Nick slammed the paper back down on the table, coffee sloshing over the rim of his mug.
Quinn agreed that Eli’s interviewing Ryan Parker was beyond the pale. Where was Judge Parker during all this? Why hadn’t he stopped him?
It wasn’t just Ryan’s interview. Quinn didn’t like the way Eli jabbed at the Sheriff’s Department. The last thing he needed was a turf war mucking up the investigation. Nick’s people already thought he was an outsider; if they suspected he was trying to undermine Nick, Quinn wouldn’t get any support.
He had to earn their trust.
“I’ll make an official statement,” Quinn said as he stood and tossed a few dollars on the table.
Nick glanced at Quinn as they left the coffee shop and stopped next to his truck. “Don’t know what good that’ll do.”
“It’s your investigation, Nick. I wouldn’t be here without your invitation. You know that.”
“Am I doing things right? Am I missing something? Did I-”
Quinn put up his hand. “Stop. Don’t second-guess yourself. You’ve dotted your i’s and crossed your t’s, and don’t think I wouldn’t be the first one to say something if you hadn’t. But I wouldn’t go to the press, I’d go to you. I hope you know that.”
Nick closed his eyes. “I know. I know. Eli just gets to me, you know?”
“Yeah. He’s a dick.”
They walked the block to the government center, where the medical examiner also had an office and laboratory.
“How’d Miranda take to you staying at the lodge?” Nick asked.
Quinn winced. “She doesn’t know. Yet.”
“Shit’ll hit the fan.”
“She’ll deal with it.”
Nick wondered. Miranda was already upset that he’d called Quinn in without consulting her. Not that he needed to, but he’d often asked her opinion about various factors in the Butcher investigation, particularly when dealing with the initial search. Over the years, they’d grown comfortable in their working relationship. It had been an easy step to turn their friendship into an intimate partnership.
The fact that he’d walked away two years ago because Miranda didn’t return his feelings didn’t minimize his dislike of Quinn practically sharing a roof with her. He knew, in the back of his heart, that Miranda wouldn’t return to him. If she did, he would be second choice, after Quinn.
He didn’t like that position one bit.
He liked Quinn. But he loved Miranda. And the thought of the two of them…
No. It wasn’t going to happen. Miranda had been devastated when Quinn pulled her from the Academy. She’d nursed that hurt and anger for years. She wouldn’t get over it during the few weeks Quinn would be in town.
So there was still a chance, Nick thought as they turned into the medical examiner’s outer office. In fact, perhaps Miranda would turn to him
No. He wouldn’t settle for second place. Miranda had to
Ryan Parker sat high up on the ridge, confident no one could see him, and watched the people gather below. But his eyes weren’t focused on the sheriff’s deputies.
The bright crime scene tape drew him in. Reminding him who had lain there. He’d never forget the blue, naked body. The deep, dark red-almost black-gash in her throat. The cuts and bruises covering her skin.
But it was her eyes that haunted him now.
He hadn’t slept much the night before. Every time he tried to sleep, Rebecca Douglas stared at him, her wide, frozen blue eyes fuzzy with death.
Ryan had seen dozens of dead animals in his eleven years. When he’d shot a buck with his.22, a clean shot in the back of the head, his dad had been proud of him. He hadn’t been all that proud of himself.
Hunting was okay. He didn’t particularly like it, not like his dad and his uncle, but it was okay.
Fishing, on the other hand, was heaven. He’d fish every day if his parents let him. He felt independent, free, when he was out on the lake, or sitting on the eddy near the bend in the river south of his house, or just on the pier at the lake. It made him happier than anything else in his life. More than the horses. Certainly more than hunting.
And, too often, he was happier alone, without his parents.
Something about the quiet, maybe. Or the waiting. Sean and Timmy didn’t have the patience for fishing. Timmy could keep quiet, but he fidgeted. Sean didn’t even go anymore because Ryan refused to pull in the rod after twenty minutes of no bites. Sometimes his dad would sit with him for a couple of hours, and that was good.
But his dad was too busy now for long excursions to the lake.
Sometimes it took all day to catch a decent-sized trout or bass. Sometimes you didn’t catch anything, but that was okay. Because it was the fishing, the waiting, the freedom that made all the difference in the world. Not the catching.
But Sean and Timmy didn’t understand that.
Neither did his father, though he tried.
Ryan watched the people below, so small they looked like ants. He squinted and held up his fingers. So big. Less than a quarter-inch.
They didn’t even know he was here.
He just wanted to see what they found. For some reason, he thought if they found the guy who killed that girl, he could sleep easier. It was as if the girl were a doe, her neck sliced, her eyes wide and unfocused and staring.
Ryan didn’t like that. People were people and animals were animals, but someone had treated that girl like an animal. It wasn’t right.
When most of the sheriff’s people started down the old logging path, Ryan stood and brushed the dirt from his worn jeans. He had to be getting back, anyway. Because he’d left Ranger in the stable, it’d take him an hour to get home and he didn’t want his mom to worry. She didn’t ask a lot of questions, but she always knew if he was lying.
Ryan didn’t lie, really. But sometimes, he didn’t want to tell the truth. Avoiding conversations was the best way to handle his mom.
He followed the narrow springtime creek down the ridge, toward the wider path that led to the boundary of their ranch. He spotted hoofprints and frowned. They looked fresh, but he hadn’t noticed any of the searchers coming this high up the ridge. Whoever it was, though, needed to reshoe his poor horse. The right hind hoof had lost a couple of nails, and the loose rocks and dirt would be getting under the shoe and embedding in the horse’s hooves.
Lost in thought, he almost missed it.
The sun reflected off something in his path and he stopped to bend down and examine it.
At first he thought two snake eyes were glaring at him, ready to strike, and he teetered back onto his heels. He regained his balance and looked more carefully at the object.
It wasn’t a snake, of course. The two eyes were small, dark gems. Deep green, like the pine trees at dusk. The gems were embedded in a simple silver belt buckle carved to look like a bird. Like an eagle. The gems were its eyes.
He reached out and picked it up, surprised when a piece of leather came with it, still attached to the buckle. Examining the end, it was obviously frayed and probably broke off when a hunter or hiker stopped on this high ledge to take a pee.
Ryan hesitated as he stared at the buckle. Should he take it to that FBI agent? Maybe it would be important to the investigation. His heart beat with excitement.
