I studied the blade with a frown. “There’s no brand on this knife.”
“We think the murderer made it himself, or had it custom made. It’s…unique.”
I nodded. “That would be my guess considering the lack of branding and the extensive embellishment on it. Whoever made it is talented.” The last was said to myself more than Owen. I reached down into my bag and grabbed my own camera. Even though the deputies already took their photos, I wanted my own. I wanted to make sure I got the depth of the blade, angle of penetration, as well as the body’s positioning. The knife could be jostled during transportation to my funeral home and that would throw off my autopsy results.
Taking a picture of the blade in his chest, I tilted my head and studied it. “There’s something written in the steel.”
Owen moved closer and leaned in to look. “Can’t make out what it says.”
“Too much is buried in his chest. I’ll make sure to let you know once I pull it out during autopsy.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you take fingerprints?”
“Yeah, his name’s Dan Channing. Lives over in Boise according to his license.”
“What’s he doing here?” I wondered out loud. “Taking a vacation doesn’t usually end in murder. Or involve Sentinel for that matter.”
“That’s what I’m going to try to find out.”
I continued my examination of the body, speaking into my recorder and taking photos as I needed. “I’m just about done,” I told Owen, forty-five minutes later. Twilight had set in, so I pulled my flashlight out of my bag to make it easier to see inside the interior of the vehicle.
“Perfect,” he said, jerking his head toward the road. “Looks like the tow truck is finally here. I’m going to go speak to Scott.Let him know where to drop this vehicle off at. Then we’ll get the body onto the stretcher and into the van.”
Owen had one of the deputies drop off the removal van—the vehicle they transported bodies in—once he’d realized someone was in the SUV. “I can bring you back out for your Tahoe afterward,” I offered.
He grinned at me as he walked backward toward the set of lights. “Thanks Rae. I appreciate that.”
Turning back to the SUV, I leaned in to check the knife’s positioning one last time. A shout had my head jerking up and I spun and gasped as I heard a gunshot and watched Owen crumple to the ground. “Oh my God!”
I ducked down below the hood of the SUV. That wasn’t Scott’s tow truck. It was coming closer toward where I was hiding behind the vehicle. My eyes darted to where Owen was still lying, motionless. “Please don’t be dead,” I whispered. I ran to the back of the SUV and waited until the truck passed, then did a crouch run over to the removal van.
A quick look inside told me the keys weren’t in the ignition. Owen probably had them in his pocket. I tried the radio but it apparently wouldn’t work without having the keys. Not that it was a good idea to turn the vehicle on to get the radio going anyway. I ran toward Owen, praying I wasn’t going to find him dead. I added a quick prayer in there that I wasn’t about to get shot in the back.
“Fuck! That’s three now,” an angry male voice shouted.
The sun was down and as long as I moved quietly, the rapidly darkening skies would work in my favor.
“Who the fuck keeps offing our damn people?” another voice asked. “Dolan’s going to be pissed. This fucker was supposed to bring this shipment back to Boise and give it to Smitty.”
“Shit. The shipment.”
I stopped next to Owen, kneeling in the dirt and checking for a pulse. My flashlight was still in my hand, though I’d turned it off as soon as I heard the shot. Sighing in relief as Owen’s pulse thrummed against my fingers, I thought about what to do. I couldn’t pull him off the road because then they’d know someone was out here. And I wasn’t sure I could move him on my own anyway. Owen was a big man.
Grabbing his radio from his belt, I squinted down at it. He’d shown me as soon as he took over as sheriff how to use it and how to call for help. That was something Denison—the former sheriff—had never bothered to do, and Ainsley hadn’t been sheriff long enough for her to think of it. The radio was already on, but I turned it down. Pushing the red button at the top, I spun the dial. Owen had explained that doing that would put the distress call out onto all channels.
I pressed the radio to my ear, flicking through the channels until I heard the sheriff office dispatcher calling out to whoever had put the call out. I pressed the button and whispered into the mic I’d taken off of Owen’s shoulder. “This is Raeleen Moore. I’m out at the old covered bridge off Warren Road with Sheriff Ward. Some men showed up and shot Owen.”
I was watching the men rip through the SUV, looking for something, whatever the driver had been carrying, as I spoke. I released the button on the radio and listened as the dispatcher put the call out to the others. Deputies began answering that they were on their way.
My heart was hammering against my chest because even though help was on the way, they were at least fifteen minutes out, even going as fast as they could. There was no way the four men who’d crawled out of the truck were going to be busy with that SUV for that long. I looked around, frantically thinking about what I should do.
I couldn’t leave Owen out here on the road. He was bleeding, though it looked like the bullet had just grazed his temple, but he was out like a light. If I left him on the road they could shoot him again, or run him over. I clipped his radio to his belt, then put my flashlight in the empty loop I found next to it.
There was no other choice. I stood slowly and grasped him under the arms. My father had shown me and my brothers how to do a cradle drag way back in the day. My brothers had laughed at me hysterically as I tried to drag their huge asses even a few feet across our yard. Hooking my elbows under his arm pits, I began to pull and yank on him.
My relief was instantaneous as I began to drag him inch by inch off the road. It was slow going. Even if I could have done it quickly—which was impossible because Owen weighed a ton—I’d need to go slow so I didn’t catch the men’s attention. I was huffing and puffing long before I managed to drag him over to where the land began to slope downward toward the river. As soon as we hit that spot things went a little faster and I dragged him down under the bridge.
