Chapter Forty-Four
Cindy’s Ghost
Dale
It took seven days before the lab results came in. Dale had been checking his phone every hour.
“Need you to come to my office,” Russel said when he finally had news.
The office was tucked near the pines just off the main road leading to Fool Hollow Lake Recreation Area. It was a squat, weathered building that looked like a typical ranger outpost.
Inside, one scarred desk sat against the far wall, flanked by five-foot metal file cabinets and a wall map peppered with pushpins. An elk’s head loomed on the side wall, its glassy eyes watching as he stepped through the door.
“Will they ever upgrade your heating system in this place?” Dale asked, nodding at the old wood-burning stove that sat unused at this time of year.
Russel looked up from a folder and grinned. “I take it you’ve been here in the winter before?”
“Yeah. Greg Wilson, the ranger before you, was a good guy. We worked a few cross-county cases together. He froze his cajónes off every winter.”
Russel chuckled. “So that’s what happened to mine.”
They shared a laugh that felt good after the last shitty week.
“Take a seat,” Russel said, motioning toward the straight-backed chair against the wall. Dale moved it over.
Russel set a manila file on his desk, opened it, and straightened a few stapled reports. “We got a hit on the DNA.”
Dale’s heart kicked. “You have it back already?”
Russel’s face flushed slightly. “My friend at the lab ran it herself. Fast-tracked it for me.”
Dale didn’t press. There were times when bending the rules meant the difference between finding a body warm or cold.
“Alright,” he said, leaning forward. “What’ve we got?”
Russel turned the file around. Inside were grainy print photos of an old crime scene along with the crisp white pages of a modern DNA analysis report. “It matches DNA from a cold case over twenty years old,” he said. “A woman killed at a rest stop off Interstate 10 near Blythe, California.”
Dale frowned. “There’s nothing out there. Just dirt, trucks, and locals.”
“Exactly,” Russel said. “Highway patrol caught the call. Victim was found behind the rest-stop bathrooms, strangled and dumped in a shallow ditch. Estimated time of death: three days prior to discovery.”
Russel lifted the autopsy report and flipped through the summary. “Name was Cindy Mills. She was thirty-four. Toxicology came back positive for heroin and alcohol.”
Dale scanned the black-and-white photo stapled to the top corner. Long stringy hair. Eyes lifeless and half open. He’d seen too many like her.
Russel continued. “Cold case team reopened it five years ago. They found two distinct DNA profiles on the victim’s body. One belonged to her ex-boyfriend, Ray Felt. He was cleared with a solid alibi from his employer and his side piece.”
“Still,” Dale said, “if he was violent—”
“He was,” Russel agreed. “Couple domestic calls, one assault charge that never stuck. But for this? He was working double shifts at a gas station, and his girlfriend at the time confirmed he was with her every night after Cindy split.”
Russel tapped the second DNA report. “The other profile never matched anyone, until now.”
Dale’s gaze lifted slowly. “You’re saying the guy who strangled Cindy Mills, he’s the one who has Willow?”
Russel nodded grimly. “That’s what it looks like.”
Silence thickened between them.
Russel flipped another page. “As the report shows, the blood at the scene matched Deputy Wallard. It wasn’t enough for us to call it fatal.”
“So, he could still be alive,” Dale said.
“Could be,” Russel replied, though his tone said he didn’t believe it. “Willow’s odds are better. But Dale,” He hesitated, his eyes on the file. “This guy’s killed before. Maybe more than once.”
Dale leaned back, his jaw tight. “You think it was a crime of opportunity?”
Russel exhaled through his nose. “Hard to say. Could be he saw her and decided right then. Could be he’d been watching her. I’ve got about five scenarios in my head, and maybe it’s none of them.”
He grabbed a legal pad, scribbled a few notes. “We’re running the DNA through CODIS and ViCAP, just in case the DNA pops on other interstate cases. I’ve already got a request into California DOJ for their original case file.”
Dale nodded. “We should cross-reference any missing women along I-10 and I-40 for similar signatures: ligature strangulation, dump sites near travel corridors, transient or isolated victims.”
“Already on it,” Russel said, “and I’ve got a behavioral analyst out of Flagstaff reviewing the profile. If this guy’s pattern held for twenty years, he’s either gone dormant or gotten better at hiding the bodies.”
Dale rubbed his temples. “And now he’s got Willow.”
“Yeah, that’s what it looks like.”
The room fell silent again.
Dale’s eyes hardened. “There’s no time to wait for those records. We need to find him before he decides she’s another Cindy Mills.”
“We don’t have much to go on but I’m working this case hard,” Russel told him.
The following day, Dale did basic cleanup around the house.
It had been a week, and his food cans and trash held a stale odor.
He swept the floor and cleaned off the counters.
Max and Daisy lay quietly on one dog bed, which they both barely fit on.
Max had been crowding Daisy since Willow disappeared and didn’t let the other dog out of his sight.
Dale practically jumped out of his shorts when Max lifted his head, and a sound rose from deep within his chest. The howl began low, trembling through the air.
It gathered strength as it climbed to a higher pitch.
The heavy, almost human sorrow went through Dale’s bones until it fell away. Max scratched the door frantically.
The howl still hung in the air when Dale tore open the front door. For a heartbeat, he truly believed she’d be standing outside.
But there was only emptiness.
The property stretched before him as he looked in every direction. Nothing moved.
He stepped further outside. The smell of dust and juniper filled his lungs. There were no tracks in the dirt. No figure walking up the long road. Only the fading echo of Max’s howl.
Max lifted his nose and sniffed the air, walking to the east before he returned. Dale’s chest tightened until it hurt. Hope drained from him, leaving a hollow place in his chest.
The horizon shimmered faintly in the heat. Beside him, Max gave a low, uncertain whine. Dale swallowed hard and ran a hand over his face. He turned his eyes to the empty stretch of land again. For the first time since Willow disappeared, he felt hopeless.