The Lab identifies the tracks, and local law enforcement narrows down the pool of possible victims to four people in the area who own that model snowmobile.
4:02 p.m.
Officers follow up on the owners and find Ardis and Lizzie Pickron murdered; Donnie missing.
4:30 p.m.
Admiral Winchester, the Chief of Naval Operations, is already pressuring FBI Director Wellington to have agents look into the case.
A thought: So why the FBI and not NCIS? But the answer was immediately obvious: the Naval Criminal Investigative Service only investigates crimes involving active duty military personnel, and Donnie was retired military rather than active duty.
That left the Bureau rather than NCIS, but still-why the high-level interest in a sawmill worker’s disappearance?
That was the big question. The hinge upon which all the other facts swung.
The Navy’s interest in the crime and the recently accessed websites on Ohio Class submarines didn’t support the theory that the snowmobile’s trip off the ice and Donnie’s disappearance were the result of a simple suicide or a haphazard accident during a flight from a crime scene.
It didn’t appear to be a robbery gone bad either.
When you move through a case, it’s best to ask the sensible, obvious questions first, just like a reporter might do: Who? What? Where? When? Why? How?
So, where had Donnie been earlier today? Did he show up at work? If this was a setup to make him look guilty, why would he be targeted? What had he done or what did he know that caused him to end up in someone’s crosshairs? And what might decades-old submarine deployment records have to do with anything? And why would Donnie-or anyone else-have been so careless as to look them up on his computer after the murders?
And of course, what about the three shots through the window? Either they were fired out of necessity or they were not. But what necessity?
Questions, questions.
Too little data.
I started back for the house. The moon had slipped behind a stray cloud, leaving the stars to rule the night. Seeing them reminded me of the times in college when I worked as a wilderness guide in North Carolina. After enough nights out on the trail you begin to know which stars will appear first, emerging slowly through the late twilight. There you are, Vega, and Castor and Arcturus, so good to see you. How’ve you been? How has the night on the other side of the world been treating you?
Everything was so simple in those days, life bared down to the basics of survival. Eat. Sleep. Climb. Paddle. You’re forced to put all the niceties and creature comforts of modern life behind you and get back to the essentials. Survival. Relationships. Encountering the real.
I looked at the house again.
Encountering the real.
Life.
Death.
Two bodies. A missing snowmobiler.
Pausing at the side of the house, I bent and took a picture of the two sets of boot prints with my phone. Committed the imprint patterns to memory.
Then, leaving the stars behind, I quietly ascended the porch steps.
After a body is moved, the crime scene is altered forever, so contrary to what you might see in the movies, forensics examiners and evidence response teams are not typically in a hurry to remove bodies from a scene. Unless there’s something present that would contaminate or destroy evidence (wind, water, etc.) they’ll leave the corpse, sometimes for several hours, as they photograph it, check the core temperature to establish time of death, look at bloodstain patterns, and study the degree of and locations of the pooling of blood inside the body before removing it for an autopsy.
I spent another hour or so studying the scene, evaluating what I did know and comparing that to what I did not, then when Natasha and Linnaman were preparing to remove the bodies I realized it was almost 9:30 p.m. and I still hadn’t called my brother.
I went into the study, eased the door shut. Hesitated for a moment.
Then pulled out my phone.
12
I imagined that even if Sean didn’t invite me to stay at his place, Amber would, so I decided it might be best to try his work number first.
No one answered at the bait shop, which surprised me, since, with his beer and liquor sales, I’d expected that he would be open until at least 10:00 or 11:00.
I confirmed the number and tried again. Nothing.
He didn’t own a cell, so that left his home number. I didn’t have him on speed dial, but I found the number and tapped it in, hoping Sean would answer instead of his wife.
Amber picked up after two rings. “Hello?” I heard the splashing clatter of pots in water, and I could picture her standing beside the sink doing the dishes. Her honey-colored hair tied back in a loose ponytail.
“Amber, it’s Pat.”
“Pat.”
“How are you?”
“I’m good.” Her tone was impossible to read. “This is a surprise.”
“I’m sorry to call so late, but I found myself in the area and I wanted to see if you and Sean were going to be around tomorrow. So we can get together.”
“You found yourself in the area?” No more dish sounds now. “Where are you?”
“Woodborough.”
“Woodborough,” she repeated slowly. Then, “Do you need a place to stay?”
“No, I’ll get a motel room.”
A pause. “You’re welcome to stay here, you know.”
Even though I figured it wouldn’t matter to Jake or Natasha if I stayed with my family, I declined. “Thanks, but I’m actually here on business and should stay close to town. I need to go to Tomahawk Lake first thing in the morning.”
“Oh.” Now, sadness in her voice. “The Pickrons.” Of course she would have heard about them. By now, word of the homicides would’ve been all over the news.
“I’m assisting the sheriff’s department,” I said.
“Pat, it’s so terrible what happened. I can hardly believe it. Things like that just don’t happen here.” I thought she might add, “Just in the big cities,” or something along those lines, but she left it at that.
Since Amber was the only pharmacist in Elk Ridge, the next closest town over, I wouldn’t have been surprised if, in these small, close-knit communities, she’d known the Pickrons or at least been peripherally familiar with the family’s name.
At last I said, “Is Sean there? I tried the bait shop.”
“No one picked up?”
“No.”
“Figures. He’s out ice fishing. He doesn’t always get someone to cover the store. You know how he can be.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. “Yes.”
“Really, Pat.” I sensed a subtle shift in her tone. A softer quality. “You know you’re welcome here.”
“I know.” Based on my history with Amber it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to head over there, especially if Sean was late in getting home. Additionally, because of my relationship with Lien-hua I didn’t want to give anyone
