Chapter 9
Nine
Dan
I strap the bedroll holding a mat and sleeping bag behind Pudding’s saddle.
Both horses have been outfitted with saddlebags holding a few basic supplies for us and the horses, a set of dry clothes and shoes, an emergency kit, and everything Sloane will need to process the scene, including a few high-powered flashlights and a machete. My bedroll includes one of the lightweight pop-up tents the team uses when we’re on longer trips, and as an afterthought, I also loop a lightweight sleep-hammock around the horn of Will’s saddle.
I turn my head when I hear the storm door slam shut and just catch Sloane coming down the porch steps. Biting off a grin, I watch her walk toward me, a little bow-legged, as she tries to navigate Alex’s borrowed leather chaps. It had been Jonas’s suggestion—a good one—since we’ll be going through some rough terrain. This won’t be an easy trail ride.
“Shut your mouth,” she grumbles when she reaches me.
“I didn’t say a word,” I point out.
I notice she opted out of a western hat and chose a Tilley hat instead, which is better than the ball cap she was wearing when she showed up. At least the floppy hat will give her better coverage from the sun.
“You didn’t have to,” she mutters. “I could read you loud and clear.”
I guess being a single mother does little to improve one’s morning mood. Sloane never was a morning person, to my recollection.
“Did you manage to have a coffee this morning?” I carefully inquire.
“Barely half a cup.”
I hand her the thermos I prepped earlier and point at the neoprene sleeve I fit over her saddle horn.
“It stays pretty hot.”
I get a mumbled thanks as she fits the thermos into the sleeve.
“Are you ready to roll?”
“Yep. Let’s get this over with,” is her reply.
I give her a hand mounting Pudding, which can be a bit tricky with all the extra gear, and then I grab my saddle horn and swing up on Will.
“Show-off,” she mutters under her breath before clucking her tongue to prompt Pudding into motion.
I follow closely behind as we make our way past the ranch house. We’ll take the trail to the river, but this time we’ll stay to this side of the water. I looked over some satellite images with Sully last night, and it’s easier to cross a bit farther north, where we’re closer to the mouth of Pointer Creek and the vegetation on that side of the river is a bit less dense.
It’s early and the sun is still coming up. The golden light hits the mist rising off the river and makes the dew covering the grass sparkle. It’s a pretty picture, one I catch Sloane capturing with her phone.
I can tell from the chill in the air, we’re getting closer to fall. The nights are cooler and the days are definitely getting shorter. Some of the trees are even starting to turn and pretty soon the endless green of the mountains will be filling with deep reds and rich golds. Fall is my favorite time of year. Mother Nature’s last colorful abundance before winter turns the mountains dull.
I have a two-way radio—a Motorola Talkabout—with a thirty-five-mile radius, which does double duty as an off-grid locator if something happens. It should also allow for Sully to track us on satellite from the computer at the office, and he’ll be able to alert us to any obstacles ahead and suggest alternate routes.
The plan is for us to call in around noon to check in with the rest of the team and strategize based on our progress. We’re hoping to make it to the location sometime midafternoon, in which case Sloane has several hours of daylight to do what she needs to. We’ll then camp down and the team will set up at the top of the rock face in the morning, so they can bring up the body. Sheriff Ewing will be with them, as will the county coroner to take possession of the remains.
Will is used to riding up front so he passed Pudding and took the lead a while back. I check over my shoulder to make sure Sloane is still behind me. She hasn’t said a word since we left the ranch, and I let her be, giving her a chance to get a bit more caffeine in her system. Pudding is just a few paces behind, and I hold Will back to allow her to pull up beside me.
“We should probably cross here,” I suggest, pointing at a sandbar in the middle of the river. “Pointer Creek is not far up ahead, but the river is deeper there. This is easier.”
“Okay.”
“We can probably stay dry from here to the bank, but if you look on the other side, the water moves faster and is therefore likely deeper, so there’s a small chance we’ll get wet.”
“I’m not scared of a bit of water.”
I’m not sure she realizes how uncomfortable it can be, spending a day in the saddle in damp clothes, but I don’t think it would stop her if she knew.
“I’m sure you’re not. Which reminds me, going back out on that cliff by yourself wasn’t exactly a smart move. You should’ve let me know.”
Her eyes spark fire and two red spots form high on her cheeks.
“This again? I was doing my job and can take care of myself.”
This is Sloane’s stubborn streak coming out, and I can’t let it go. I know she has a chip on her shoulder, and I get where it comes from, but it’s time to let it go.
“Policing and investigating is. Wilderness tracking and search and rescue is mine,” I point out. “I’m happy to let you do yours, if you’ll let me do mine.”
With that, I nudge Will into the river, listening for the splash of Pudding’s hooves following.
Sloane
Dear God, if I get attacked by one more mosquito I’m going to scream.
What’s even worse, they don’t appear to affect Dan. I swear they’re devoting their full and undivided attention on me alone.
“How in tarnation is it they do not bother you?” I question for the umpteenth time.
Dan grins and shakes his head, annoying me even more.
“Where do they all come from anyway? I didn’t notice any up on the trail.”
“We’re next to a creek, in a gorge where the sun only reaches a couple of hours a day. This is mosquito heaven.”
I swat at another persistent swarm clouding around my head, and dig my bottle of Skin So Soft out of the saddlebag.
I notice Dan watching with a smirk on his face.
“What?”
“I told you; you need DEET.”
I angrily spray myself before twisting my body to face him.
“I will have you know that studies have shown Skin So Soft is eighty-five-percent effective.”
My ass is sore, I have bug bites covering every inch of exposed skin, and my feet are still wet in my damn boots. To top it off, I’ve needed to pee for the past two hours but am afraid if I pull down my pants, I’ll only create a fresh new target for the freaking skeeters.
I’m not in the mood, but that doesn’t appear to deter Dan. He once again seems to have an answer ready.
“You mean eighty-five-percent as effective as DEET, which makes DEET still the better choice. I’ve read the study.”
He reaches back to pull his own can of bug repellant from his bag and leans over.
My glare has zero impact on him as he patiently waits me out, making me feel like a petulant child. Of course I give in, I don’t really have a choice or I’ll look like an even bigger ass.
I’m just so damn miserable and the thought of spending the night away from my baby isn’t helping.
“This stuff stinks,” I can’t resist pointing out.
It’s the main reason I didn’t want to use it in the first place.
“The mosquitos think so too.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
Instead of answering, Dan suddenly tilts his head back and seems to be peering up through the trees. Abruptly he pulls back on his reins, bringing Will to a halt. Then he looks back at me with a grin, and points up.
“Look up. Remember the arrow I painted? We’re here.”
The first thing I do when we dismount is run into the bushes and shove down my pants.
At this point, I have zero inhibitions.
Relieved beyond belief, I join Dan, who has removed the gear and the saddles from the horses, and is spanning a rope between two trees.
The spot he chose to set up camp is a small clearing at the edge of the creek. I remember seeing it from above.
“What can I do?”
“Get out of those wet boots. You brought dry socks and running shoes, right?”
“Yes, I packed everything Sully told me to.”
“Let me finish getting the horses settled and I’ll do the same. Then let’s go to work.”
I glance in the approximate direction I believe the body to be and suppress a shudder. As much as I’m eager to get some answers, I’m not looking forward to it.
Ten minutes later, I follow Dan’s broad back into the trees. My feet are dry, my bladder is blissfully empty, and—although I hate to admit it—the bugs are finally leaving me alone. I try to keep my eyes fixed somewhere between his shoulder blades, but it’s a bit of a challenge since his ass is a sight to behold in those well-ridden Wranglers.
Heck, my own jeans are molded to my butt in a way that feels like they’re tattooed on. Not a surprise after being in the saddle for almost nine hours. I’m feeling it too and it’ll probably feel worse in the morning, but for now, I’m glad to be walking.
When we reach the base of the rock wall, I tilt my head back and spot the arrow up above. That means the body is somewhere to our left. When I glance in that direction, my view is blocked by a large boulder.
I tentatively sniff the air, but I can’t smell much beyond the aroma of damp earth and pine. No scent of decay, which confirms what I already suspected; the body has been down here for a while, which is easier to deal with. Still, I feel a bit guilty at the surge of relief. It doesn’t matter how long the body has been down here, it was a person once.
“You lead,” Dan says, gesturing for me to pass him.
As soon as I find my way to the other side of the boulder, I spot the flat rock, and the yellow coat caught on it. I stop and lift my camera, snapping pictures as I slowly move toward it.
“Look up there,” Dan says, tapping on my shoulder as he points at a jagged rock jutting out from the wall about fifteen feet up.
A little strip of yellow fabric is stuck to the end. I lift my camera and take a few shots.
Because of the position of the body, my assumption had been that they came from above—either fallen or pushed—but this is actual evidence in support of that theory.
“I can get up there and collect it, if you want,” he offers.
“That would be helpful after I’m done processing.”
Which will never happen if I don’t get my ass in gear. Snapping pictures to avoid what is the most important piece of evidence is not moving things along. I take in a fortifying breath and finally focus my attention on the body.
From this distance, I can see the hand is almost skeletonized, but I can’t see much of the rest of the body. I keep snapping pictures as I approach, creating an artificial barrier from the horrific vision through my viewfinder.
I’m pretty sure the body is female from the clumps of long hair that cling to the skull, but also the clothing still covering parts of her. That is, the parts that remain. One of her legs looks to be wedged between the boulder and the rock face, but the other leg is missing. Her head is actually separated from the rest of her body. It’s clear at some point animals were at her.
“Jesus,” I hear Dan mumble behind me.
I swallow the bile down and grit my teeth as I force my mind to focus on details and not the horror of the whole picture. I need to be as meticulous as I can in processing the evidence so I don’t miss anything.
Even though I’ve had some training, the occasions where I’ve had to use my acquired skills were far and few between. I’m not a crime scene, or forensics tech, and neither am I a coroner, but we don’t have the luxury of a team with all those specialties at our fingertips here.
Speed is of the essence in collecting and preserving the body and any related evidence, when a scene is exposed to outside elements. Hell, even a late summer rain or a good stiff wind could wash away something that might’ve been key evidence in solving this case.
So, although it’s not ideal, the job is on me and I have to do the best I can.
For the next while, I forget time and any signals my body is sending. I’m so immersed in the work, I don’t notice we’re losing daylight until Dan turns on one of the flashlights to help me see what I’m doing.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“How much longer do you figure?” he asks. “It won’t take long to get completely dark down here and these lights may not be enough. We also still have to set up camp.”
Shit. I’d forgotten about that.
“Okay, okay. I’d like to get her into the body bag, along with the evidence bags, but I’ll need your help for that.”
I’ve taken pictures of every conceivable angle, I’ve collected every little scrap of what looked like it might be evidence I could find, and there really isn’t much more I can do.
The task of getting the remains in the body bag is by far the most unpleasant one. There isn’t a whole lot holding her together, other than perhaps connective tissues and her clothes, but we manage to get the job done.
“Any idea how long she’s been down here?” Dan wants to know when I zip her securely inside the bag.
“It’ll take the coroner to figure that one out more accurately, but given she was wearing a winter jacket, I’d guess at least five or six months. I found a receipt in the jacket pocket dated January twenty-first of this year, so some time after that.”
“Nothing else to identify her?”
“Only the receipt, which is from a gas station in Pablo.”
Pablo is a small town with a largely Native American population near the Pablo National Wildlife Refuge. It’s also the seat of government for the Flathead Indian Reservation.
The girl’s hair is very dark, she could be Native American, but Pablo is a good two-and-a-half to three-hour drive from here. How would she have ended up here?
“I want to get a call in to Junior,” I mention. “See if there are any young girls reported missing from that area.”
“You’re sure she’s young?”
“Pretty sure. Based on her clothes and the unicorn charm she had clipped to the zipper of her jacket. Probably not much older than Chelsea Littleton.”
“Fuck,” he curses. “That can’t be a coincidence.”
Nope. I’d bet my life coincidence doesn’t play into it. Chelsea and this girl may not be the only victims either.
I glance around at the deepening shadows and shiver involuntarily.
Who knows what else is hiding out there?