The Hiding Place Page 17

  “Look,” he told Mercy. “See what you can see.”

  She leaned over and stared down into the cavity. She saw no electronic parts, no nails or wires or detonating cord. What she saw were bones. And what looked like the rubber sole of a shoe.

  “It’s not explosives.” Mercy straightened up and faced Troy. “It’s a body.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Troy and Mercy backed away from the barrel. They both pulled out their smartphones and started taking photos.

  “Good job,” Mercy said to the dogs.

  “Come on,” said Troy.

  Elvis and Susie Bear followed them to the edge of the winterberry bushes, where Mercy pulled out a couple of peanut butter doggie biscuits to reward their discovery and Troy trumped those treats with two thick strips of beef jerky. Beef jerky being their very favorite treat of all time. Elvis also got his Kong to play with, a bonus that did not impress Susie Bear. She was all about the food.

  “Stay,” Mercy said, and together she and Troy went to find Gil. The door to the bungalow was hanging off its hinges. They stood in the frame and peered inside. The park ranger was in the far corner of the single garage-sized room, which looked like it had been inhabited by a succession of vagrants, all of whom had added another layer to the piles of litter that had been accumulating for years.

  Gil looked up just as Troy called his name.

  “What?” asked the park ranger.

  “We’ve got a skeleton in a steel drum out there.”

  “Of course you do.” Gil laughed. “I am stuck in here up to my eyeballs in merde and you are outside in the snow finding bodies in barrels.”

  “Did you find anything of interest?”

  “I do not think so.” Gil raised his gloved hands in a classic Gallic meh. “But in light of your discovery we will have to take a closer look.”

  Mercy stepped forward, and Troy put up his hand to stop her.

  “Let’s just wait for the forensics team,” he said.

  “Agreed.” Gil smiled at Mercy. “Dommage. But you know the rules.”

  She did know. The three rules of crime scene investigation were: One, don’t touch anything. Two, don’t touch anything. Three, don’t touch anything. At least that’s what they always told the uniforms, and technically she was worse than a uniform, she was a civilian. She would have to settle for taking pictures until the crime scene techs got here.

  Gil picked his way back across the multilayered clutter that covered the floor to join them near the door. “There is some evidence of recent activity here.” He pointed to a listing picnic table under a window missing most of its panes on the far wall. There was a candle on one end of the table where a bit of the surface had been cleared. “It is relatively clean, compared to everything else.”

  “So someone has been here.” Mercy snapped more photos.

  “Many someones have been here,” said Troy.

  “I mean someone who might have something to do with Colby’s murder.”

  “What about the body in the barrel?” asked Gil.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone has gone near that thing since whoever put it there put it there,” said Troy.

  “Show me.”

  They tramped outside and joined the dogs at the line of winterberry bushes.

  “What exactly did you see inside?” Gil looked hard at the steel drum some ten feet away.

  “Human bones. The sole of a shoe. Scraps of fabric.”

  “Decomposition was advanced.”

  Mercy nodded.

  “Whose body do you think it is?” asked Gil.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “But you have a theory.” Gil shook a gloved finger at her. “Troy says that you always have a theory.”

  “Really?” She punched the game warden softly on his shoulder.

  “You know it’s true,” said Troy.

  “Like my grandfather, I believe that something bad happened to Beth Kilgore. We know she and Ruby Rucker were friends, and Ruby did come to this place, so maybe Beth did, too.” Mercy found herself hoping that she was wrong.

  “If you’re right, then the body has been here for a really long time.” Gil crossed himself, and then looked at Troy and Mercy. “I cannot imagine that any forensics evidence remains from the time that barrel was placed there, but since there were signs of someone in the bungalow, there might be some evidence of that person still here.”

  “That person could be the one who killed Colby,” said Troy.

  “There is no signal up here,” said Gil. “We will have to head toward the station to call it in. You go on down and I will stay here.”

  “No way,” she said. “I want to see this through.”

  “Harrington will not like it,” said Gil.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Harrington told me to keep an eye on Mercy.” Troy grinned. “I stand by my orders. If she stays, I stay.”

  “Those orders could change,” said Gil. “You know how reactive he is. If he finds you here, he will not be happy.”

  “He won’t show,” said Mercy. “The detective doesn’t like the woods.”

  “All right,” said Troy. “You go down, and we’ll stay just inside the bungalow with the dogs, where it’s warmer.”

  “Not much warmer. This will take some time.” Gil leaned over and whispered loudly in her ear. “Forgive him, La Belle Merci. Let him keep you warm.”

  The ranger straightened up and addressed them both. “I will be as fast as I can.” He gave them a jaunty salute and stomped away in the snow.

  * * *

  WHILE THEY WAITED for the medical examiner Dr. Darling and the Crime Scene Search Team to arrive, Mercy figured they would tape off the area around the barrels, marking the crime scene. She always carried duct tape in her pack because you never knew when you’d need it and it served so many purposes. She’d used it more than once as barricade tape, and when she pulled it out to use now, Troy shook his head.

  He held up his own official yellow crime scene tape. “I don’t know that we’ll run across anyone trying to breach the barrier up here, and it sure won’t keep out the beasts, but just in case, we’ll use the real thing.”

  Together they strung the tape from the trees and the bushes to the rough siding of the bungalow.

  Elvis and Susie Bear stayed by the winterberry bushes, quiet but alert.

  They worked in silence, out of respect for the dead. Mercy was not in the mood to talk anyway; she was overwhelmed by the many disparate aspects of this case. If it were only one case.

  She hoped that steel drum held the lone corpse up here, but that may not be the reality. Several barrels were rusting away nearby; all appeared to be about the same in terms of age and wear and tear. All could be harboring bodies.

  There were so many unanswered questions and so many avenues of inquiry and so many possibilities. She felt bewildered and frustrated at the same time. She needed more data, and more time to analyze the data. That was why she insisted on staying with Troy, so she could see the crime scene techs at work firsthand. Maybe that would trigger some kind of breakthrough in her addled brain.

  “Thanks for your help,” Troy said as they finished up.

  “No problem.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back. This is what we are good at, she thought. We’re good at working together. Not being together. There was a difference. Given enough time and attention, maybe they could master being together as well. That’s what good relationships required, time and attention—and part of her was craving more and more of both, as the sublimation of her grief over Martinez subsided and the shock of her encounter with Troy’s wife faded and the natural pull of attraction between her and Troy took on a life of its own.

  The wind picked up, whipping the crime scene tape. It was mid-afternoon, and more snow was in the forecast for later on in the evening. But for now the skies were gray and the temperature was dropping. Mercy shivered.

  “It’s getting colder. Let’s go inside.” Tro
y whistled for the dogs and they all tramped around to the front of the bungalow.

  Their trips back and forth had pounded down the snow, leaving a muddle of boot prints and paw prints and reminding Mercy how completely snow, rain, wind, and sleet could destroy any evidence that may have been left behind. Not to mention the bugs, birds, squirrels, and other scavengers. The woods always reclaimed its own sooner or later. How long will a man lie i’ th’ earth ere he rot?

  Mercy led the dogs to the left of the door and waved them down into a sit next to an old bench. Troy closed the sagging door behind them and braced it shut with his pack. She sank onto the bench and patted the space next to her. “Sit down.”

  Troy sat down on the bench and unzipped his parka. He pulled her toward him gently and wrapped one side of his coat around her. She leaned in against his chest, her head tucked under his long arm, her own arms around his waist. Elvis settled his handsome head on her feet and Susie Bear likewise plopped her massive head on Troy’s feet.

  He didn’t say anything and neither did she. The wind howled around the little bungalow and Mercy closed her eyes. She breathed in the solid smell of him, all pine and earth and snow, and luxuriated in the heat he generated, fiery as a furnace. She was warm and comfortable and dangerously close to the man who kept showing up no matter how hard she tried to push him away. Maybe she should stop trying so hard.

  * * *

  MERCY HAD DOZED off again, cozy in Troy’s coat cocoon, when she heard Elvis bark. That roused her, and she opened her eyes.

  Gil stood before them, grinning, his backpack at his side.

  She straightened up, pulling away from Troy. “You’re back.”

  “Do pardon me for interrupting your little catnap,” said Gil.

  “That was fast.” Troy removed his arm from around her waist and zipped up his coat.

  “It’ll take them about an hour to get here.” Gil unhitched a portable trail stool from the back of his pack and set it up, taking a seat by Mercy and Troy on the bench, the dogs between them on the ground.

  “Really? That soon?” said Mercy.

  “You can thank Harrington for that.”

  “The pressure must be on,” said Troy.

  “The press is all over him. Harrington is pulling out all the stops to get these murders solved.”

  “Do they know about this one yet?” Mercy knew that bad news traveled fast—and murder was always bad news.

  “There’s no keeping a body in a barrel quiet for long.” Gil petted a dog with each hand. “Harrington wants his forensics team here before the media. Dr. Darling and her techs are getting the star treatment. They’ve got police escort all the way to the woods, and the pick of the motor pool for traversing the old logging rail.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Mercy.

  “Harrington’s pride and joy. Second only to his helicopters.” Troy grinned. “The Tucker Sno-Cats.”

  Sno-Cats were two-ton tracked vehicles that looked like enclosed tubs on tank treads. The truck-sized snow machines could navigate extreme terrain, including unpaved icy inclines.

  “So he’s coming after all,” said Mercy.

  “No,” said Gil. “There’s a big storm coming in and he won’t risk getting stuck up here all night. Even in a Sno-Cat.”

  “With a storm coming they won’t have much time. And the sun will be going down not too long after they arrive.”

  “And they’ll need the Sno-Cats for the storm.” Troy turned to Mercy. “We use them for grooming trails and rescue operations. The worse the storm, the greater the need.”

  While they waited, they went over everything they knew about the Colby murder, the pipe bombing, the break-in at Mercy’s cabin, Beth and Thomas Kilgore, George and Ruby Rucker, and the body in the barrel.

  And came up with nothing.

  “I’m glad this is your problem,” said Gil.

  “It’s Harrington’s problem,” said Troy.

  “It’s my problem.” Mercy crossed her arms. “My family is at risk, and I don’t exactly know why. It’s all got to do with this mess somehow. And until I figure it out, my family is not going to be safe.”

  “Well, when you put it like that,” said Gil, “then it’s my problem, too.”

  “And mine,” said Troy.

  “Just as well,” said Gil. “If La Grande Merci is stumped, imagine how confused Harrington must be. He’ll never figure it out.”

  “But you will,” said Troy.

  Mercy hoped he was right. She had a terrible feeling they were running out of time.

  They heard the Sno-Cat transporting the Crime Scene Search Team up the logging road long before Dr. Darling and her crime scene techs appeared at the bungalow. Mercy stood with Troy and Gil and the dogs to greet them as they trudged through the clearing loaded with gear, Captain Thrasher in the lead.

  Harrington must be panicking, thought Mercy, if he convinced the captain to accompany the forensics team. Normally he kept the Fish and Wildlife folks as far away from his Major Crime Unit as he could, saving all the glory for himself and his team. Maybe he was sending Thrasher to keep an eye on Troy as he kept an eye on her. Devious even for the devious detective. Or maybe Thrasher had volunteered and Harrington was feeling so pressured he agreed. Harrington didn’t think much of game wardens and didn’t like them interfering in his crime scenes. Likewise Thrasher didn’t think much of the detective—and even less of murderers on the loose in his woods. She looked at Troy, but if he were surprised by his superior’s sudden appearance, he didn’t let it show.

  Thrasher nodded at her, and she nodded back. Dr. Darling greeted Mercy with a quick hug. The medical examiner was a small and scrappy woman whose good cheer never seemed to waver no matter how gruesome the crime.

  “Over here beyond the winterberry.” Gil pointed to the bushes and set off, and the group followed the ranger. Mercy kept Dr. Darling company as they headed for the crime scene proper.

  “It’s been awhile,” said Dr. Darling. “But you must have missed me to go to such lengths to visit with me again.”

  “Always,” said Mercy. “The body is in that barrel over there.” She pointed to the side of the bungalow. “In all that junk.”

  “How did you find it?”

  “The dogs found it. They led us right to it.”

  “Elvis and Susie Bear, the wonder dogs.” At the sound of their names, the shepherd and the Newfie trotted up to the medical examiner for a good scratch, and she obliged. “You two are keeping me in corpses.” She gave them each one last pat and straightened up. “Time to get to work.”

  Mercy called the dogs to her side and they settled at her feet.

  The doctor retrieved her protective wear from her pack. She suited up, pulling on her white suit over her ski pants and jacket. She stretched plastic booties around her boots and snapped plastic gloves on over her regular gloves.

  “What a pile of rubbish,” she said cheerfully as she surveyed the crime scene. “But I’ve seen worse.”

  “So have I.”

  “Of course you have.” She patted Mercy’s arm. “Nothing about death is easy, my dear, whether it happens at war in Afghanistan or here at home in the mountains.”

  “But you’re always so upbeat.”

  Dr. Darling smiled at her. “Force of habit.”

  They watched as the techs got to work, taking pictures of the crime scene and the steel drums from every angle.

  “We took some photos, too,” said Mercy, “when we realized that this was a crime scene.”

  “That’s good,” said Dr. Darling. “We’re going to need all the help we can get with this one. If that body has been in that barrel for as long as it looks like it has from here, odds are, whatever evidence there may have been, in terms of footprints and fingerprints, it’s all long gone. The evidence that matters is in that barrel. There’s a storm coming in, so we need to collect as much evidence as quickly as we can, document as much as possible to establish chain of custody, and then get it all
out of here before the blizzard hits.”

  “Right.” Mercy looked up at the late afternoon sky, where billowing clouds were gathering in ominous nimbus formations that promised snow—and soon.

  “How did you find this place way up here, anyway?” asked Dr. Darling. “What brought you to this neck of the woods, or should I even ask?”

  “One thing led to another.” She told Dr. Darling about their visit to Peace Junction as they watched the crime scene techs set up outside lights that lit up the scene like a stage set.

  “So you think this might be Beth Kilgore.”

  “Maybe.” The techs finished quickly with the lights and were now erecting a pop-up tent around the steel drums.

  “You do have a gift for finding murder victims,” she said to Mercy. “And for solving the crimes.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not very close to solving this one. Or the others.”

  “Which may or may not be related.”

  “Which may or may not be related,” Mercy conceded. “I’m hoping you and your team can shed some light.”

  “Then we’d better get to it.” Dr. Darling approached the tent. “We’ll do our best. But this may be the toughest case you’ve brought us so far. It looks like this corpse has been here for a while. We’ll see what’s left of it and go from there.” She disappeared inside, letting the door flap fall into place behind her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “We need to catch up with the captain.” Troy joined her, along with Thrasher and Gil, as she stood with the dogs while Dr. Darling and her team worked the crime scene.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve told him everything we’ve learned on this trip,” said Troy. “But I wanted you to hear what’s been going on at his end.”

  “There have been some developments,” said the captain. “We’ve tracked down the guy who dropped off the kittens at your grandmother’s house.”

  “How is my grandmother?”

  “She’s safe. Becker and Goodlove are with her at Lillian Jenkins’ house.”

  Officer Becker was a junior Northshire police officer and Officer Goodlove was his rookie partner. They were trustworthy and loyal and inexperienced enough to make Mercy nervous.