On the front porch, Miller rants about Eric Lamb and their disputes over his neglected horses. Miller acknowledges he never felt threatened by his neighbor—a mild-tempered sort. Yes, he heard gunfire occasionally, a lot of it a few nights ago, but figured someone was knocking down a pack of coyotes. He didn’t know about any enemies his neighbor might have and hardly ever saw visitors coming or going. A boy, his nephew, had been staying with him the past couple of years. The boy was lazy like most, but polite, respectful. Never noticed any anger problems.
After a half-hour of getting no leads from Miller, my backup unit comes barreling up the long dirt drive from the road, raising a cloud of dust. I send the old man home.
As the two deputies step out of their vehicle, I ask, “You guys got the warrant?”
“Right here.” Deputy Grimes waves a folded paper at me.
“Grimes, you start around back. I think there’s a body buried off one corner of the house, about twenty feet from the back porch. Thompson, you join me in the house.”
Thompson and I cover our mouths and noses as we enter through the front door, into the bare-bones living room. A gun rack over the fireplace has one empty slot. Nothing else catches our attention until we come to the hallway—a spray of buckshot and traces of blood spatter on the wall at the entrance to the kitchen. I nod in the direction of the bedrooms. “Let’s see what we find back here. Watch your step. That mess on the floor is evidence.”
The stench hangs like a thick fog as we move down the hallway. The first bedroom is small. A couple of rock band posters pinned up on one wall, dirty clothes scattered on the floor, bed unmade. “The neighbor mentioned a boy,” I say to Thompson. “This must be his room. Let’s check out the other one.”
The second bedroom is larger. I choke on the odor, burns my lungs. Flies swarm all around. The bed’s been stripped. Blood splatters on one wall and a large stain on the carpet where a body must have bled out, and the corpse likely lay decomposing for several days. Could have been a couple weeks, and by the looks of things, the body was recently moved. “Dead colt, my ass,” I mutter.
I scan the floor for casings. None evident. “Whoever did this knew to pick up after himself. The kid looks to be too much of a slob to be so thorough. Could have been him, but I doubt it.”
Thompson nods.
I wave my hand around the room. “You get some pictures while I go out back and check with Grimes.”
Down the hallway toward the kitchen, I sidestep the smudges, not wanting to contaminate any evidence. I glance around the kitchen and jot a note. Someone appears to have been packing or unpacking, but didn’t finish. Either a typical teenage boy, or a looter who got interrupted.
I pause on the back steps and assess Grimes’s progress. A dozen plaster casts in the ground around the grave indicate footprints left behind. He’s started excavating what figures to be a grave, about six inches deep so far. He’s being deliberate.
“Need a hand?” I ask.
Grimes hands me a field shovel. “Be my guest.”
“Wanna take bets on how deep he is?”
Grimes grins. “Isn’t betting against the law?”
I scoop up a bit of loose dirt.
A foot down, I blot my brow with a handkerchief. “We’ve got to hit him soon.”
Grimes takes over. Close to eighteen inches, he wipes his forehead. “Guess we can’t call this one a shallow grave.”
After about six more inches, with beads of sweat dripping from his face, Grimes holds up one hand. “I’ve got something.”
I grab a paintbrush from the forensic kit and start sweeping away loose dirt.
“Looks like an arm, Boss.”
I nod. “Here, you finish. I’ll call in the cavalry.”
Within an hour, the coroner is processing Eric Lamb’s body and a half-dozen reserve deputies are casing the scene for traces of evidence.
Carl
The French doors leading into Jacob’s kitchen are wide open. I peek in—no Jacob. A moment later, he slides open the door to his bedroom a few feet away. “Carl, I’m over here.”
Inside the bedroom an array of survival gear and a backpack are laid out on the bed. Propped up next to his nightstand is his Beretta SO5.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
Jacob starts stuffing things into the pack. “I’m going to find the girl.”
“And the shotgun—what’s that for?”
He smirks. “Who knows? I might come across a bear or something.”
“Didn’t the sheriff confiscate your firearms?”
“They must’ve missed the bunker. I found it down there when I grabbed the rest of this stuff. Not the only time I’ve misplaced it lately.”
“Don’t take this wrong—but I have to ask. Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“You know. Shoot your neighbor.”
He drops his pack on the bed. “Honestly, Carl—I wish I could remember. I don’t know how I got there—or the shovel either. I went to his shack earlier that night. Followed him for a couple miles along a firebreak to a ranch house. Someone started shooting inside the place. A couple of people came running out. Then everything goes blank until I’m standing in front of my neighbor’s shack watching it burn—and Baker starts asking questions.”
“So, you don’t have an alibi.”
“No.”
“Look, let’s say the girl’s real. You’re not just imagining things. How do you know she’s still out there? She could be anywhere by now.”
Jacob throws the pack over one shoulder and rests the barrel of his twelve-gauge on the other. “I’m doing this, whether you like it or not.” He starts toward the sliding-glass door.
I step in front of him. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m not about to do anything stupid. I’m just looking for a lost girl.”
I let him pass. “Got your cell phone?”
“Of course.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Sure.”
Once he’s gone, I wander into the kitchen and stop next to the marble-topped island. The man I’ve known for over forty years is more of a mystery now than the day we met. I turn and look down the hallway toward Jacob’s library. The door’s open. That means I have Jacob’s tacit approval, right?
Okay, no expectation of privacy here. I pick up a stack and start perusing. In typical Jacob Chandler style, his desk is covered with neatly arranged stacks of files and papers. There are scores of pages of pleadings, depositions, affidavits, court transcripts and the like about the wrongful death claim filed by his former employee’s family. After thumbing through the stack, I lay the documents aside and sort through a similar pile—a set of correspondence having to do with the indemnity case against his old firm.
On top of the third heap is a 9x12 envelope with a detective agency’s return address. Inside there’s a half-dozen page report about Celine’s abduction. I sit behind the desk and study the document. Page three stops me cold. I read the middle paragraph a second time. I squint and read it a third time to be sure I’m getting it straight.
I feel around in the envelope and come up with a DVD, load it into Jacob’s computer. The images popping up raise more questions than they answer. The first photo shows Jacob’s son, Jesse, embracing a woman, a brunette—not Celine’s mother. In another shot, the same woman is holding a child—no more than a year old, but it doesn’t appear to be Celine. Why did Jake have a private detective following Jesse? And the woman. Was Jesse having an affair? Is this woman connected to Celine’s kidnapping? Something about the woman rings a bell.
As I lean back in the chair to process what I’ve seen, footsteps echo down in the hallway. I press the eject button, stuff both the DVD and the report back into the envelope, and bury them at the bottom of the pile. I grab a sheet from the top of the pile and pretend to be reading.
A moment later Deputy Sheriff Baker walks into the room. “We knocked and no one answered. The door was open.”
“Can I help you?”
“We’re here for Chandler.”
“He’s not in. Is there something I can do?”
“When are you expecting Mr. Chandler back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“He didn’t say anything before he left?”
“Not about when he planned to be back.”
“Oh, what did he say?”
“Nothing much.”
“Don’t stonewall me, Samuels.”
“I’m not stonewalling.”
“There’s a deputy on the way with an arrest warrant—and a warrant to search this place.”
“You’ve already searched the place once and arrested him, as well. He’s free on bail.”
“Bail’s been revoked. We’re looking for anything that connects him to the murders, not just weapons. We have another body.”
“Another body? You can’t possibly think ….”
“Mr. Samuels, it takes more than thinking to get an arrest warrant. And I’m sure by the time we finish searching here we’ll have a few more loose ends tied down.”
I gesture toward the door. “You’d better step outside while you wait for your warrant.”
“And maybe you should join me.”
“Sure. Mind if I use the bathroom, first?”
“As long as you make it quick.”
“After you,” I offer.
Baker stops in the doorway and turns toward me. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t do anything we might consider obstruction.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
I cross the hall to the bathroom and watch Deputy Baker take his time walking to the kitchen and out onto the deck. My gut tells me those Jesse pictures could lead to trouble, especially if Baker gets his hands on the suicide note. Add Jesse’s accusations of emotional abuse to the Conroy mess, and there’s no telling what a DA’s imagination could make of it. Taking down a high profile guy like Jake could make a prosecutor’s career.
I wait long enough to be sure Baker is out of view before darting back across the hall into Jacob’s library. I grab the envelope from the bottom of the stack and tuck it into the back of my pants, concealing it with the tail of my sports jacket. Before joining the deputy, I return to the bathroom, flush the toilet and wash my hands.
When I step onto the deck, Deputy Baker scratches his head. “You know, it seems odd that your boss—I’m right, he is your boss?”
“Client.”
“It seems odd Mr. Chandler would go somewhere without taking his vehicle …” Baker points to Jacob’s Jeep “… and not give you any idea where he was going.”
“I’m his business advisor, not his mother.”
“It doesn’t matter what you are. Obstruction of justice means not being straight with us while we’re investigating a crime.” He stares hard. “It’s a felony that gets you hard time.”
I grimace.
“So one more time, Mr. Samuels. Where’s Chandler?”
Jacob’s had more than half-an-hour head start. It would take hours for Baker to put together a search party. Besides, maybe telling the truth would create enough of a distraction to insure I can get away with the envelope I stuck in my pants.
I look out at the lake. “Hunting.”
“For what? Nothing’s in season, and we’ve impounded his firearms.”
“The girl.”
“Damn. Where?”
I point. “Somewhere out there.”
Baker wheels around and yells into the radio strapped on his shoulder. “I need a search party up here right now. And get the nearest K-9 unit you can find.”
Jacob
I click ‘Answer’ on my cell phone. “Hi, Carl. You’re not talking me out of this, so don’t even try.”
“That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Sounds like you’re driving.”
“Yeah. On my way back to the city.”
“So why are you calling?”
“You need to be straight with me. Is there anything you haven’t told me that your attorney needs to know?”
“There’s nothing I know for sure that he hasn’t been told.”
“That’s not my question.”
I don’t reply.
“Jake, why did you have a private detective following Jesse?”
“I’m not answering any more questions.”
Carl pauses. “How are your survival skills?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Deputy Baker is organizing a search party, including a K-9 unit. He’s setting up a command post at your cabin.”
“So, he’s decided the girl’s for real. Of course, he didn’t have a choice after that DNA report.”
“That’s not it. Your bail’s been revoked. They found another body and he thinks you did it.”
“Who? Where?”
“A man. They didn’t say who he was. Shot in the face and chest with a shotgun.”
“Where did this happen?”
“There’s a dead-end road that angles back from the highway a half mile or so below the turnoff to your place. Leads to a couple of ranches.”
“I think I know where you’re talking about. I can get to it on foot from here.”
“No. Better not show up there. It’s a crime scene and there might be cops all over the place.”
“You’ve got a point.”
Carl pauses again. “How do you know about this place? Seems like it’s a bit out of the way.”
“Remember the ranch house I told you about?”
“From the night your neighbor was shot up. You followed him there, and heard gunshots inside the place.”
“Yeah. I think it’s the same place.”
“Jake, things aren’t good.”
“I know. Any chance they’ve tapped our phones?”
“How would I know?”
“Just in case, we’d better sign off. And Carl ….”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call me. If the police get a hold of your phone records and see you’ve been calling me it could mean serious trouble for you. Think of Sandy and your family. The kids and grandkids.”
“Jake …”
“Yeah?”
“Never mind ….”
I check the cell phone display to be sure we’re still connected, then put the phone back to my ear. “You still there?”
“Yeah.” More silence. Then Carl continues, “I was thinking. Are you sure you don’t want to rethink this whole thing? Turn yourself in.”
“Not a chance. I’m going to find her. I know she’s out there. Only now, I can’t perch myself somewhere and wait for her to wander by. I have to keep moving or those dogs will find me.”
“Okay—but don’t you think it would be a good idea to call your attorney and clue him in?”
“I suppose you’re right. But, you make the call. I’ll be turning off my phone so its signal can’t be tracked.”
“Jake, you will call if you really need help, right?”