Lawman-in-Charge

“I know.”

Nodding, she stood and went back down to the young girl’s body. “Rigor mortis has just set in, so I estimate the time of death is approximately within the past four hours.”

He agreed with her assessment and knew the warm ashes gave credence to her time frame. “I suppose the lake water washed away any evidence.”

“Maybe, maybe not. There’s still some mud embedded in the bottom of her running shoes. And I would recommend sending the faded rope around her neck to the lab. If the perp wasn’t wearing gloves, there might be skin cells in the fibers of the rope. We could get lucky.”

Luck wasn’t his strong suit, but he nodded. He wasn’t going to take any chances. Not with this. His first murder as interim sheriff.

Dawn was breaking over the horizon by the time the medical examiner left the scene, taking Liza’s shrouded body with him.

Megan came up beside him. “Liza didn’t die here. The dirt embedded in the bottom of her shoes has the consistency of clay. I can’t see anything around here except sandy dirt and a bit of moss.”

“So what do you recommend?” he asked.

She grimaced and shrugged. “It’s a long shot, but we could do a broader search, to see if there’s some other area around the lake where a scuffle might have taken place. Can you shut down access to the lake for a while?”

“We can shut down the public boat launch, but there are at least twenty-five dwellings surrounding the lake. I can send a few deputies out to ask everyone to stay off the lake, if you think it will help.”

“I think it would help. We need to start as soon as we have more light.”

“And what if she wasn’t killed close to the lake?” Luke couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “She could have been killed anywhere, there’s natural forest for miles around. Don’t you think your plan to search the entire lake is a bit extreme?”

“Extreme? Or inconvenient?” Her gaze bored into his. In the faint light he couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, but for the first time tonight, there was a fiery determination shooting daggers at him. “If she was your daughter, don’t you think a little inconvenience would be worth it to find her killer?”

Touché. As a cop he knew very well how family members of victims needed closure. She was right. He raised a hand in silent surrender. “Okay. I’ll approve overtime for every single deputy to help us search.” He’d better call the mayor too, because it was only a matter of time before both of their phones would be ringing from angry and worried citizens. Especially once they started questioning everyone, including the hordes of tourists.

“You’re going to want to question Liza’s friends, Teagan and the boys she went out to the lake with.”

He swallowed the spark of annoyance. He had asked for her help, so there was no point in complaining when she gave it to him. “Yeah. I know.” He could get the names of the boys from Teagan, no doubt, and Liza’s best friend was exactly the place he intended to start.

Megan hesitated. “I realize I shouldn’t make rash judgments, but there was one boy, lanky and tall, with long dark hair, dressed all in black, who seemed to be a loner, standing apart from the rest of the group.”

His breath froze in his throat at her description. Long dark hair? Lanky and tall? Loner? Sam?

Was she really describing his son?

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, she continued, “He appeared angry, a deep scowl on his face. I remember thinking he looked like trouble. Maybe his anger got the better of him.”

Angry accurately described Sam. Trouble did too. But even if his son had been at the lake last night, that didn’t mean he’d had anything to do with Liza’s death. As far as he knew, Sam hadn’t been caught doing anything illegal.

Yet Sam hadn’t been home earlier when he’d come in from work. And he’d claimed he was hanging out with Doug. Luke thought back to when he’d gotten the call about finding Liza. He’d torn out of the house, heading straight to the crime scene without checking Sam’s room.

But now that he thought about it, Sam’s large, rusted, black four-wheel-drive Chevy truck hadn’t been in the driveway when he left. His gut clenched again. What time had the call come in? Quarter after two in the morning?

He told himself to relax, that Sam often didn’t come home by his curfew. He’d verify where Sam had spent the night, and it was highly likely Sam had a decent alibi.

Sam claimed to hate Luke for moving them to this small, podunk town, as he described it. But Sam wasn’t a bad kid. He may have gotten into a few fights, but always with other boys, never taking his anger out on a girl. Sam was quiet, not doing well in school, but that was normal teenage stuff. No, there was no reason for him to worry about Sam, not over something like this.

Not cold, premeditated murder.

“Thanks for the information,” he said, when he belatedly realized Megan was waiting for his response. “Don’t worry, we’ll check into every possibility.”

“I’m sure you will.” Megan looked slightly embarrassed, as if realizing she was ordering him around. She gave him a strained smile before turning toward her car. “We’ll need decent light, so I’ll meet you at the diner in three hours to start the search.”

“I’ll have everyone ready to go by then,” he agreed.

He watched her drive off. He didn’t leave right away. First he made his phone calls, ordering the deputies to report to work and then leaving a message for the mayor. Once those two most important tasks were finished, he debated between going home and going straight to the office.

After a short internal argument, he headed home. He told himself the main reason was to change clothes, knowing that this was going to be a long day with potential media exposure. As the interim sheriff, he was expected to be in uniform at all times.

But his heart squeezed in his chest when he pulled into the driveway.

Sam’s truck still wasn’t there.

Luke strode into the house, straight down the hall into Sam’s room. The bed wasn’t made, but then again, it rarely was. He stood in the center of the room, looking for some sign, anything to tell him that Sam had been there at least at some point during the night.

Dark clothing was scattered all over the floor, but he couldn’t tell if any of the garments had been recently worn and discarded. His son’s entire wardrobe consisted of black T-shirts and black jeans. Luke had taken some dirty dishes out of Sam’s room the day before, and there were no recently used plates or glasses lying about to indicate he’d come back at some point during the night.

Nothing at all to indicate Sam had been here. Luke swallowed hard.

Did that mean he didn’t have an alibi? That maybe his son had been with the dead girl? Sam did seem to be angry, but surely not angry enough to take someone’s life.

He desperately needed to find Sam, to question him before one of his deputies did.

THREE

Megan decided to eat breakfast at Rose’s Café before meeting Luke and the rest of his deputies to begin the search. She wasn’t really hungry, but her brain needed nourishment in order to remain sharp enough to find any clues as to where Liza might have been killed.

The similarities between Liza’s death and the victims of the St. Patrick’s Strangler, as the press had dubbed Paul Sherman, bothered her. She wanted to talk to the sheriff about her suspicions, but he hadn’t been at the office when she’d stopped by on her way back to the café.

Josie was behind the counter again. Megan ordered an omelet for breakfast and then asked Josie if she’d seen the sheriff recently.

“He’s out back, sweetie, talking to his son.”

“His son?” She couldn’t hide her shock. “He’s married?”

“Widowed.” Josie grinned, enjoying the gossip. “His boy runs a little wild, though, if you know what I mean.”

Widowed. Why the tragic news made her feel a mixture of sadness and relief she had no idea. Megan slid off her stool and walked outside, circling the corner of the diner. She stopped abruptly, remaining semi-hidden behind the Dumpster, when she caught a glimpse of Sheriff Luke Torretti facing down his son.

“How long have you been drinking?” Luke asked in a low furious voice.

“What do you care?” The boy was the same one she’d noticed the day before, the tall, lanky kid with the long, dark tangled hair, only today his hair was pulled back in a stubby ponytail, partially hidden by the paper hat the boy wore. Dressed in scruffy jeans and a long apron tied around his narrow waist, he looked to be the café dishwasher.

She should leave, go back inside rather than stand here eavesdropping, but investigative instincts she’d thought long dead came to life, preventing her from leaving.

“You’re right, Sam. Why should I care? So what if you go to jail? So what if you’re convicted of strangling Liza Campbell? Why would I care about what happens to you, when you don’t?”