Primal Obsession (17 page)

TWENTY-ONE

Northern Maine woods

While Sam waited, he sat on the top porch step beside Captain. From time to time, the Lab went to the front door and whined. Then he lay back down and skewered Sam with questioning brown eyes. All Sam could do was pet the mourning animal and utter nonsense sounds of comfort.

It was mid-afternoon by the time he saw the red canoe approach the dock. How could he tell them what he’d seen? Finding the words would be as hard as those first days after he learned his injury was permanent. He trudged and Captain bounded toward them.

Annie was the first to climb out. Beneath her pink cap, concern pleated her forehead. Sweat stained her tee, and she dragged toward him, the strain of the upstream slog in every step.

“Princess, I’m beginning to appreciate your beef with Mother Nature.” He hurried to help pull the canoe onto the narrow strip of shingle.

When her gaze landed on him, obvious relief passed over her expressive features. Then a wide smile lit her gray eyes. “Sam, oh, Sam, you’re all right. And Ted?”

“Hey, Sam, that was an epic cool reverse water slide!” Frank hopped from his canoe and dashed past Annie as if just beginning the long trek. He bent to hug the eager Labrador. Captain returned the affection with enthusiastic, sloppy licks.

“So you made it without me. See any bears?” His concern was real, but not because of bears.

“No bears. But more bald eagles.” The sixteen-year-old dug an apple from their one remaining cooler and bit off a chunk. “Hey, did you make a call on the radio yet? Where’s Mr. Wolfe? I’ll go see him.”

Sam snaked out an arm and latched onto Frank. “Don’t go in there.”

***

Augusta

“How’d it go?” asked Bess Peters when Justin and Tavani returned to the command post. She hooked a printout from the fax machine and ambled to the table. “What’d you get?”

“Dick.” Justin collapsed into his swivel chair. He’d spent half the day interviewing the owner of the mysterious van. “The guy’s not pure but he’s not the fucking Hunter.”

“Then what was he doing parking at all hours on the Colby campus? You said he lives in Belgrade Lakes, nowhere near Waterville. He some kind of pervert?”

“Believe me, I wanted to nail him for something. This was one sketchy character.”

“I’d sure as hell never buy a used car or a Rolex from Vince Biggs.” The FBI agent took a chair at the long conference table.

Justin rubbed his nape. “Turns out he was stalking a former girlfriend.”

“I thought you said this Biggs was thirty-two or something. He had a college student girlfriend?”

“Yeah. The previous summer, sophomore Lindsey Van Damme worked at a restaurant in Belgrade. The two of them were pretty hot and heavy, but young Lindsey dumped our dirtbag when she returned to school.”

“I take it Biggs didn’t handle that well.”

“You got it. Most I accomplished was to warn him to stay away from Colby—and Lindsey. I talked to her, phoned her at home in Springfield. She said at first, she was flattered, older guy and all. After a while Biggs gave her the creeps. She wanted to dump him sooner, but was too afraid until time came to leave town.” He yawned. He had to get some damn sleep. “So I’m back to square one. No leads.”

Peters smiled. “Not quite. My investigation into the companies with traveling salesmen and consultants has turned up a possibility.”

That had Justin straightening in his chair. He pulled over the other chair, patted the metal seat. “Spill.”

“One of the companies, W & V Technologies in Portland, has filed a missing-persons report on an employee who hasn’t shown up for work since Friday a week ago. Nobody’s seen him or heard from him. Nobody’s at his house.”

Justin reached for the fax. Experience said go slow, but instinct spurted adrenaline through his system. “What’s this Holden Smith do?”

She glanced down at her notes from the phone call. “W & V provides computer sales, tech support, and consultation for their business customers in northern New England. Smith’s one of their techs assigned to Maine and northeastern New Hampshire.”

“So they send geeks like him to do upgrades and repairs.”

“Get this.” Peters gave him a Cheshire cat smile. “He’s worked here for three and a half years. Hired on recommendations from a similar company in Virginia.”

“Virginia!” Tavani said, his solemn features animated for once. “The Appalachian Trail murders. Does the suspect have a southern accent?”

“That I don’t know,” she said, scanning her notes. “For two of the recent murders, his trip log matches—Emma Cantrell and Lacey De Palma. They’re checking the rest now.”

The first murder was three years ago. The insight pumped Justin’s heart like jet fuel. His cop’s sixth sense kicked in. This was it. “Hot damn!”

Tavani leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “A computer geek. A loner. Sounds good.”

“That’s what I thought,” Peters agreed. “The manager mentioned their employees have no set schedules or clients. They send whoever’s available, and that person might stay several days, even have a day off before returning to the office.” She paused, her eyes sparkling.

Justin wanted to throttle the woman. She liked dramatics too much. “Peters, all of it. I want all of it.”

“The manager mentioned that Smith was an odd duck,” she said. “He belongs to the Fore River Gun Club. Practices regularly on the rifle range. Has trouble relating to his co-workers. Plays practical jokes. The manager said he had to reprimand Smith after the last one.”

“Which was?”

“One of the other techs had a fancy letter opener that went missing. Two days later it showed up stuck into a stuffed animal on a secretary’s desk.”

Justin emitted a long, low whistle. So the suspect was missing. That would explain why he’d stopped phoning Annie’s number. “This guy looks damned good. You got a description?”

She nodded. “Age thirty-nine. Five ten. Portland is faxing us his picture. One of the workers went to Smith’s house, but couldn’t get in. Portland cops got authorization to enter yesterday. Landlord gave them a key.”

“Yesterday?” Justin frowned. “Why the hell didn’t we know about it right away?”

“They called, left a message with the lieutenant. He passed it on to me this morning. You’d already left.”

“I suppose they’ve already done their walk-through.” At that moment, if Justin could have gotten his hands on Vince Biggs, he would have strangled the man for wasting the detectives’ time. “I suppose it’s too damned much to hope they found evidence of a crime, enough for probable cause and a search warrant.”

“Not exactly, but they did find something. I had them put a man on the door. Keep it secure, you know.”

“Bess.” He ground his teeth with the sibilance.

She slipped something from her waist pack, then waved a search warrant at him.

“I could kiss you, but you’d probably bite me.” He grinned. “Explain.”

“I talked to an Officer Perryman, one of the uniforms who did the walk-through. Most of the apartment’s clean, but he had a hinky feeling in one room.”

Tavani scooted his chair closer. “If Wylde doesn’t choke you for dragging this out, I will.”

“Okay, you’ll see for yourselves anyway. Smith has a display case filled with rifles, shotguns, and a few handguns.”

“An illegal weapon or two?”

“Not illegal, merely rare around here. A .223 Ruger mini 16.”

Justin gave a low whistle. A Ruger mini 16 was the type of powerful hunting rifle used in the first murder. A limited edition weapon, the Ruger left distinctive marks on bullets. After leaving bullet casings from a rifle like this one at the scene of the first murder in New Hampshire, the killer smartened up and left no trace. “That was enough for the judge?”

“That and some fast talking.” Peters started to tuck the warrant back in her pack.

Justin slipped it from her hand and into his pocket. “Time to rock ‘n roll. I want a good look in this asshole’s house.” Straightening his Taz tie, he headed for the door, the FBI agent on his heels. “You coming, Detective?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for a speedboat ride on Sebago Lake.” She was already on her feet. “One question, though.”

Justin turned in the doorway. “What’s that?”

“If Smith’s not at work or home, where the hell is he?”

***

Northern Maine woods

His chest tight, Sam related what he’d found here. No play by play or color commentary, his halting words hit only the essential facts. Finding the body. The smashed radio and guns. The destruction. He left out the blood.

“What the hell.” Carl’s ruddy features darkened to an angry burgundy. “Dead? Murdered? I don’t believe it. There must be a mistake.”

Before Sam could stop him, the man pushed past and into the house.

Captain started after him, but Sam grabbed his collar. “No, boy. Stay.” Seeing his butchered master wouldn’t make the animal feel better.

“Don’t touch anything,” Annie shouted at Carl. She wrapped her arms around Sam’s waist. “The fool.”

He enfolded her, accepting the solace of her soft body against him.

A moment later, Carl popped back out, slamming the door behind him as if to shut in the horror of what he’d seen. He stumbled down the porch steps to hurl in the same bush where Sam had lost it.

No one said a word.

After they set up camp in the yard, Sam showed Nora and her son how to find wild onions for stew. Annie cut up carrots and potatoes. Carl started a fire in the brick barbecue.

“No fish dinner,” Sam announced as he set the stew pot on the building heat. He lifted the lid. “Tonight we have meat. Rabbit stew.”

Frank examined the pot’s contents. “Holy crap! Looks like body parts from a midget slasher movie.”

The kid didn’t realize how close his comment came to reality. But Sam chuckled. Good to have something to laugh about. “Some people say rabbit tastes like chicken. I raided the freezer earlier.” He tipped his head toward the house.

“Oh. I guess Mr. Wolfe wouldn’t care,” Frank said, subdued as he remembered. Fear and grief swirled in his eyes before he turned away.

The evening crept along on tortoise feet. No one seemed to know what to say. In spite of his earlier puppy energy, after supper, Frank collapsed like an exhausted old hound. After he disappeared into his tent, Carl excused himself. Nora kept the fire going and star-gazed with the sky chart.

When Sam could stand it no longer, he invited Annie to walk along the riverbank with him.

One eyebrow arched in question, but she agreed. “Sure, a walk will get the kinks out.”

When they’d strolled out of earshot, she placed a warm hand on his forearm. In the semidarkness of pale moonlight, her eyes looked black and intense. “Finding your friend’s body must have been awful for you. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Let’s sit over there.”

Annie’s mind reeled. Sam must feel as if he’d been punched in the gut. She let him lead her to a log beside the rippling water.

A splash came from their right, and somewhere a bullfrog croaked his displeasure at their intrusion. The cool night air was tinged with the scents of algae and blooming grasses. Black against the night sky, the sight of fir-tops on the far shore, like sharp spearheads, gave her goose bumps. The half moon hung beside a cloud.

Sam straddled the log and clasped her hand, lacing their fingers together. His jaw was tight, his mouth a thin line. “I saw something today I never thought to see. When my granddad died, Ben and I arrived to visit only moments after it happened. He was laid out in a hospital bed, all clean and peaceful. But this... was violent death. Ted was a friend. I...” He swallowed, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

“I’m so sorry.”

“If I’d listened to your suspicions earlier, I might have prevented this.”

“Who knows what might have happened? No one would’ve believed my suspicions sooner. Even I thought I was nuts.” Annie squeezed his hand, his left hand, his good hand, long-fingered and broad, an athlete’s hand. That such a strong man would let her see into his soul this way brought tears to her eyes. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

He squared his shoulders, nodded. Even in the dark, Annie could see his face grow paler at the conjured memory.

“I didn’t get too close, only near enough to make sure he was beyond help. I know not to disturb a crime scene. His throat was cut.” He shuddered. His eyes grew hard, like river stones. “That kind old man never hurt anyone. All he ever did was help people.”

The Hunter. The knowledge clawed at her. She should’ve stayed away from the woods. The monster had killed that poor man because of her. “Do you still think it was Ray?”

“There’s more.” He ran a hand over his face before continuing. He described the scene around the body. “The blood had dried and darkened. The murder might have happened early this morning, or even yesterday.”