In The Arms Of The Law. Peggy MorelandЧитать онлайн книгу.
body at night. Otherwise, he’d risk being seen.”
“I can buy that,” he agreed.
She stepped to the edge of the water and frowned as she studied the moss-covered concrete ramp that stretched beyond the surface. “So what would he do?” she asked, thinking aloud, as she tried to slip into the mind of the perp. “Back his vehicle to the edge, as if he was going to put a boat into the water, then dump the body?” She cut her gaze to the pier. “Or would he carry it onto the dock and drop it over the side?”
“Depends on his physical condition. If our perp is in good shape, he’d probably carry the body to the end of the dock. The water’s deeper there. It would also save him from getting wet.”
She nodded her agreement.
“There’s also the possibility that he used a boat,” he reminded her. “He could have concealed the body in the hull prior to driving to the lake, put in here at the ramp, then shoved the body overboard once he was far enough away from the shoreline to avoid detection.”
“Yes, but we’ve already checked with the owners of the boats known to be on the water that night. Each was aware of the others’ presence and all agreed that theirs were the only boats on the lake. All three owners were questioned individually and their stories matched.”
“Then we go with the theory that the murderer dumped the body from the dock or shore.”
“For now.” She turned away. “You check the shoreline. I’ll take the dock.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, stopping her. “Any evidence left behind would’ve washed away or been destroyed by now.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Though she could tell by his expression that he considered the search a waste of time, he didn’t offer any more arguments. Surprised that he was cooperating with her for a change, she headed for the dock.
As she stepped onto the weathered surface, the barrels that supported it pitched beneath her weight. She gave herself a moment to adjust to the rolling movement, then walked slowly to the opposite end, casting her gaze from side to side. Long strands of slimy-looking vegetation swayed beneath the surface of the murky water, tugged by the current. She stifled a shudder. She loved swimming, but preferred man-made pools with concrete bottoms and chlorine-treated water over lakes, with all their aquatic vegetation and muddy base.
At the end of the dock, she squatted down and looked over the edge, trying to imagine the murderer’s movements if he’d chosen this particular method to dispose of the body. Several feet beneath the water’s surface, she caught a glimpse of a scrap of fabric snagged on one of the support posts.
Though she knew the chances of the fabric being torn from Lost Fortune’s clothing were slim, she pushed up a sleeve and reached to retrieve it. Just short of touching the water, she jerked her hand back to fist against her thigh. She gulped as she stared into the murky water. She wasn’t a sissy. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But she had a deathly fear of snakes, and water moccasins, one of Texas’s most poisonous snakes, made their homes in lakes and ponds.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she glanced Gabe’s way, thinking she’d ask him to retrieve the piece of cloth.
But if she did, she knew she would be exposing her fear of snakes and setting herself up to be on the receiving end of practical jokes from not only Gabe, but every guy on the force. Rubber snakes in her desk. Curled on the seat of her car. Stuffed into her mail slot. The possibilities were endless.
With a sigh of resignation, she shrugged off her blazer, leaving her arms bare, then drew in a deep breath and thrust her hand into the water. She shuddered in revulsion as long strands of weeds brushed against her fingers and wound around her arm. The colorful bit of fabric swayed inches from her fingertips, and she leaned farther over, straining to reach it.
“Just a little bit more,” she encouraged under her breath.
She heard a sharp popping sound and, at the same moment, felt the plank beneath her right knee give way. She only had time to draw in one shocked breath before the board broke and she was pitched headfirst into the water.
As she plunged downward, vegetation grabbed at her and slapped at her face. In her mind, each tendril was a snake, slithering over her skin. She wanted to scream, but the thought of swallowing even a teaspoon of the vile water kept the sound lodged in her throat.
Fear had her kicking hard and fighting her way back to the top. As she broke through the surface, she released the scream that burned in her throat. Sobbing, she clawed at the slime that clung to her arms and chest, while trying to remain afloat.
Something hard and flat slammed against the top of her head—a pressure she realized was Gabe’s hand a split second before he shoved her down under the water. She came up sputtering and slapping at him, blinded by the water in her eyes.
“Andi!” he shouted. “Relax! I’ve got you.”
Before she could tell him she wasn’t drowning, he hooked an arm beneath her chin and began to drag her toward shore. Once on the bank, he released her, dumping her unceremoniously in the mud and moss on the concrete boat ramp.
He dropped down next to her and blew out a long breath. “Lucky thing I was here,” he said. “Otherwise you might’ve drowned.”
Sprawled in mud and slime, she pushed up to her elbows and scowled at his back. “I wasn’t drowning, you idiot.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Then why the scream?”
Embarrassed that he’d heard that, she sat up and brushed at the weeds that clung to her slacks, avoiding his gaze. “I’m scared of snakes,” she admitted reluctantly.
He stared a moment, then hooted a laugh. “Hell, if there was a snake within a mile of you, you would’ve scared it away with all that flapping around you were doing.”
“Oh, right,” she snapped irritably. “I forget. You’re an Indian. You probably would’ve killed it with your tomahawk and made a headband or something out of its skin.”
She knew immediately by the stiffening of his shoulders that she’d said the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry,” she said with real regret. “I didn’t mean that.”
He pushed to his feet. “We better get out of these wet clothes.”
“Gabe, really. It was a stupid thing to say. I was just mad because I fell in the lake, and I took it out on you.”
“Forget it.” He offered her a hand. “Come on. Let’s go to my place and get cleaned up. I’ve got a washer and dryer.”
Though she’d have preferred a long soak in her own tub, the thought of the thirty-odd-minute drive back to town in muddy clothes made her reconsider. “All right,” she agreed and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “But I’m getting that piece of fabric off the post before I go anywhere.”
“I’ll get it.”
She knew she should insist upon retrieving it herself, to prove to him she wasn’t a coward. But the thought of going anywhere near that pier kept her lips sealed tight.
She watched him drop down on his stomach at the end of the pier and reach into the water. “Can you tell what it is?” she called as he pulled his arm out.
He stood and lifted the scrap of fabric for her to see. “Orange canvas from a life preserver. Judging by its rotted state, I’d say it’s been here for years.”
Her shoulders sagged in disappointment.
Another dead end.
Gabe seldom brought women to his house—and it wasn’t because he was ashamed of the place. The cedar-framed cabin might be rustic in design, but it had every modern convenience the tract homes in town offered, plus a few. It was owned by an elderly politician from Austin, who had