Skin Dancer (22 page)

She felt the heat seep out of her anger. “I am tired, but it won't do me any good to go home. I won't be able to sleep.”

The forensic team had finished, and Charlie was there to remove the body. She tucked her hands in the pockets of her jacket and walked toward the ATV. Her fingers touched the silver toe guard in her pocket. It was a long–shot, but she had little choice but to take it.

# # #

Frankie watched the bulldozers push the clay into position. The road was moving forward, inch by inch, foot by foot. They were laying the foundation, and they'd covered a mile in the past week. The dream of Paradise was one step closer—and so far she'd been able to keep the damage to a minimum.

Based on her expertise, the four–lane wasn't a necessity for the Paradise development. But it was necessary for Harvey Dilson and his fast–approaching bid for a presidential slot. Paradise would be Harvey's ticket to the White House. He could show that he was the man who brought progress and prosperity to his district—and he could do it for the rest of the nation. Not a single decision that had been made was about the good of Bisonville and the surrounding areas.

“You expecting someone today?”

Frankie almost jumped. She'd been so deep in thought that she hadn't noticed the foreman coming up to her.

“Just worried about our pace. We're making progress now, but we lost a lot of momentum with the equipment down.”

“Yeah, we're behind, but now that the dozers are here, we can make up some time even if we have to stay late.”

She nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if this project isn't cursed. Maybe it was never intended to go through.”

“Don't start with that kind of talk. We might be able to put together a second shift. The men weren't as upset over Bellows and Welford as I feared they might be, but if the sheriff and his crew don't get on top of these murders, we're going to lose everyone. One more incident and they'll all quit.” Phil dropped into step beside her.

“If I can't hold this crew together, my career is going to take a real hit. I have this feeling, like the other shoe is about to drop.”

“Let's hope not.” Phil took off his hardhat and wiped sweat onto his shirt sleeve. “When the summer truly sets in, this is going to be hot work.”

“That's South Dakota for you.” She pulled out her cell phone. “Phil would you excuse me, I need to check on a few things?”

“Sure. I'll be at the front if you need me.”

Frankie paused in the shade cast by a bucket truck and dialed Jake's number. She'd spent a lot of time and energy working her way into Jake's and the sheriff's good graces and it had paid handsome dividends in the information department. Instead of Jake, she got his voice mail.

“How about dinner tonight? Maybe you and Rachel. Call me when you get this message.” She snapped the phone shut.

“Dammit,” she whispered. She needed to know what was happening. She put a call in to the sheriff's office. The dispatcher was slow as molasses, but finally she heard Gordon's baritone.

“Sorry, Frankie, I'm headed out the door.”

“Any word on Mullet? I'm trying to keep my crew working, but it's tough when I keep losing employees.”  

“I might as well tell you. You'll hear it soon enough. We found his body.”

“Where? Was his head—”

“Same place as Hank Welford. Rachel went back for a final search and came across the body hanging, like the others. The head was gone.”

“What in the hell is the killer doing with those heads? I mean, really, what kind of freak would keep the heads?”

“The killer returned Burl's and the plastic surgeon's.”

“Jesus! Returned? As in–?”

“Left them in the middle of the trail. Rachel found ‘em. Gotta go, Frankie.”

“See you, sheriff.” She put the phone in her pocket. Once this got out, she'd play hell keeping a crew on site.

# # #

Rachel watched the dust roil from behind her truck as she drove along the dirt paths, headed to Table Butte. The sidewalk outside the sheriff's office had been a nightmare of media, clamoring and pushing for details on Mullet Bellow's murder. They'd gotten their money's worth, too, when Hannah Bellows had rushed out of the crowd and slapped Rachel. Hannah had screamed that the sheriff's office was an incompetent bunch of morons who'd deliberately left her husband in the hands of a serial killer. Once in front of the cameras, Hannah had been impossible to control. Jake had finally grabbed her elbow and dragged her inside the S.O.

Rachel rubbed her cheek where the skin still stung a little from the slap. That clip would no doubt be all over the evening news. The thing Gordon had dreaded—a panic—was liable to happen.

After the episode with Hannah, Gordon had told Rachel to get some rest. She looked like crap—dark circles under her eyes, jittery hands, all the symptoms of sleep deprivation and stress.

Before she'd consider leaving, Rachel had read over Scott's interview of Derek Baxter. Just as she'd suspected, the young man hadn't revealed anything. But time in the cell to think about the penalty for destruction of property and his affiliation with WAR might change his attitude.

She'd given Adam's story of the Skin Dancer a lot of thought. Frankie had told her that Native storytellers frequented local schools, or at least that had been a practice in the past.

She'd called the public schools and checked. The practice had been stopped in the late ‘80s. That would indicate the killer was close to thirty, or older. Of course, he could've heard the legend from anyone at any time. She sighed. The murderer was obscuring his real motives behind layers of fog.

Rounding a curve, she saw a red truck and horse trailer at the foot of the road that led to Table Butte. Adam Standing Bear was a punctual man. She pulled up behind him and got out. The horses were already tacked up and waiting. Adam stepped out of the shadows.

“I'm glad you could make it, Rachel.” Finder sprang from behind a rock and rushed over, alert and ready to guard his master. At a soft word from Adam, the dog settled down.

“I warned you that I don't really know much about riding horses.” She looked at the two big animals waiting patiently beside the horse trailer.

“I brought Cimarron for you to ride. She's gentle and quiet.” He got both horses and held the mare as Rachel swung into the saddle. “Just relax and let her work. She'll take good care of you.”

Rachel masked her qualms with a smile. Staying at the courthouse with Hannah Bellows might have been smarter. As they set off at a walk, then a trot, Rachel concentrated on relaxing. In a matter of moments, she forgot about her lack of riding experience and yielded to the soothing motion of the horse and beauty of the badlands.

They rode for thirty minutes before they found the small herd of horses. Adam signaled her to the right and he approached, angling from the east. The herd bolted, headed toward her.

“Watch the red roan!” Adam called. “She's the lead mare. The others will follow her.”

As the roan broke out of the herd, attempting to veer north, Cimarron lunged into a full gallop. Moving at breakneck speed over the rough terrain, the horse cut off the roan mare, sending her back into the herd, which surged west again.

“Good work!” Adam said. “You're a natural cowgirl.”

“Right. The horse is trained.” 

They moved the herd for an hour before stopping at a watering hole. Around them the barren rocks and landscape had heated up under the afternoon sun. Rachel felt as if she'd stepped back in time. One day in the not too distant future none of this would remain. Development, population growth, climate changes—the wilderness couldn't hold out forever.

“You look serious.” Adam eased his horse closer so that they sat side by side, waiting for the herd to drink their fill of water.

“Why are you moving the horses?”

“There are hunters who come to kill the wild herds. They'll be safer closer to the reservation. Besides, we need to vaccinate them and do some vet work.”

“Then they aren't really wild horses.” Rachel sat forward as the stallion lifted his head, sniffing the air.

“They're wild, but we also care for them. The days when they could roam the plains and survive are gone. Without man's intervention, they would perish.”

Rachel pulled the silver toe guard from her pocket. “You haven't asked about the investigation today.”

“What's the expression—‘I don't have a dog in that fight.'” He took the packet. “What's this?”

“From the murder scene. You're the only person outside of law enforcement that's seen it. It's a toe guard for a boot. Ever seen one like it?”

Rachel couldn't be certain, but she thought that, for a fraction of a second, concern touched his features. He looked into the distance.

“What is it?” she asked.

He frowned. “I can't be sure.” He handed it back to her.

“So take a guess.”

He shook his head. “I won't say if I'm not sure.” He nudged his horse forward. “Let's get them on the move.”

Rachel had no choice except to follow. Cimarron took off after Adam's buckskin. As if choreographed, the herd lifted their dripping muzzles. They turned to face the danger of approaching humans, wheeled and fled.

As they moved the horses forward, Cimarron and Adam's horse, Mariah, kept the stragglers bunched. Rachel found that she could anticipate what the horse would do and shifted her balance to assist the little mare.

“Where are we taking them?” Rachel yelled.

“About another mile.”

Her time with Adam was running short. If she was going to get any answers from him, she needed to work fast. She edged Cimarron closer to Mariah. The wild horses, tired from the run, moved at a sedate walk. Most had given up trying to escape.

“I think you know something,” she said quietly.

“Are you accusing me?”

She looked into his eyes. “No. But you do know about the toe guard. Please tell me.”

“I don't think you see danger even when it stands tall in front of you.”

His words were like a cloud shifting over the sun. “I'm doing my job. I want to find the person who murdered four men.” She hesitated. “I found another headless, skinned corpse. And the killer returned what was left of Burl's head and Ashton Trussell's. No one should die with a look like that on his face.”

They rode quietly for a few moments before he spoke. “There's an old man near Custer. He made silver ornaments for saddles, boots and purses. Yuma Pete is his name. When he was in his prime, he knew a lot of silver artisans.”

“Yuma Pete sounds like a made–up name.”

Adam shrugged. “Might well be, but that's how I know him. He works with silver. If he doesn't know, maybe he knows someone who does. Anyway, check with him.”

“Thanks, Adam.”

“Don't thank me yet. Rachel, I know you don't want to believe this, but there is something happening in the wilderness. Something dangerous.”

She tried to hide her unease. Adam had gotten under her skin with his stories before, but she didn't have time for scary tales. “Please don't—”

“I'm not trying to convince you that a vengeful spirit is killing those men. But think of the hurricanes, the severe storms, the tsunamis, the wildfires. Man is destroying the planet with asphalt and an exploding population.”

“That's a little beyond my jurisdiction, Adam. And by the way, we've arrested a young man, Derek Baxter, for the felony vandalism of the heavy equipment on the road job.”

He nodded. “Passion is hard to unravel for the young.”

“If he's responsible, he's going to be in serious trouble. In the interview with Deputy Amos, Derek claimed that he followed a Native American into the woods. He said he was set upon and trapped, hung upside down and whacked in the head. When he came to again, he'd been cut loose. Do you know anything about that?”

Adam gave her an amused look. “I have better things to do than scare young men.”

“That's strange, because he said it was you that he was following.”

Adam shrugged. “Why would he follow me and why would I harm him?”

“Those are both good questions. Do you have any answers?”

Adam met her gaze calmly. “No. I don't.”

“Are you involved in this, Adam?”

“Three of the dead men were poachers, the other a trophy taker. They cared for nothing except themselves and their needs. I'm not sorry they're dead.”

“You think those men deserved this?”

Adam pushed the last of the horses through a narrow opening that led to a fenced enclosure. He dismounted and pulled long poles into place to block the opening.

“It isn't for me to say what Mullet, Burl, Hank and a Boston doctor deserved. I had nothing to do with their deaths, though I don't regret that they're gone.” He hesitated. “Now I have a question for you. Is there a reason Frankie wouldn't want us to ride together?”

Rachel was surprised. “No. Why?”

“She said it might be best if I cancelled. She said you were exhausted.” He swung back into the saddle.

“Frankie may mean well, but she needs to butt out of my business. She and Jake both act like I'm the village idiot and need to be watched over, and it's beginning to piss me off.” Rachel pressed her legs against Cimarron's sides and sent her into a trot toward the truck and trailer.

By the time Adam caught up with her, she'd cooled off. He rode beside her until the truck was in sight before he spoke. “Frankie and Jake are two of the most ambitious people I know, but they could have your best interest at heart.”

“Adam, I have to live my own life.”

His stare was calm. “Somehow, I don't think that's going to be a problem. After we unsaddle, I'll tell you how to find Yuma's place.”