“Been better. How’s the girl?”
“Critical. If she makes it, it’s because of you.” Nick squatted next to him and took out his notepad. “Mind telling me what happened?”
“I leave the tavern at eleven or so nowadays. Need a bit more sleep than I used to. Saw the car by the side of the road and slowed, thinking someone might be in trouble, run out of gas or something. I didn’t see anyone and thought they’d broken down and hoofed it back to the Junction, or up the road a couple miles. So, I started to speed back up when my lights hit on something in front of the car. I thought it might have been an animal, maybe the driver hit a small bear or something. So I pulled over.”
Red shook his head. “I couldn’t believe it was a young lady. Just lying there, half in the road. It’s amazing that one of the big rigs didn’t run over her legs.”
“Did you see anything else? Anyone else?”
“No. It was dead quiet. I don’t have a cell phone, but I didn’t want to leave her there, so I waited for someone to drive by. Then I saw a phone near her, like she’d been holding it before she was hit. I used it. You think it was okay I did that?”
“You did the right thing. Did you touch anything in the car? The ignition? The hood? Anything?”
“Umm, maybe the roof when I leaned in. I was checking to see if someone else was in the car. You don’t think-it was an accident, right? Hit and run? You don’t think it’s that killer again?”
Nick’s stomach fell. Though he’d wanted to believe JoBeth Anderson’s injuries were the result of something less nefarious than a serial killer, as soon as his lights swept over the car he was transported back twelve years.
Sharon Lewis’s little Volkswagen Beetle had been found less than two miles from here. On this same road.
“I’ll find out.” Nick stood, knees cracking. “Can you hang out here a couple more minutes?”
Red nodded. “I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.”
Nick pulled his jacket close as a wind picked up. Near midnight and the temperature had dropped considerably. It’d be below fifty tonight.
He prayed it wasn’t the Butcher. Rebecca had been found only three days ago-Nick couldn’t remember the killer attacking again so soon.
There was an easy way to find out.
His feet felt filled with lead, his heart twisted, as he approached the car. “Jessup!” he called.
“Yes, sir?”
“Did you run the tags and registration?”
“The car belongs to Ashley van Auden, twenty-one. Her residence is listed as San Diego, California, and her mail goes to a dorm at the University.”
Where was Ashley?
Nick walked around the back of the car to the gas tank. He took out his flashlight and trained it on the small door. The Honda Civic had a release lever on the floor next to the driver’s seat to unlock the gas tank. But most people in Montana didn’t lock their cars when they stopped for gas or a meal, or even when they parked in front of their house.
And even if they did, the cars were easy to break into if you knew what you were doing.
He leaned closer, his Maglite illuminating a small trail of something thick next to the fuel door. He took in a breath, the sweetness of the molasses turning foul in the realization that the Butcher had struck again.
Nick wanted to kick something. “Jessup!” he shouted. “Call in the crime techs. I want everyone out here, full gear, no excuses.”
“Sir?”
Ignoring Jessup’s implied question, Nick pulled out his cell phone and pounded the key pad.
“Peterson here.”
“Quinn, the Butcher has another woman. When will you be back?”
“I’m already on my way. Where are you? I’ll be there in less than an hour.”
Ashley van Auden felt hungover, like the time she’d drunk way too much champagne at her aunt Sherry’s wedding. Her head thick, heavy, pounding.
She shivered and realized that it was the cold that had woken her. She’d never grown used to the cold weather in Montana. Coming from sunny San Diego, she was accustomed to fun and warmth and sandy beaches. She hated Montana, but MSU had a great wildlife biology program and she ultimately wanted to work with the endangered Bighorn Sheep in Southern California.
But this cold was worse than cold. She was chilled to the bone; her skin felt raw and exposed. No blanket covered her, no heater blew warm air over her body. And the room stank. Rotten, moldy. It smelled like a dead animal, as if a family of rodents had holed up in the corner and died a week ago.
This wasn’t her dorm room.
Fear hit her as soon as she fully wakened. Not a steady increase of heart rate or growing worry, but an instant and deep terror. Panicked, she tried to sit up and realized she was restrained. Her wrists burned with the struggle of trying to get free. What had happened? Where was she? Where was JoBeth?
The last thing she remembered was the car stopped running. Just like that. It sputtered a couple of times and died. She was lucky to get it to the side of the road.
Jo said she’d call roadside service and got out of the car because her cell phone was all static. Another thing Ashley hated about the mountains. She never had trouble with her cell phone in San Diego.
She leaned over to check the CD changer and see if there was enough juice in the car for music. When she looked up, Jo was gone.
She stepped out of the car and saw the figure of a woman walking toward the trees on the other side of the road. Why had Jo crossed the road? “Jo? What are you doing over there?”
Then nothing. She remembered nothing else. Why couldn’t she remember anything? What had happened?
She was naked. Restrained. Something bound her eyes, tight. Too tight. She heard nothing except her panic pounding in her ears. Her lips quivered, a sob escaped. She swallowed, trying to force her fear back.
What was that? Was someone coming? Dear God, what was he going to do to her?
Total fear embraced her and squeezed tight, draining every ounce of hope from her soul. They’d found that girl from the University, Rebecca. The newspaper said it was the Bozeman Butcher. The man who tortured women in the woods and hunted them like animals. The Butcher.
No.
Her throat constricted, her chest heaved as she fought her restraints. Kicking and pulling and pushing. She wasn’t going to die. She couldn’t die! She had a full life ahead of her. Her friends. Her family. Her daddy had told her to be careful. To watch. To be cautious. That she was too friendly, too naIve.
She thought she’d been careful. What had she done wrong?
More than anything, she wanted to spare her father from the pain. She was his princess. What would he do when he found out she was missing? When she turned up dead? Tortured and-and-
No. No. NO! This wasn’t happening.
Where was JoBeth?
“Jo?” she whispered into the blackness. She listened, trying to force her racing heart to slow.
Nothing.
Then she heard it again. Something. Outside. Voices, whispering in the dark. She listened harder and began to make out words.
“I told you it was too soon!” The voice was low, but sounded like a woman’s.
“Go away. Come back next week.” A man. Gruff.
