“As a motive, it’s a little off,” Brett agreed. “But we’ll look into his—and Trisha’s—past. If nothing else, it always helps to eliminate suspects.”
“True,” Diego agreed with a nod, then headed down the stairs to await Jane’s arrival.
He stepped outside into a beautiful fall day. The sun was already up, and the air was crisp and clean.
The sight that greeted his eyes, the peaks of the snowcapped Rockies rising over the tree line, seemed so serene that it was hard to imagine the horror of bloodshed intruding.
But intrude it had.
As he stood in the sun, he heard car tires on the gravel drive. He stepped forward. Jane had arrived. She parked, and he headed over to greet her.
“Grab my portfolio, will you?” she asked as she got out of the car. “I sketched his face from a few different angles. I have no idea of eye or hair color, obviously, so I played with that a bit, too.”
“You don’t even look tired,” he told her.
She flashed him a smile. “I am, but I’ll sleep as soon as we’re set with this.” She grabbed her purse and her computer bag, and started toward the museum.
She paused, looking around as they entered the museum. She smiled, as if she had somehow come home.
“Wow. Authentic. I love a place like this, small but real, and full of treasures. Those mannequins are incredible,” she said, then frowned suddenly and approached the statue of Nathan Kendall. “Amazing workmanship,” she said.
“That’s Nathan Kendall, the man who founded this ranch,” Diego said. “His father-in-law had it commissioned after the murders. He also commissioned one of his daughter, but she seems to have been lost over the years.” He shrugged. “It’s no wonder you like the West. I understand you worked in Texas at one point.”
“Not to mention my husband, Agent Sloan Trent, is from Arizona,” she said. “We met at an old theater in Lily, Arizona. They had a lot of old props like the collection here. I’m always fascinated by all the history out here.” She smiled ruefully. “I’ll gawk later. Where would you like me to set up my computer and lay out my pictures?”
“Up in the living room,” Diego said. “I’ll lead the way.”
Upstairs, Jane greeted Brett with a smile. Scarlet hadn’t appeared yet, so Diego led the way to the living room. While Jane set up her computer on the coffee table, Brett called Matt and told him and Meg to head over.
Diego sat next to Jane as she booted up her computer and hit the buttons to bring up her rendering.
“This isn’t a perfect science,” she reminded him. “But we know he was Caucasian, about thirty-five, so I worked with the standards for tissue depth and so on, and then, as I said, created different combinations of eye and hair color.”
Her computer had a high-def seventeen-inch screen. As she hit a key, an almost photographic likeness of a face popped up. “There he is,” she said. “Our John Doe. Not a bad-looking guy. Here he is with dark hair and blue eyes. Next I have him as a brown-eyed blond.” She clicked. Another sketch.
“Face look familiar to you?” Diego asked Brett.
Brett shook his head. “No wanted posters or missing persons reports that I’ve seen.”
“This is him with a cowboy hat, sandy hair and hazel eyes,” Jane said.
There was a loud gasp from the doorway.
Diego turned to see Scarlet standing there, eyes wide, face white against the rich chestnut color of her hair.
She was staring at the computer screen.
“Scarlet?” Diego said, frowning at her reaction.
She looked at him in horror. “It’s him!”
“Who?”
“My stalker,” she said. “It’s my stalker.”
“Are you sure?” Diego asked her.
“Beyond a doubt. That’s him—that’s the man who stopped me in town, the man who’s been following me. I’m absolutely sure.”
10
Jane had risen and was watching Scarlet, who was transfixed by the computer screen.
“My God,” Scarlet breathed, and then she turned to Jane. “That’s scary, it’s so real,” she whispered. She walked closer to the computer and then, as if her knees had buckled, practically fell backward onto the sofa. “It’s crazy,” she murmured. “But it must be true, because that’s him. That’s the man who keeps trying to talk to me.”
She looked at Jane again and suddenly stood, reaching out a hand. “I’m Scarlet. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude.”
Jane smiled, taking her hand. “Not rude at all. I’m so sorry that you were startled by my rendering.”
“Rendering,” Scarlet repeated. “Rendering, yes.” She seemed to grow even whiter. “You did this from a skull?”
“Yes.”
“He’s dead.”
“Yes.”
“Definitely dead?”
“Oh, yes. Very definitely dead,” Jane said gently.
Scarlet sank back onto the couch. Diego moved over next to her, taking her shoulders and drawing her around so that she had to look at him.
“Scarlet, are you all right?”
“Yes. I think. And you’re right. A gun won’t do me a bit of good, will it?”
“No.”
“So you know who he is?” Jane asked her.
“No. Before he started stalking me, I’d never seen him before.”
“Hey!” a man called from downstairs. “It’s Matt. Meg and I are coming up.”
“We’re in the living room,” Diego called down to him.
Once Meg and Matt arrived, everyone rushed to fill them in.
“I’m not at all surprised that’s the man you’ve been seeing,” Meg said. “He clearly has a reason for coming to you. I believe he really is trying to help you.”
“Why me?” Scarlet demanded. “He should have gone to one of you. You’re the ghost experts, not to mention you’re the FBI.”
They were silent for a long moment, and then Meg said, “There was a ghost in Miami, Miguel Gomez, and he went to my friend Lara. Brett’s fiancée. She wasn’t a Krewe member—still isn’t. She’s in public relations. He believed she could help him, maybe because she was the one who found his remains.”
“But I didn’t find any remains!” Scarlet protested.
“In one way,” Jane said carefully, “we’re no different dead than when we’re alive. We like certain people. We instinctively trust them. We gravitate toward them. Whoever this man is, he’s coming to you for a reason.”
“Great,” Scarlet said. “In that case...”
She stood up and looked around the room. “Where are you? I’m ready now. Come talk to me. Tell me whatever it is you want me to know.”
Nothing happened.
“Where is he now?” Scarlet demanded.
“Wherever he chooses to be. He doesn’t know you’ve suddenly decided you want to be friends,” Matt told her.
“I don’t want to be friends,” Scarlet protested. “I just want to know what the hell is going on.”
“He may prove to be your best friend,” Diego told her softly.
Scarlet looked at him and shook her head, clearly longing to disbelieve.
“He’ll come to you again,” Meg assured her.
“Wonderful,” Scarlet said.
“Actually,” Brett said, sitting next to her, “it really is. Scarlet, it’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah, right. All I know is, if you guys leave me alone anywhere, even for a minute, I’ll show you how good I am with a gun by shooting off your toes,” she threatened.
“We won’t leave you alone,” Diego promised.
Silence fell.
Diego turned to Jane. “Okay, let’s go ahead and get the picture Scarlet thinks looks most like he
r stalker to Lieutenant Gray. You can email it to Krewe HQ, too, so they can keep trying to figure out who the hell he is.”
As he spoke, his phone rang.
It was Gray.
“We’ve got another body,” he said grimly. “And this one is fresh.”
* * *
Scarlet didn’t know what she was going to do with herself. There wouldn’t even be any visitors to talk to, because no sooner had Diego hung up than Ben had called to tell her he’d decided not to open the museum that week.
“Just feels too awkward,” he’d told her.
Frankly, she hadn’t even thought about opening, but then, her brain didn’t seem to be working very well.
“So...another body,” Scarlet said. She bit her lower lip lightly. “Man or woman?”
“Woman,” Diego told her. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking over at Matt, and she realized they were doing that thing they did, silently dividing into teams so they could go to work. She wondered who would be staying here with her.
She wasn’t sure who she wanted it to be. She decided that what she really wanted was to quit, leave the case to the professionals and maybe board a cruise ship to an exotic island.
That, of course, wasn’t happening.
“The journals,” she said, as if she’d just made a great discovery. “We can keep studying the journals.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Meg said.
“You know, it doesn’t always have to be you who stays,” Scarlet said to her. “We’re not playing girls against boys here.”
“Honestly, none of us were thinking of it that way,” Meg assured her. “But you and I have already started on the journals, so it only makes sense for us to keep going. Besides, I’ve always enjoyed research. Adam said he has a bunch of paperwork to catch up on but he’ll stop by if he finishes in time.” She turned toward Jane. “You need to get some sleep, but when you wake up, you’re free to join us.”
“We need to get going,” Matt said.
“Who found her?” Scarlet asked, worried. “Not Ben, right? And where was she found?”
She knew she wasn’t going to like the answer when she saw the way Diego looked at Brett.
She groaned before he had a chance to speak. “Near here, right?” she asked.
“Just down the mountain from the ranch,” Diego admitted. “Hikers found her in the woods.”
“How was she killed?” Scarlet asked.
“Shot,” Diego said. “That’s all I know.”
“A young woman?” she persisted.
“Scarlet, we have to go now,” he said.
“Of course,” she said, standing. “Jane, can I help you with anything? They have a room ready for you at the main house.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I’ll take my computer, but I’ll leave my portfolio here for now. I’ll show everyone my sketches later. I’ll get my bag from the car on the way.”
Matt and Brett went with her as she left the room, but Diego paused, looking at Scarlet. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine—honestly. I’ve just got a lot to think about, that’s all,” she assured him. “Go—do your job. Find out who’s doing this.”
He nodded, looking as if he wanted to touch her, hold her, reassure himself that she really was all right.
He had to go, but she could tell that he really was torn between staying with her and leaving to do what he had to do.
Finally he gave her one last look and left.
She turned to Meg and forced herself to smile brightly. “Coffee? I hear it goes well with research.”
“Yeah, and a bagel and cereal or something. I missed the breakfast part of our bed-and-breakfast stay, and I work much better when I’m well fed.”
“I can make omelets if you want. Pancakes, French toast—whatever.”
“Something quick and easy,” Meg said.
“Okay, bagels,” Scarlet agreed, heading into the kitchen. “We can eat, then head downstairs. I read the journals when I first started here, but I wasn’t looking for anything specific, and I did some skimming. It will be interesting to go back and try to really understand what was going on before he was killed.” She reached into the bread box for the bagels and popped a couple into the toaster.
Meg poured coffee for them and asked, “What do you think happened to the statue of Jillian?”
Scarlet shrugged. “Who knows? Over the years, things have been lost, broken, even stolen. If Jillian’s statue was even half as well done as Nathan’s, someone might have decided it was worth real money and taken it. I asked Ben and he said he knew her father had it made, but he’d never seen it. It was already gone the first time he came out here years ago.”
“I’m going to keep going with Nathan’s Civil War diary. Maybe something in it will spark an idea with something you’re reading.”
The bagels popped.
“Coffee, bagels and the Civil War. Agent Murray, you do know how to lead an exciting life.”
“Not to worry, Scarlet. I’ve come to love the quiet. Trust me. I don’t mind leaving the dead to others.”
Scarlet winced. She hadn’t meant to sound callous.
Another woman was dead.
“Let’s hope we can find something in those journals,” she said.
“I won’t be at all surprised,” Meg said. “The dead speak in many ways.”
* * *
Lieutenant Gray met them outside the crime-scene tape. “Just to warn you,” he said, “some victims look almost as if they’re asleep. Not this one. Caught her in the face—right in the face—as well as in the gut, just like he shot Candace Parker. We can’t find any shells or cartridges, so he picked up after himself.”
“My gut says she’ll turn out to be local and that it’s the same killer,” Diego said. “The killer didn’t know Candace Parker, so he didn’t care whether we saw her face or not. I think not only did he know this woman, so he didn’t want to see her face after she was dead, lots of people around here know her, so he didn’t want her recognized right away, in case that led us right to him.”
“What are you, one of those profiler guys? Gotta tell you, I don’t put a lot of stock in that,” Gray said.
The man really did look like a tired hound dog, Diego thought. It was hard to imagine that he and Scarlet were related, even as distantly as a hundred and fifty years ago.
“I’m not a profiler, but every agent studies psychology at the academy,” Diego said. “And I’m not saying I know everything about our killer, much less his victim. But I do think we’ll discover that this woman is local.”
He ducked under the crime-scene tape. The medical examiner was by the body, hunched down with his back to them and his kit at his side, swabbing blood.
Dried leaves crunched under Diego’s feet as he approached, and the ME looked up. Diego was pleased to see it was Dr. Robert E. Fuller.
“Hey,” Fuller said. “Gray told me you were coming. I couldn’t tell how he felt about it. The man’s mind seemed to be in something of a gray zone.”
Diego smiled grimly at Fuller’s dry humor. “I’m not surprised,” he said. “What have we got here?”
“Female, as you know. I’d say twenty-five, maybe a little more. About five-six, weight about a hundred and thirty. There’s a lot of blood, but the hair looks to be medium brown.” He hesitated. “I can’t tell you about the eyes, though,” he said softly, “because they’re gone. She was killed at point-blank range. She was dead before he shot her in the face, though. The kill shot was to her abdomen. Huge hole, though, so I think she bled out quickly. For her sake, I hope so anyway. Take a look at the wrists—she was tied and dragged up here. She was wearing jeans, otherwise I’m sure her legs would show scratches from that, but you can see the evidence on her clothes. And she’s missi
ng one shoe—a white sneaker.”
Diego looked down toward where the road was, but he couldn’t see it from there. He turned and looked up toward the Conway Ranch. He couldn’t see the house or any of the buildings, because the trees and underbrush were so thick.
“Almost perfectly halfway between the road and the ranch,” he said.
“No one could see what happened from either direction,” Fuller said.
“No car left down on the road,” Diego said, “which supports your theory that she was dragged through the woods.”
“Yup,” Fuller agreed.
“Time of death?” Diego asked.
“Sometime late last night or very early this morning,” Fuller said. “I’d say between 11:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m.”
“Gray told us hikers found her. Do you know any details?”
“A young couple. The girl was so startled she fell and twisted her ankle. The boyfriend accompanied her to the hospital. They know you or one of the others will want to interview them.”
He would, of course, Diego thought. But he didn’t think they would be able to tell him much.
Their best lead would be getting her ID’d quickly, because the killer had known her. He was certain of it.
Maybe she had rejected him, so he’d wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt him. And he had to wonder... Was she yet another descendant of Nathan Kendall?
“Any idea what the murder weapon was?” Diego asked Fuller. “Antique?”
The ME was thoughtful for a minute. He looked past Diego to Gray, who was giving instructions to the crime-scene techs.
“Another Colt—a Walker model. It was the most powerful handgun out there until the invention of .357 Magnum,” Fuller told him. “He shot and killed her here, then picked up after himself. There were three shots. Maybe she squirmed, but he missed anything vital first—there was one bullet that just got her in the arm. I’ve gotten it out already, it will go to the lab. The second ripped through her abdomen like a cannon, which tells us more about the gun, as well. The third destroyed her face. I don’t have the second two bullets yet, but I do have the first, which is why I can be so confident of the weapon. It’s rare, if that helps you any.” He shrugged. “Sorry—I’m pretty sure of the gun, at any rate, because I’ve studied old weaponry. Hope that helps.”