Page 102 of The Search

She didn’t know what she thought. She was finding it difficult to think at all. But evidently the question didn’t need answering, because Logan was walking away from her toward the patrol cars that had just pulled into the parking lot.

Monty stopped ten yards from the boulders and wouldn’t go nearer. She didn’t force him. She had no desire to see that bloodstained knife again.

She gestured with her flashlight. “There he is.”

Logan and the four troopers moved closer, scanning the area with their flashlights before they took each step. She knew they were afraid of destroying evidence, but it seemed to take them forever to cover those last few yards.

Please. Get it over with and let’s go home.

She averted her gaze, but she could still hear the murmur of their voices as they knelt beside Chavez’s body.

“Sarah.” Logan was back beside her. “Lieutenant Carmichael wants you.”

“Why should I—”

“Just come, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay.” But she started for the boulders anyway. “Stay, Monty.”

“Walk on the rocks so you won’t disturb the—”

“I know.” She was standing beside Chavez’s body, staring over it at Lieutenant Carmichael. “You wanted me?”

“We can’t move the body, but his head is turned to one side.” He motioned for her to kneel down beside him. “Look at him.”

She didn’t want to look at him. She did anyway. His eyes and mouth were open. Death must have come suddenly and—

She stiffened in shock. “It’s not Chavez.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” She stared dazedly into the heavy features of the dead man. “It’s not Chavez.”

“Thank you.” He motioned to Logan, who lifted her to her feet. “You can take her back to the rest stop now. But don’t leave until after we’ve questioned her.”

She stood there staring down at the dead man.

“Come on, Sarah.” Logan gently nudged her up the hill toward Monty.

“It’s not Chavez. I thought I’d sent him straight into the hands of that murderer. But it’s not Chavez.”

Logan was silent. Too silent.

“What is it?”

“It was Chavez, Sarah.”

“No.”

“Those policemen knew him, worked with him every day. It was Chavez.” His hand tightened on her elbow. “And he’s been dead for a long time. Rigor mortis has started to set in.”

She stared at him in bewilderment. “I spent the entire afternoon with Chavez. He was with—” She drew a deep breath as realization hit her. “Rudzak?”

“What did he look like?”

“Tall, forty-something. Fine features, gray eyes, white hair.” She looked at him. “Rudzak?”

He nodded.