The Alvarez & Pescoli Series. Lisa JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
whose cubicle was on the other side of the partition from Pescoli’s, was already stuffing her hair into a cap as she hurried down the hallway between the desks to catch up with the rest of the little posse.
Through the open door of Grayson’s office, Sturgis poked his head into the hallway and gave a nervous little bark.
“Stay!” Grayson ordered as his dog started to put a paw outside the office. In a gentler voice, Grayson said, “I’ll be back soon, boy.”
With a dejected look, the Lab turned around and, casting a final woebegone glance over his shoulder, eased back into the office, where a dog bed filled with cedar shavings was tucked not far from a heat register.
Pescoli grabbed her jacket, purse and pistol. “Jillian Rivers?” she asked as she followed the sheriff.
Grayson nodded sharply. “Looks like the bastard got to her. Same MO.”
“Poor woman.” Pescoli couldn’t imagine the terror that must’ve been the victim’s companion as she was forced to walk naked through the forest and, unable to fight, was bound to a tree to face the elements. “Who found her?”
“A couple out hiking called it in. They found her in a clearing up near Cougar Pass. A dead woman roped to a tree, just like the others. Scared them spitless.” Grayson’s eyes were haunted, guilt and frustration evident in the lines around the corners of his mouth. “We were just too damned late to save her.”
No one tried platitudes.
As they strode through the building, their boots treading heavy on the flooring, he said to Brewster, “Call the state police. See if they can put up some helicopters to view the surrounding area, take pictures, see what they can come up with before a new storm hits.”
Pescoli added, “Have them make note of any cabins where smoke is rising from the chimneys. They’re out of power up in that area, and if our killer is around, he’ll need some kind of heat.”
“He might have a generator.”
“Then he’s buying fuel for it somewhere, propane or diesel, and lots of it.”
“We’ve already got calls into distributors in a hundred-mile radius,” Alvarez said.
“Then have choppers look for disturbances in the snow. See if it’s melted around any of the cabins that are supposed to be vacant. Generators give off exhaust and heat and noise. Maybe someone’s heard one running that shouldn’t be. And let’s bring out the dogs. Maybe they can finally get a hit or lead us to where the bastard is.” Grayson shoved open the glass door so hard, it banged against the building.
The sun was nearly blinding. Beams dazzled and bounced off the mantle of white, while the chain on the flagpole clanged in the wind that caused the Stars and Stripes to wave. Clumps of snow shuddered and fell from branches of trees planted near the parking lot.
Pescoli unlocked her Jeep and slid behind the wheel while Alvarez climbed into the passenger side. Regan was battling a slight hangover from one too many margaritas and not much sleep. Since Jeremy spent the night at his friend’s house, Pescoli had spent a lot of hours with Nate.
All of them worth it.
That man had a way of turning her inside out. Of course they’d ended up in bed; they always did. And though the lovemaking put a smile on Pescoli’s face, there was sometimes a hangover to dim the glow. This morning she didn’t have time to remember the way Nate’s muscular legs stretched out over hers, or how he grabbed the cheeks of her butt as he pulled her close to him. At least not now. Her concentration had to be sharp and on the damned murders.
She slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose and, following Grayson’s rig, drove out of the lot and into the hills.
“Did you have a chance to see the paper today?” Alvarez asked as they drove past the “Welcome to Grizzly Falls” sign on the north end of town.
“Something interesting?”
“You might say, and the reason Grayson’s on a tear.”
“Something more than finding dead women lashed to trees in his jurisdiction?”
“Someone leaked details to the press.”
“What?” Pescoli couldn’t believe it. “What details? They already reported that the cars had been wrecked, probably shot at.”
“Now they know about the notes. Not all the details, but that the victims were tied to trees, a star carved over their heads. Before, there wasn’t any mention of the notes.”
Pescoli’s fingers tightened over the wheel and the headache at the base of her neck began to throb. One of the advantages the sheriff’s department had was knowing the true nature of the crimes, of keeping details out of the press, so they could sort out the real culprit from the nutcases who wanted their fifteen minutes of fame. Up in this neck of the woods, there were plenty of idiots who might want a bit of notoriety by claiming participation in the killings.
“Who talked?”
Alvarez snorted. “Unknown at this time. But my money’s on Ivor Hicks. That guy can’t keep his mouth shut.”
“I know we can’t get through to Ivor, but maybe his family can.”
“He’s only got a son, and I think Bill tries to keep his distance from the old man. Wouldn’t you?”
“I’d move away,” Pescoli said.
“Would you?” Alvarez shook her head. “People stay where they want to. Near family, even if it’s not that great.”
Pescoli thought about it. She was still in the same town as her ex. Maybe Alvarez had a point. Or did she? “You moved.”
“Yeah, well, the job opportunities where I grew up were limited.”
“Not like here in Grizzly Falls.” Pescoli turned off the main road and started along the uphill grade leading into the mountains.
Alvarez didn’t respond, but that didn’t surprise Pescoli. Her partner was always touchy whenever her family was mentioned. She’d never discussed it with Pescoli, but it was obvious there was bad blood in that family. Real bad.
“So someone’s got to keep Ivor from spouting off to the press.”
“If it was Ivor.”
“Who else?” Pescoli asked.
“Now there’s an interesting question,” Alvarez stated. “Who else indeed? Anyway, the point is, someone did the honors and Grayson is not amused.”
“I’ll bet.” Pescoli kept the sheriff’s Suburban in sight while half-listening to the police-band conversation crackling over the hum of the Jeep’s engine as it climbed the steep mountain road, tires digging into the sanded, packed snow. Tree trunks, flanking the side of the road, were obscured by mounds of ice and snow that had been tossed to the side by the heavy blades of the plows that worked these hills.
They passed no cars as the convoy of vehicles headed to the latest killing ground.
Pescoli tried to picture this part of Cougar Pass, about fifteen miles out of town. It was accessible only by an old mining road, which was buried in snow but protected enough that they would be able to trudge the hundred yards to the spot where the body had been left.
“We’re gonna need boots and shovels today,” she said. “This guy sure likes distant locales.”
Tramping through drifts of snow that rose above her knees, Alvarez thought of her siblings, how, years ago, they had all prayed for a huge snowstorm, a snow day. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen too often in Woodburn, Oregon.
Field agents from the FBI arrived as she was signing in at the crime scene, which had been secured by Pete Watershed, the first detective to arrive. As a group, they made their way down the snowy road and saw, as the hiking couple had