AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They’d already screwed up the crime scene, whether inadvertently or intentionally. Settler was betting on inadvertently as Remmi Storm appeared shell-shocked. Noah Scott, not so much. But he’d had a lot of time in the military, had served in war zones. He’d seen it all.
“The blood trail ended at an access road just on the other side of the Crenshaw property, where it butts up to federal land,” Martinez informed her. “Crime guys are typing the blood on the ground, making matches to the victims and taking tire prints.”
“Any good ones?”
“Too many. Looks like
it’s a place kids might go from the trash littering the area. Broken beer bottles, condoms, sacks from McDonald’s and In-N-Out and Burger King, and all the rest.”
“Wash your Big Mac down with a Coors Light.”
“Bud,” he corrected. “Bud seemed to be the beer of choice.”
“Okay.”
“Anything else up there?”
“Not that I can see, but it’s dark; they’re putting up lights, going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. And the lead—you’ve met her, Anna Lee? She’s pissed, says the whole scene’s compromised by Scott and Storm trying to revive the victims.”
“What were they supposed to do, just stand in the driveway and wait?”
“She would have preferred they stay off the property altogether. Maybe park on the road. Or in the next county.”
Settler nodded. Anna Lee was precise and good at her job, but she was intense, and if anyone screwed up, or made her job harder, they heard about it. “Well, too bad. It is what it is.”
“God, I hate that saying. It’s almost worse than ‘What goes around, comes around.’”
“No, that’s worse,” Settler thought as she studied the Crenshaws’ backyard and noticed the strips of crime-scene tape that roped off the killing area and what was assumed to be the escape route of the wounded killer. That was a bonus. The fact that the murder had occurred here, in the county, not her jurisdiction, wasn’t. But the detective in charge, Brian Ladlow, was efficient and, rather than look at Settler and Martinez as adversaries who were butting in to his case, actually welcomed them.
He was approaching now, a big man who had played pro football for one season before an ankle injury had taken him out permanently. He was a foot taller than Settler, probably double her weight, and everything about him, from his close-cropped hair to his perma-press clothes, screamed efficiency, no nonsense, and definitely no frills.
“Getting anything from the witnesses?” she asked, hitching her chin toward the two squad cars where Remmi Storm and Noah Scott were giving their preliminary statements.
“Not so far.” His voice was deep, rough from a cigarette habit, judging from the pack visible in his shirt pocket and the slight scent of smoke not quite covered by a breath mint. “Just what you’d expect. And they jibe. They’re clean.”
“But connected,” Settler reminded him.
“Uh-huh. That business about the woman who jumped from the Montmort? Heard all about it. But I gotta tell you, I don’t see how. So this guy, Crenshaw, was married to Didi Storm for what? Like two minutes? I think it’s stranger that these two”—he motioned toward the squad cars—“show up here like minutes after the attack went down.”
They’d found rifle shells here, near the victims, and some farther away, near a large eucalyptus tree in the yard between the stable and the house. It appeared that Crenshaw and his wife had been in the stable and had come out, most likely with a pitchfork that had been found discarded in the bushes surrounding the house, its long wooden handle smeared with blood. Had the killer been hiding behind the tree and ambushed them as they left the stable, or had the victims been chased from the building and the killer, behind them, taken cover by the tree and fired?
Still unknown.
“They showed up pretty damned quick after the vics were shot,” Ladlow said, the fingers of his right hand delving into his shirt pocket and extracting a cigarette. “Kind of a coincidence, if you believe them.”
Settler nodded. “Lucky for the Crenshaws they got here when they did.”
“Not so much. She’s dead. He will be soon if he isn’t already.” Ladlow fiddled with the cigarette, didn’t light up.
Settler said, “Let’s hope not. I want to hear what he has to say.”
“You and me both.” Ladlow stared at the bloody ground, watched the techs for a second. “Helluva thing. Double murder.”
“Not yet.” He was starting to irritate her by writing off Crenshaw when Settler felt talking to the rancher would be key to the investigation. Sure, they could analyze phone records, computer data, e-mail accounts, and the like, but that would take time and wouldn’t fill in all the blanks. Hopefully, Ned Crenshaw, if and when he regained consciousness, would be able to complete some of the missing pieces that linked this attack to the woman who had jumped from the Montmort and, yes, back to what happened to Didi Storm.
From the corner of her eye, she witnessed the interior light of one of the squad cars wink on, and Remmi Storm got out, slamming the door shut behind her. She was still talking to the officer who’d been interviewing her and now appeared to be waiting for Noah Scott.
What was their deal?
