“When I talked to Christine Franklin’s brother, he mentioned that she had gone on a date with his friend a while back, a guy named Joe Mush. No criminal record or problems, but I tracked him down to talk to him. He was at a trade show, confirmed by cameras, during the time of death for Sharon Lamber, and out of the country during time of death for Charlene Rox, so he’s not a suspect. But I wondered if he knew anything. Spoke to him about half an hour ago, and he did mention that Christine Franklin had just invested in a property. He’s an avid fisherman, so he asked her quite a few questions. I think he was hoping for an invite this coming spring.”
Laurel was out of her chair and around her desk in a moment. “Property? Why didn’t we find it?”
“It hasn’t closed yet. But he gave me the fishing stats for the river it’s next to, and I dug deep from there. Called two of the local realtors, and one pointed me in the right direction. I’m sending the coordinates to you right now.” Nester slapped the doorframe twice and turned to run back to his computer room.
Calling the realtors? That was brilliant. Laurel grabbed her heaviest coat off the hook, shoved her feet in her boots, and ran into the hallway. “Call Huck.”
“Already on it,” Nester yelled.
Could they find Christine? Laurel bustled down the stairs while drawing on the parka and yanking the gloves free of the pockets. She nearly collided with Huck as he opened the outside door.
“The Huey is on the ground refueling and will wait for us. Let’s go.” He ran to his truck while she did the same, and the five-minute drive to the small airport was made in silence.
Laurel was out of the truck before he’d slid to a complete stop, ducking her head and running full bore for the waiting chopper. The pilot was a gray-haired man wearing a Fish and Wildlife uniform, and he opened the back door for her, handing her a set of headphones. She shoved them on, settled into the leather seat, and waited as Huck jumped into the seat in front of her.
Within seconds, they were lifting into the air.
Her stomach dropped as it always did. Flying was not one of her comforts. Even so, she scooted as close to the window as possible, staring outside at the bright day. The sky was clear again, today a cerulean blue with the sun shining below on the sparkling snow. Beautiful and cold.
The pilot banked right, turning toward the mountains beyond the community church. They passed over a river and several creeks as well as summer cabins and picnic spots, all covered in white. All still and deathly silent in their beauty.
Huck showed the pilot his phone screen, and the pilot corrected, flying where the river emerged from the mountains again.
“We should be coming upon the property any second,” Huck said through the headphones.
Laurel pressed her nose against the window.
The trees cleared to a wide meadow along the river. Something red caught her eye, and she nudged Huck, pointing.
The pilot headed in that direction.
Dark red dots became visible in an oval pattern, much akin to the shape of an egg. The dots were faded and buried beneath layers of snow but still showed through from their vantage point high above. They were black dahlias. Laurel squinted to see better and her stomach lurched. In the middle of the flowers, beneath snow and ice, was the shape of a woman.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Laurel stood up to her knees in snow, feet away from the body. She’d gotten close enough to brush snow off the face, just to be sure.
Christine Franklin’s eyes were open in death, the color opaque through the ice. She’d been beaten around the head and face, and bone showed through her left cheek. Even so, she was identifiable.
Revulsion rolled through Laurel along with a rage comparable to the one no doubt experienced by the killer. Any murder was an abomination, but this one was brutal. “He beat her, but not as badly, and I can’t see if her hands are still attached.” There was a lack of blood around the body, so she hadn’t been killed right here. “He carried her out here and left her with the flowers.” She squinted to look from their location to the quiet cabin by the river, but too much snow had fallen and covered any footprints.
Huck snapped several photographs with his phone, keeping his distance, just in case there was any sort of clue beneath the snow or ice. “She’s really frozen.”
Laurel couldn’t stop looking at the naked body. Ice had formed over her, along with snow. “Too frozen?”
“Yes.” He crouched and leaned over to study the body. “I think he put her here and then brought water from the river to pour over her.” He knocked gently on the ice against the woman’s hip with his glove. Then he gently swept more snow away. “The hands aren’t here.”
Laurel looked back at the Huey, which had landed on the far side of the meadow. “Let’s check out the cabin.” The crime techs were more than an hour away, but they were coming along with Dr. Ortega. He wanted to see the scene this time as well.
“I’ll lead.” Huck eyed the distance from the body to the cabin. “Let’s walk parallel to where he probably walked, just in case.” Then he moved yards away from the body and started kicking a trail with his overlarge boots, his shoulders wide and broad beneath his jacket.
Laurel followed his tracks, listening for any signs of life in the vicinity. There was none. Only the sound of Huck moving. No animals, no rushing water, no wind.
Just silence and death.
She shivered and kept moving, feeling the chill to her soul. She sensed the weight of the body behind her.
Huck kept moving. “This does lead to an interesting question.”
