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“In the killer’s sick mind,” Will added, “this is some sort of kindness.”
Valerie suspected that Will was right, but she didn’t want to put all of their eggs in one basket.
“Sheriff Carter, do you know if it’s the same pathologist who is carrying out the autopsy on the third victim?” she asked.
“You mean, the same for all three victims?” Sheriff Carter asked, before answering himself. “Yeah. Larry Birkin. Eighty-six years old. A bit of a legend in these parts, but he’s a little bit of an acquired taste.”
“Can you take me to him?” Valerie asked. “Let’s see if we can get things moving and see what his conclusions are on all three bodies.”
“Sure, you wanna take my car?” the sheriff offered. “The roads are a little bumpy out this way.”
“I think I can handle it,” Valerie said, wryly.
“I didn’t mean …” the sheriff rubbed the back of his head nervously. “It’s just that I have four-wheel drive, and the quickest route is a little off road, so to speak.”
“We all travel together as a team, anyway,” she said. “Is there room for all of us?”
“Can I suggest something?” Charlie asked.
“Go for it, Charlie.”
“Maybe Will and I should hang back here. I still think we should check out this Mac farmstead owner. The one Gina said she had some problems with.”
“That’s a dead end,” Carter said confidently. “Mac is almost as old as these hills. He’s not going to be out killing anyone. Even though he is a stubborn old mule.”
“Yes, that might be the case,” Will agreed, “but a man who has seen it all in these parts might have his ear to the ground and know something. Or he might also have people working for him. Who is to say it couldn’t be someone on his farm?”
“Besides,” Charlie added, “someone is going to have to question him to see if the victim did indeed work there like Gina said.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Valerie said. “It makes sense to cover as much ground as we can considering we only have forty-eight hours to make a breakthrough.”
“Forty-eight hours?” the sheriff said, surprised.
“It’s a long story,” Will said, looking up at the hills around them, mournfully. “But Valerie is right, things will move quicker if we cover different lines of inquiry.”
“Okay,” said Valerie. “Sheriff Carter, lead the way, we’ll go to the pathologist. Will, Charlie, you two question this Mac guy. And try not to lose Will in these hills, Charlie.”
“Scout’s honor,” Charlie said.
“Okay, let’s move,” Valerie said sternly.
She felt a knot in her stomach. She hated this part of the job, but it had to be done. Valerie was about to see the victims' lifeless bodies, to look into their glassy eyes and see only a vacant, empty abyss. It was time she familiarized herself with the killer's twisted brutality. Only then could she piece together the mind of the man who had done such terrible things.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Will felt unnerved as he stood facing Mac Gleeson’s farmstead. The afternoon sun bathed his face. The hills were cold. Pockets of frost could be seen forming in the shaded parts. And yet the sun was up there, bright and blazing.
There was no heat in that place. Only wind, hardship, and toil.
Charlie got out of the car and fixed his gun in its holster beneath his coat.
“Do you think you’ll need that?” Will asked.
“A black man and a city-based academic roaming the rugged hills off the beaten track?” Charlie said sardonically. “Some of these old farmers can get a little nervous with folks like us around.”
“That seems a tad judgmental,” Will said as the two approached a large, three-story farmhouse that was immaculately maintained.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Charlie said. “Some of these people will be salt of the Earth, but you never can be too careful, Will. I’ve learned that in my life. You should … How would you put it? Take heed of my words.”
