Chapter 2
Tessa
My next investment is going to be a good pair of rubber boots.
I look down at what remains of the three-hundred-dollar Italian leather riding boots I gave myself for my birthday when I turned forty-five last December. An extravagant gift, but I felt I deserved it after the year I’d had. Sadly, they’re no more than clumps of caked mud now.
Serves me right for thinking they’d be appropriate footwear for traipsing around the woods after an overnight deluge.
By the time I got up here, it had stopped raining, but the conditions were dismal. Thank goodness for the four-wheel drive and the high clearance on my Jeep Grand Cherokee, otherwise I’d surely have gotten stuck halfway up the mountain.
I’m not quite sure what I hoped to accomplish up here anyway. We already thoroughly searched the immediate area where the Mustang was found for any evidence or signs of a body, but came up empty.
Last night was the first time in a long time I did something fun for myself—no work, no kids, having a few drinks and laughing lots with Brenda—but this morning, when I woke up at four, the full weight of the investigation landed back on my shoulders.
So I got dressed, left a note for the boys who were still sleeping, and came up here in a last-ditch effort to find something tangible; a fresh lead for me to follow.
The report we got back from the state police forensics lab earlier in the week did not provide a lot of new information.
They’d been able to lift one good palm print from the inside of the passenger side door of the Mustang, but there was no hit when they ran it through AFIS.
The one bit of new information I gleaned from the report was that the blood belonged to a male.
None of it actually moved my investigation forward, which is why I decided to go back to the beginning. I should’ve picked a better day for it, and maybe worn some better footwear.
Using a nearby tree trunk to hold on to, I pull my foot free from the suction of the mud so I can continue my wild-goose chase.
My plan had been to venture out a little farther and make my way to the canyon that runs almost parallel to the logging road.
I’d noticed it looking at Google Satellite images of the area.
I could see someone tossing a body over the edge to get rid of it. I’m not saying that’s what happened, but the possibility was enough for me to want to go check it out.
It’s wet and miserable, and I’m chilled to the bone, but despite second-guessing myself every two seconds, I trudge on. Every so often I stop to listen, thinking I hear something rustling, but it’s just residual water from the tree canopy dripping down.
Perhaps I should’ve asked one of the deputies to come with me. The extra set of eyes and ears would have been nice. As would the company, it feels pretty lonely out here. I try not to think of any wildlife I might encounter, but vow to add bear spray to the rubber boots on my list.
I notice the trees thinning out as the sun starts breaking through the gray clouds, and maybe fifty yards or so up ahead they disappear altogether. I’ve reached the edge of the canyon.
Not a fan of heights, I proceed with caution.
The last thing I need is slipping on the wet rock and landing at the bottom.
God knows how long it would take them to find me.
All I told Brenda last night was that I’d be following up on some things today, so no one knows I came up here, and I already know from our earlier searches there is no cell reception.
Boy, another questionable decision to add to my collection. For someone who is usually sharp and levelheaded, I’m certainly off my game.
I lower myself to hands and knees, feeling safer that way as I approach the edge. My stomach lurches when I peek over and see the sheer drop of the rock face stretching down to the floor of the canyon below.
Then I notice a flash of red at the base of the deep gorge and a fraction later I see the body. It registers like a punch in the stomach.
There he is.
The first thing that stands out is the red baseball cap looks out of place.
Probably because I’m hard-pressed to believe the person who left all that blood in the Mustang would still be wearing a ball cap.
That person wouldn’t have been able to walk the close to a quarter mile it takes to get here, so would have had to be carried or dragged here.
The likelihood the victim would still have had the cap on after that is slim, so it was probably tossed down after him by the killer.
Or killers, because I seriously doubt one person could’ve managed to haul the victim this distance.
My mind spins, plucking at all the bits of information in an attempt to stretch them into a working theory.
Definitely more than one person involved and probably a second vehicle as well. It would explain how whoever abandoned the Mustang up here would’ve gotten back down to civilization.
Pulling out my phone, I notice there are no bars, but I wasn’t expecting any. I need my phone to take pictures. Granted, I can’t see a whole lot from up here, but before I go back to call in assistance, I want to make sure to capture exactly what it is I found.
Using the phone camera’s limited zoom, I manage to get a slightly closer view of the body.
He’s face down, the longish brown hair is covering his features.
The only thing I can see is part of his jawline.
He looks clean shaven and young. The slouchy jeans halfway down his behind add to that youthful impression.
I can’t see his feet or any shoes he might be wearing, those are hidden by some underbrush, but I can make out the word Obey on the back of the black hoodie the victim is wearing. I recognize the name of the clothing brand, popular with youth. Linc has one of their sweatshirts.
I snap a good number of pictures, carefully moving along the top of the ridge to get as many angles as I can.
Satisfied I’ve covered as much as I can from up here, I cautiously move back from the edge and get to my feet.
Then I take a few shots of my surroundings to mark the area, and pull the scarf from my neck, tying it around the bottom branch of a nearby tree to pinpoint the location.
The trek back to the logging road is no easier, but it doesn’t feel quite as long. I’m too busy processing what I saw and the steps I need to take next.
My first call, once I drive far enough down the mountain to pick up a signal, is to Deputy Sheriff Hugo Alexander.
“It’s Tessa. I found the body,” I blurt out breathlessly.
“Whoa. Body? Back up a little.”
I briefly explain where I am and why, before launching into a description of the scene I found.
“Jesus,” Hugo mutters. “What do you need?”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to get to the victim where he is now without some serious assistance. We’re gonna need a trained recovery team. Where the body landed is a long way down, and I don’t know if there is a better way to access the location than from the ledge.”
“Let me make some calls. Are you heading back to the site or are you on your way to the station?”
“Station. I’m happy to go back and wait for a team, but I’m going to need some dry clothes and decent waterproof boots first.”
“I’m sure we’ve got some spare gear here, and I have an extra pair of boots in the back of my cruiser. I hope you have big feet.”
“I’m a size nine.”
“Savvy may have a pair in her locker. I’ll get Brenda to look and ask her to put on a fresh pot as well. I’ll pull up satellite images in the meantime so you can show me the precise location when you get here.”
Savvy is Edwards County Sheriff Savannah Colter, who is currently on family leave after giving birth to a baby boy last month.
My feet are still sopping in my socks when I exit the Jeep in the station parking lot.
I catch myself stealing a glance at the auto shop across the roof of my vehicle.
Clem Tanek’s business is housed in the old fire station behind the sheriff’s office, making it almost impossible to avoid seeing the man.
I’m a big girl, I can handle rejection, but I’d rather not risk getting shut down again, so I try to avoid contact altogether.
But it’s not Clem I see working inside the shop…
That looks like my son.
Clem
“See for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
I shake my head and try not to grin at the kid’s attitude as I slide under the Toyota Corolla to check his handiwork.
God knows I was full of piss and vinegar at that age, angry at everything and everyone, including myself.
He surprised me when he showed up at eight o’clock on the money this morning. He’d scoffed when I handed him a broom, but went to work sweeping the shop anyway, as instructed. A few times I saw him checking out what Kyle was working on, asking a couple of questions.
He appeared to have a healthy interest, so I had him try an oil change on the Toyota. It’s a pretty simple job anyone with half a braincell could do, but I wanted to see how well he’d follow instructions.
It only took him twenty minutes, which is why I reacted a bit skeptically, but it looks like he actually did a good job.
“Okay, kid. This wasn’t your first oil change, was it?” I ask as I roll out from under the vehicle.
He shrugs and looks a little smug.
“Took shop at my old school.”
I nod and wipe my hands on the rag I keep tucked in my back pocket.
“Other than an oil change, what else did they teach you?”
“Change out filters, spark plugs, belts, battery, that kind of stuff. Before the summer we took apart the engine of a 1986 Chevy C/K truck and put it back together. It ran,” he adds with more than a hint of pride.
“Is that a fact?”
He shrugs again. That seems to be his go-to response.
“Well, for today, all I’ve got for you is oil and filter changes. Five more of them, if you think you can handle it.”
“Yeah, I can.”
I swear he straightens his narrow shoulders a little when he answers me.
“Good.”
I start heading back to the Ford truck I’m putting the catalytic converter back into when I hear him call after me.
“Umm, sir?”
I stop and look back at him. “Name’s Clem, kid. Use it. What’s up?”
“How long do you figure I’ll be here?”
“Why? You got something more important to do?”
The shrug again.
“Until the end of the workday. And then I expect you back here next Saturday, and the Saturday after.”
His mouth falls open. “Are you serious?”
I walk up to him, wag my index finger in his face, and respond in a low voice, “As a heart attack. Do you know what I charge for the work you caused me? Between fifteen hundred and two grand. Per vehicle,” I emphasize. “It’ll take more than a handful of oil changes to repay me, kid.”
I read the shock on his face before his typical teenage mask of disinterest slides back into place. Then comes the shoulder shrug, followed by, “Whatever.”
Not that having him come here on his Saturdays is really about any kind of repayment, it’s an attempt to keep him from getting into other shit, and maybe offer him a chance to learn something and build some confidence.
Just as I turn my back, I hear him mumble, “And my name is Remi.”
Without looking around I return, “So noted, kid. So noted.”
With only the occasional clang of metal or buzz of power tools, and the steady beat of classic rock on the radio in the background, I lose track of time for a while, focused on the job at hand.
“Clem, incoming,” I hear Manuel call out when I’m about to get into the now fixed F-150 to return it to the back lot.
Turning around, I catch sight of her right away. Angry vibes reach clear across the parking lot, as her hair flies around her head and her boots march determinedly in this direction.
Tessa Androtti is one fine-looking woman, even pissed-off. I have to admit though, she’s a bit intimidating.
“Remington James Androtti, mind telling me why the hell you’re loafing around here when you’re supposed to be at home doing homework and chores?” she snaps, stopping almost nose to nose with her son.
I almost feel sorry for the kid.
“Well? What are you doing here?” she prompts.
The kid turns toward me with pleading eyes.
“He’s not really loafing around,” I correct her. “He’s actually working pretty hard.”
Her brown eyes snap in my direction and I can feel the chill in them. Damn, she really doesn’t like me much, does she?
“What do you mean—working?”
“Started today,” I share. “Kid showed up last week, was in the market for a part-time job, and I could use the extra hands, so I gave him one. Is there a problem?”
She looks back at her boy.
“You never told me you were looking for work.”
Remi shrugs. “You never asked.”
I bite off a grin. The kid recovers quickly and flashes some attitude.
His mother harrumphs, narrowing her eyes on him and then on me. The woman is law enforcement, she can probably smell something fishy a mile away, but I’m not about to throw the kid under the bus.
“Fine. Saturdays only,” she orders. “But from here on in you better have your homework done Friday night, and your chores before the end of the weekend. Understood?”
“Whatever,” is Remi’s casual response.
Tessa’s effort not to react is almost palpable, but she manages to shrug it off as she focuses on me.
“I just had a new development on a case and am up to my eyeballs, so I have to run, but I’ll be back. I think you and I need to have a word.”
I spread my arms. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
She huffs and turns on her heel, marching back toward the sheriff’s station, those generous hips swaying in her mud-caked jeans.
Definitely not a fan of mine, but I probably deserve it. I screwed up the first time I clapped eyes on her.
It was at Savvy and Nate’s wedding; I was having a drink and talking football with Jacob Kerrigan, Randy Nichols, and Larry Pierce, when this blond bombshell I’d noticed all afternoon walked right up to me.
She never even said a word, just grabbed my hand, bold as can be, and started dragging me to the dance floor.
It frankly startled the shit out of me and, also, I don’t dance. Couldn’t keep a beat if they paid me, and the last time I ventured out on a dance floor was at my damn high school prom, and I’ve never lived that spectacle down.
I probably could’ve handled things better than leaving her standing by herself on the dance floor without a word. What can I say? I’m not exactly a smooth operator at the best of times, but even for me, that was pretty rude and insensitive.
I thought about apologizing, but to what end? She probably wouldn’t thank me for bringing up the incident, and besides, that woman is well out of my league and I know it.