set of corrals.
She felt light-headed as she realized whose place she was looking at. The old Crawford ranch, where Luke Crawford was now building his house.
Over the wind and her thundering heart, McCall didn’t hear the vehicle pull in. Nor did she hear someone approach from behind her until she felt the hand drop to her shoulder.
Chapter Eight
McCall jumped, startled. She spun around, her hand going to her holster, stopping short of her weapon as she recognized the man now standing on the lone ridge with her.
“I thought I might find you out here,” Sheriff Grant Sheridan said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. Frown lines deepened the furrows between his brows as the first drops of rain splashed down, hard and cold. “Let’s talk in my rig.”
McCall followed him back through the rain to his patrol SUV parked next to her pickup and climbed in, wondering how he’d known she’d be here, let alone why he’d driven way out here to look for her.
“What’s up?” she asked, shaking raindrops off as she settled into the seat.
He started the engine, turning on the wipers and the heater. Rain pounded the roof and pinged off the hood.
“You tell me,” he said as he looked past the rain and the rhythmic slap of the wipers toward the ridge. The rain slanted down in angry slashes, pelting the puddles already forming in the mud in front of the SUV. Fortunately the road back to the highway was rocky or they might have trouble getting out of here.
“I didn’t realize you could see the Winchester Ranch from here,” he said finally and glanced pointedly at the binoculars on the strap around her neck.
McCall followed his gaze to the ranch in the distance, but said nothing, her apprehension growing. Was this about Pepper Winchester?
That could explain why Grant looked worried. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked.
“You mean, what I’m doing out here?” she asked, going on the defensive, fearing what had brought him all this way. “I wanted to check the site before my shift. Just as I figured, some locals have been out here digging around.”
“But there wasn’t anything to find, right?”
“I did a thorough search of the area the first time,” she said, afraid of where this was going. “If there was anything to find, I found it.”
The sheriff sighed. “McCall,” he said his voice softening. “I got a call from the crime lab this morning.”
She closed her eyes, surprised she was fighting tears even though she knew what the results of the DNA test were going to prove. She’d known the moment she’d found her father’s hunting license in the muddy grave.
She heard the rustle of papers and opened her eyes to look over at him. He had his head down and she saw the faxed report now lying on his lap.
The patrol SUV suddenly felt too small. She lowered her window a few inches even though the cold rain blew in soaking one side of her to the skin.
“According to the report, the bones are from a male in his early twenties,” Grant said without looking at her. “The lab estimates the body has been in the ground for the past twenty-five to thirty years. But I would imagine none of this comes as a surprise to you, does it.”
“What about the DNA?” McCall asked, her voice breaking. “Was it a match?”
His gaze softened as he looked over at her and nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes burned.
Grant cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine that this was just a hunch on your part. How did you know?”
“I found my father’s hunting license where the body had been buried before the rainstorm washed the remains down into the gully,” she said quietly. “The license was still in the orange plastic case.”
“You knew it was a probable murder scene and yet—”
“I documented everything I found with photos,” she said quickly. “I treated it as a murder scene.”
“You withheld evidence.”
“I couldn’t be sure until the DNA report came back.”
He was shaking his head, clearly angry and disappointed in her. “You’re my first female deputy. Do you realize how hard I had to fight to get you on the force?”
She could imagine. “I appreciate that. But he was my father, I had—”
“You’re a deputy first and foremost. The moment you found this you should have roped off the crime scene, you should have come to me—”
“I bagged everything at the scene and photographed it. I knew once Rocky got back to town and started talking every looky-loo would be out here—especially if I’d roped it off with crime scene tape, and I couldn’t be sure until I got the DNA report back.” She took a breath. “And I knew that the minute I turned that hunting license over to you that you’d pull me off the case.”
“Pull you off the case? Hell, I have no choice but to suspend you, McCall. You’re lucky I don’t fire you on the spot.”
“I understand.” She reached for her gun and badge.
He studied her as she handed over both, then pulled the hunting license in the orange plastic case from her pocket and gave him that, as well.
It was hard to give up the license, but she’d made two copies of it, knowing this day was coming. Those were hidden in her pickup.
The sheriff shook his head as he dropped the license into an evidence bag. “You destroyed any fingerprints on the license.”
“The killer didn’t touch it. If he had, he would have taken it along with Trace’s wallet, his boots, his truck and anything else that made identifying the body possible twenty-seven years ago.”
Grant didn’t look any happier to hear that. “I
