Sometimes killers returned to the scene. A few offered help and interjected themselves into the investigation. If their killer was in the crowd, Thomas wanted the maniac on camera. Aguilar weaved between the massing officers and lifted her camera.
Thomas turned his attention to Trooper McBride. No officer adjusted to the initial shock of seeing a dead person. Especially someone who fell victim to a violent murder. That McBride was a fellow officer wrenched Thomas’s insides. Frailty. Every officer was one gunshot, one stab wound away from a funeral.
“Sheriff Shepherd?” Thomas turned and faced a mahogany-skinned trooper with specks of gray in his mustache. He towered six inches over Thomas, his body wiry, eyes hard. “Jordan Baker, New York State Police, Troop E. I knew your predecessor, Sheriff Gray.” Baker’s gaze traveled to the cruiser where the techs worked. He shifted his jaw. “Whoever did this is a monster. McBride had a wife and an eight-year-old daughter. Who’s gonna explain to her that her daddy is never coming home.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Trooper Baker. Did you know the officer well?”
“For over ten years. Our families got together last winter for a ski trip. Always talked about hanging out more. Thought we had all the time in the world.”
Thomas nodded.
“Any idea what happened here?”
“As far as we can tell, the killer sneaked up on McBride and slashed his throat while he was inside the cruiser. The window was open. He probably wanted fresh air to keep him alert.”
Thomas eyed the blood splashed across the blacktop.
“That can’t be McBride’s.”
“The blood appears to belong to another victim. Could be the killer’s. But given that the home owner is missing…”
Baker cast a wary glance at Paige Sutton’s house.
Had Paige witnessed the attack, run outside to aid the officer, and fallen victim to the killer? Or had she ventured outside to check on the officer, only to find his throat sliced while the killer watched her from the darkness?
The radio on Trooper Baker’s shoulder crackled. He turned to Thomas.
“I’ll be back in a second, Sheriff. Then we’ll catch this scumbag. We can’t let him escape our net.”
The street was a mass of flashing emergency lights. Two ambulances parked along the curb amid the army of law enforcement vehicles. Camera in hand, Thomas angled his lens between two technicians and snapped a photograph. McBride’s eyes were open, mouth agape. His hands had fallen to his lap. But blood covered one hand, coagulating between his fingers, suggesting he’d clutched at the gaping wound and attempted to stem the tide streaming out of his neck. Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if Trooper McBride had been thinking about his wife and daughter, planning a late-summer trip, before his killer approached from behind. The psychopath must have taken McBride by surprise, as Thomas didn’t see signs of a struggle. The kill was quick and efficient.
A female trooper with ebony eyes tipped her cap at Thomas from the curb. He nodded back at her, recognizing the woman from the Jeremy Hyde investigation. The state police had collaborated with the sheriff’s department and Harmon PD during a citywide search for the murderer. So much loss had befallen Wolf Lake since spring.
His head swam. Thomas fought to keep his footing as the Los Angeles shooting flashed before his eyes. He recalled the swirling emergency lights, the paramedic leaning over his twitching body as flies buzzed around his head, the winged parasites waiting for his heart to stop. But that wasn’t the source of his panic. The screams around him drove him toward the edge of insanity. Unable to move, he didn’t see who was injured and dying, could only fear the worst. How many officers had the bullets struck?
Without realizing what he was doing, Thomas placed a hand against the small of his back and winced, eyes squeezed shut. He drew stares from the other officers.
“You all right, Sheriff?” Aguilar’s voice brought him back to the present. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“It’s nothing.” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Did you get pictures of the crowd?”
“Everybody.”
“We’ll comb the neighborhood. Someone must have seen a stranger hanging around Paige Sutton’s house. In the meantime, find out where Cathy Webb was tonight.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Sunday, August 15th
9:55 a.m.
The antique grandfather clock clicked from the hall. Inside the study, the counting seconds were the only sounds. Try as he might to ignore the clock, Thomas found his heartbeat following the swinging pendulum, regulating itself to his surroundings.
Heat poured through the vents despite the summer temperatures. His father, Mason Shepherd, slouched in his chair across from Thomas with a blanket over his legs, limbs quivering. The man’s face had turned a sickly gray over the last month. Thomas didn’t need a doctor’s opinion to know time was short.
“How is the woman working out?” Mason asked.
He followed his question with a phlegm-choked cough into a handkerchief. Mason grimaced, folded the cloth, and stuffed it into his pocket.
“Naomi is doing well. She’ll lead Shepherd Systems to its best quarter in company history.”
Mason issued an uncommitted groan. He’d been against the hire, wanting Thomas to lead the company.
A glass clinked from the kitchen. Thomas wished his mother would join them and provide a buffer. He’d already asked his father the standard questions—how do you feel? Is there anything I can do to help?—but understood Mason Shepherd preferred not to discuss the progressing cancer, the black hand sealing his fate. Yet the lung cancer was the elephant in the room. The topic seemed unavoidable.
“I want you to know Shepherd Systems will always be in good hands,” Thomas said, straightening his pants.
“It’s a shame I won’t be around to see it.” Mason’s eyes traveled around the room, taking in all he’d created via his wealth and power. He reached for his tea. The cup jiggled in his hand, liquid spilling down his lips as he sipped the hot drink. “I didn’t do right by you, son.”
Thomas lifted his head.
“Father?”
“I should have allowed you to
