Chapter 2
Deschutes County sheriff’s detective Noelle Marshall knew she was in the right place when she spotted the two Eagle’s Nest police vehicles on the road’s shoulder.
There were also two county sheriff SUVs, a county crime scene vehicle, and the medical examiner’s black van, but no people in sight.
She parked and swapped out her expensive leather boots for the rubber ones she kept in her new county Tahoe and headed up the soft dirt road to find some warm bodies.
And one cold body.
After a few minutes, she spotted yellow crime scene tape and a deputy.
“Detective,” he said as Noelle greeted him, and he logged her name. “Everyone’s that way.” He pointed to the right.
“That your bike?” she joked, pointing at the faded red frame on its side a few yards away.
He grinned. “Belongs to the teenager who found the body,” he said. “She was out here collecting cans.”
Noelle nodded and wondered if it was the same young woman on a bike with a trash bag over her shoulder whom she’d seen near her new house.
Noelle had moved into a home a few miles from the current crime scene less than a month ago.
She’d sold her place in Bend—well, it was still on the market.
People weren’t eager to buy a house where a shooting had taken place.
Noelle couldn’t live in it anymore since her friend Savannah had nearly lost her life there, and her blood had soaked into the carpet.
Replacing the carpet hadn’t changed how she felt about the home.
Noelle had purchased a large house on several acres outside of Eagle’s Nest. Her commute to work in Bend was longer and the property was too big, but she’d fallen in love with the place the first time she’d walked inside.
It was a few years old, built by a San Francisco CEO who’d planned to escape the big city and telecommute but discovered the town of Eagle’s Nest was a little too rustic for him.
The home was modern, with high ceilings, big windows, and clean lines.
The huge minimalist kitchen looked as if it were from a Scandinavian country; its high-tech appliances had expansive glass, touch screens, and only the absolute essential hardware.
The polished cement floors were cold, but she’d bought several fluffy rugs and kept slippers in every room.
The girl on the bike had caught her attention before because the country roads rarely had a shoulder and could be a dangerous place to ride. At least the traffic was always light.
“Where’s the girl?” asked Noelle.
“With one of Chief Daly’s men,” said the deputy. “Nice old guy. He’s keeping her company until you could speak with her. Same direction as everyone else. You’ll find the remains there too.”
Noelle excused herself and headed in the direction he had pointed.
Clearly the area was a party spot. Garbage in various states of decay was scattered about, and the twinkle of broken glass was everywhere.
She hoped the campfires were kept to a minimum during the dry seasons as she thought of the acres of black snags she’d passed while she drove to the crime scene.
Judging by the great heights of the healthy pines around them, the fire that caused them had been decades ago.
But there were plenty of areas in Deschutes County where fires had occurred more recently, leaving fields of black ash and piteous snags where a thriving green forest had once been.
Noelle followed voices and wove through brush and pines, noticing she was no longer on tamped-down dirt, as at the party site. Garbage and glass had given way to clean woods, her boots slightly sinking into the needles on the forest floor. Definitely no cans to pick up.
Why did the girl venture this way?
The teenager came into sight, and Noelle recognized the gray-haired officer next to her.
Ben Cooley. A lifer with the Eagle’s Nest Police Department who Noelle knew would work as long as the chief let him.
Noelle recognized the teen too. It was definitely the girl she’d seen before on the road.
The same black rubber boots and oversize orange jacket.
A knit hat covered her hair, except for the single long, blonde braid that reached halfway down her back. She turned as Noelle approached.
Thin was Noelle’s first thought. The baggy clothes hid the teen’s body, but her hollowed cheeks hinted at a poor diet.
She had long, black lashes that framed startlingly pale green eyes, the combination giving her an elfin quality.
Her clothing was old and faded, and Noelle abruptly understood why she was collecting cans.
“Detective Marshall!” exclaimed Ben with a big grin. He looked at the teenager as he gestured at Noelle. “She’s the best. You’re in good hands, Emma.”
“Thank you, Ben,” said Noelle. She turned her attention to the young woman. “Emma? You must live pretty close to me. I just moved to the area, and I’ve seen you riding your bike a few times.”
Emma looked at the ground. “Yes. I bike a lot.”
“These narrow roads aren’t the safest place to ride,” said Noelle.
“I know.”
An awkward silence fell. Noelle met Ben’s gaze, and he gave a subtle one-shoulder shrug.
“Emma . . . what’s your last name?” Noelle asked.
“Chambers.”
“I’d like to hear about how you found the body, but I need to check in with the rest of the team first,” said Noelle. “Can you stay a bit longer?”
Emma fidgeted, discomfort crossing her face as she looked away. “I guess. But I already told the police chief.”
“Good,” said Noelle. “I know talking to me will be repetitive, but you’ll be asked a few times to recount what happened. It’s just the way we do things.” She frowned. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
“Would you like a parent to be here with you? You’re an adult, but maybe you’d be more comfortable with someone at your side.”
“No, I’m good. I don’t mind,” Emma said quickly. “I’ll wait.”
“Okay.” Noelle exchanged another look with Ben. “I’ll be back in a few.”
He nodded, indicating he’d keep an eye on the teenager.
Eighteen?
Doubtful. Noelle should have asked to see her driver’s license.
She made her way around some sagebrush, moving toward more sounds of conversation.
She recognized Chief Daly’s low voice. She’d had dinner with Truman Daly and his wife, Mercy, a week ago with her .
. . boyfriend? She winced at the term. She’d only been seeing Max Rhodes for a few weeks; he wasn’t her boyfriend.
What is he?
Her skin tingled—in a good way—as she thought of Max.
Definitely a good way. He was a special agent at the Bend FBI satellite office and worked with the police chief’s wife, Mercy Kilpatrick.
The four of them had had a great time at dinner.
Noelle had forgotten how good it was to have “couple friends.”
Max was extremely attractive. Smart. Funny.
Everything she wanted in a man. He’d transferred to the Bend FBI office last month, and it’d never been stated out loud, but she knew she was part of the reason he’d moved.
She loved their time together as they navigated the beginning of a relationship.
No one had said exclusive yet, but it was implied.
That probably should be clarified.
She suspected they were on the same wavelength, but she’d been wrong before.
Will he leave when I tell him my secret?
The question haunted her.
Up ahead, Noelle spotted a crime scene tech photographing the scene and the medical examiner on one knee next to what was obviously the victim.
Truman Daly leaned over, his hands on his thighs, his cowboy hat pushed back on his head as he watched over the ME’s shoulder. He straightened at Noelle’s footsteps.
“Good morning, Noelle,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.
The old-fashioned gesture made her smile. The chief had lived in the tiny town of Eagle’s Nest less than a decade but had easily adopted its rural mannerisms. He was at ease—and looked good—in the cowboy hat and boots.
“Truman.” She nodded and turned her attention to the medical examiner, who was getting to her feet. “Dr. Lockhart.”
“I think it’s past noon,” the petite ME said to Truman before looking at Noelle. “Afternoon, Detective.”
Noelle was a big fan of Dr. Natasha Lockhart. The woman was a little younger than Noelle and was one of the smartest people she knew. Especially when it came to dead bodies.
“What do you have, Doctor?” asked Noelle, her gaze going to the swollen, dark body.
Male?
It was hard to tell from the back.
“Deceased male,” stated Dr. Lockhart. “He has what appears to be a GSW in his forehead. No exit wound.” The doctor frowned.
“Unless the exit is this gash under his jaw. Obviously he’s been moved since he died.
His entire posterior shows livor mortis.
He was on his back for several hours after death. ”
“When did it happen?” asked Noelle, knowing it was too soon to ask the question.
Dr. Lockhart looked back at the body. “Active bloating. Sometime in the last three to five days. But it’s been cold. Maybe a little longer. Of course I have no idea how long ago he was moved to this spot. If he’d been indoors, the time frame could be shorter.”
“You’ll get to his autopsy today?” Noelle asked.
“Tomorrow. Although it could be the next day.”
“Any identification on him?” asked Noelle. “Do you recognize him?” She looked at the police chief.
Truman shook his head. “Too hard to tell at the moment. I had Ben take a quick look too. He knows everyone around here.”
“No ID,” said Dr. Lockhart. “We rolled him to his side to look underneath. Only clothing I’ve noticed is that shoe.” She pointed at a battered Nike several feet away. “Maybe your team will find something.”
“He’s got a tattoo on his chest,” said Truman. “We couldn’t get a good look at it when we tipped up the body, but it’ll be clear once he’s cleaned up.”
“Good,” said Noelle, her brain starting to speed through the steps to identify the man. First job would be to check for reported missing men in the area. “Age?”
The medical examiner shrugged. “Right now I can’t tell from just looking. Not old. Not young. I’ll narrow that for you later.”
“Of course.” Noelle scanned the area. “Anything else for me right now? What about you, Heather?” she asked the crime scene tech who was slowly circling the area, taking pictures.
“Not yet, Detective.”
“Okay then.” Noelle took one last look at the body. “I’ll start with our witness and get a report on local missing men. I look forward to hearing from you, Doctor.”
“I’ll get you something as soon as I can,” said Dr. Lockhart, returning to her kneeling position at the body.
Noelle met Truman’s gaze and gave a jerk of her head. He followed as she led him several yards from the scene. “No reports of missing men in your town?” she asked as she came to a stop near a tall snag.
“Nothing. I called Lucas and requested he start a records search and begin asking some questions.”
Lucas was Truman’s young office manager, who had deep family roots in the community. “Do you know Emma?” she asked. “The girl who found him?”
“Not really,” said Truman. “Ben Cooley told me she lives a few miles from here with her dad.”
“Just her dad?”
“Yeah. Ben couldn’t remember why the mom left. Said it’s been at least a decade. Old news, he called it.” Truman adjusted his hat. “I haven’t met her or her dad before. They’re not official Eagle’s Nest residents. Live too far out.”
“Me too,” said Noelle with a smile.
“You’re an honorary resident. You spend more than enough money at Kaylie’s coffee place.”
Mercy’s niece made the best baked goods for miles. Noelle had started a bad habit of stopping for coffee on her morning commute and often bought a big box of pastries for the department; it was an excuse to buy an almond croissant for herself.
“I’d appreciate a copy of whatever Lucas finds,” Noelle told him. “This will be a county investigation, but I’d like any help you can give.”
“It’s your jurisdiction,” said Truman, holding her gaze. “I just happened to be the closest one to respond.”
No argument from him.
She hadn’t expected one, but she’d felt the need to say out loud that it would be her case. The Eagle’s Nest Police Department didn’t have the manpower or equipment to handle what appeared to be a murder investigation. “Thank you, Truman.”
He grinned at her. “No ego here. I go with whatever will get the best results. And that’s county and you.”
“Great.” She looked over her shoulder in the direction of Ben Cooley’s booming voice. “Something happen?”
“No. That’s just Ben. He gets a little loud sometimes.”
Noelle smiled and started toward the voice. “I’ll take Emma off his hands. What did you think of her?”
Truman strode beside her. “Quiet. Nervous. About how you’d expect a teenager to react after finding a dead body. Seems like a good kid.”
My first impression too.
“She was simply searching for cans,” added Truman. “Had some bad luck.”
Noelle suspected he was right, but she’d reserve judgment until she’d questioned the teen.
Some people weren’t who they appeared to be.