Guns and Roses (57 page)

“How long before they get here?”

“No idea. It’s why we didn’t contact anyone. So why don’t you and Teresa head home and we’ll be in touch as soon as we know anything,” Cam said gently. “There’s nothing you can do here.”

Jim shook his head and made a break for it.

Cam swore and started to give chase, but Teresa grabbed the back of his coat, holding him in place. Cam’s prosthesis was dicey on an uneven crust of snow—one icy misstep and it could pop off completely. And at six foot five, he could do some damage to tiny Teresa if he tried to knock her down.

Sheriff Shortbull had been watching the events unfold and he’d intercepted Jim before the grief-stricken father ducked around the back of the house.

But he hadn’t kept Jim from seeing the bloody footprints in the snow that led from the back door to the detached garage and then back inside.

Jim fell to his knees, releasing an agonized wail that ripped Cam’s soul. Teresa immediately let go of Cam. He turned, expecting to see her racing toward her anguished husband, but she was making a beeline for the unmanned front door of her daughter’s house.

Fuck.

Cam snagged her arm, stopping her, and managed to duck when she took a swing at him.

“Let me go! I have to see her! I have to know that she’s really—”

“Trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to see her like that. Please. Mrs. Swensen. Listen to me. Don’t try to go in there again. It’s for the best.”

Teresa crumpled to the ground and wept.

He couldn’t do a damn thing but stand beside her and listen while she sobbed inconsolably. Wishing he were anyplace else but here, watching a family’s life forever changed.

And just when Cam thought it couldn’t get any worse, another car barreled up the driveway.

Both Jim and Teresa turned to look with hope on their faces. Almost as if they expected this
death thing
had been a horrible mix-up, and Angela would be climbing out of the car.

Cam squinted. Was that Angela’s sister, Monica?

Then snow flew as Jim and Teresa raced toward the Lincoln.

When Sheriff Shortbull yelled, “McKay. Call for backup. Now!” Cam realized the car contained Jeff’s parents, Bob and Sharon Wingate.

Jesus. Now they’d have try to preserve the crime scene and prevent four grieving parents from ripping each other apart.

After Cam called in an immediate request for assistance, he hustled over to help the sheriff, who was dodging blows from Jim Swensen as he tried to stop Jim from attacking Bob Wingate.

Screaming and obscenities echoed to Cam’s left as Teresa rained down her frustration on Sharon. She punctuated each harsh word with a hard shove, until Sharon lost her footing on the ice and fell on her butt. Then Teresa pounced on her.

Before Cam could separate the hair-pulling pair, Sharon flipped Teresa on her back and pummeled her in the face, knocking her out cold.

Heartsick for these families, but forced to do his job, Cam gently pried Sharon away from Teresa. Then he corralled Bob as the sheriff slapped a pair of handcuffs on Jim. Cam had no choice but to handcuff Bob, too.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t tune out the venom Bob spewed at him. At the sheriff. At Jim. When Jim shrieked back, sounding more like a wounded animal than a man, Cam wished he had gags. And earplugs. And a different goddamn job.

Sheriff Shortbull shoved Jim into the back of his patrol car and Cam put Bob in his car. Then they went to deal with the mothers.

Teresa had come around. She blinked, as if waking up from a bad dream. When she saw Sharon, Teresa ignored the blood dripping down the front of her coat and charged her.

Cam and the sheriff ended up cuffing both women and placing them in the cars with their respective husbands.

Before Cam closed the door, Bob’s accusation rang out loud and clear. “Why didn’t you help him?”

Cam froze. “Excuse me?”

“My boy. Jeff. He came back from war… broken. Not on the outside like you.” Bob’s pain-filled eyes dropped to Cam’s left leg. “But on the inside. That’s worse. You knew him. You should’ve tried… You should’ve reached out to him.”

Cam had no response for that. He just quietly shut the door.

~*~

Thirty minutes later, Angela’s sister showed up and whisked her parents away, promising to keep them under lock and key. Immediately following their departure, Jeff’s brother, Cliff, appeared to take custody of Bob and Sharon.

Deputy Rick parked at the end of the road, keeping other curious onlookers at bay. Finally, at two o’clock, the DCI vans arrived.

The sheriff walked the techs through the scene and left the house as quickly as possible.

Neither he nor Cam said anything in the four hours the DCI took to catalogue the scene, bag the victims and tag the evidence.

As near as the DCI experts could figure, the bodies had expired within an hour of each other. No sign that anyone else had been in the house with them. It looked as if Jeff Wingate had pulled out his .22 and emptied all fifteen clips into Angela, right in their bedroom.

Then Jeff had walked through her blood, leaving bloody footprints from the bedroom to the garage, and picked up the—

“Sheriff? Deputy? We’re finished.”

Cam and Sheriff Shortbull faced the crime scene tech, a petite blonde, early twenties, with a waxy complexion and haunted eyes. She reminded Cam of his daughter Liesl. He couldn’t imagine his sweet daughter seeing something this horrific. Would the young lady speak to her parents about the atrocities she saw in her job?

Who do you speak to about the atrocities you’ve seen?

No one.

“Do you need anything else from us?” the sheriff asked.

“No. My boss will be out to wrap up. I just…” She glanced back at the house and shivered. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Glad to know we’re not the only ones,” the sheriff said.

Cam wasn’t surprised the sheriff tried to put the young woman at ease, but the normally congenial man couldn’t even muster a smile.

After another brief conversation, the vans pulled away. No sirens. No flashing lights. No hurry.

Darkness had fallen. Cam wasn’t a believer in ghosts. But if any apparitions or memory echoes were to appear, it’d be on a night like this. Pitch black. No moon. Wisps of snow clouds scuttled across the dark sky with wraithlike fingers.

They’d opted not to drape the house—or the access to it—in crime scene tape. Locals knew where Jeff and Angela lived. They’d drive by out of morbid curiosity and disbelief.

News crews from Cheyenne, Casper and Denver would figure out the location—no need to make it easy on them. Guaranteed this case would become newsworthy. Local couple found in a murder/suicide on Valentine’s Day. He just hoped some of the details would be kept private.

Details like Jeff’s military service? Which you hadn’t known about?

He tuned out Bob Wingate’s accusation and checked his phone. Six messages from Domini. His wife’s escalating concern drove home the point that he couldn’t face his family in his present dark mood.

Their brood—six kids adopted over the course of the last three years, ranging in age from two to nine—was loud, messy, fierce, loving, joyful and determined. Going home to the family chaos that defined his life was his favorite part of the day. He knew the scene that would greet him. His youngest son, Markus, would be in meltdown mode before supper. His youngest daughter, Sasha, would be watching
Dora the Explorer
for the umpteenth time. The twins, Dimitri and Oxsana would be fighting over the dog. Anton and Liesl would be talking about their classrooms’ Valentine’s Day parties after finishing chores.

Cam closed his eyes. Had it only been last night he’d sat at the kitchen table with his oldest son and daughter supervising Valentine preparations? Anton finished his Transformers cards in less than twenty minutes, while Liesl had painstakingly written out every classmate’s name in red marker. And she’d added a pink squiggle of glitter glue to each paper heart she’d created. By the time Liesl had finished her valentines, she’d been covered in red marker, glue and glitter. She claimed her tongue hurt from licking envelopes, and he’d slipped her an ice cream bar to soothe the sting.

His wife had smiled at them indulgently as she’d directed the twins’ placement of candy hearts atop the pink and white frosted cupcakes.

Such innocence didn’t need to be tainted by the black cloud surrounding him. Cam texted Domini not to wait up.

Back in Sundance, he parked his patrol car behind the sheriff’s office. Both he and the sheriff wrote their reports while the horror was still fresh in their minds. Then they headed to the Golden Boot bar and attempted to dull those too-sharp edges of shock.

Before they’d finished the first beer, people wanted to know what’d really happened with the Wingates. Some even offered hypothetical motives. As an elected official, the sheriff couldn’t be rude. He answered questions with grace and ease that looked completely effortless, but Cam could see it was taking a toll on the man.

Finally, Lettie, the bar owner, spirited them to the back, away from continual interruptions. She dropped off a round and said, “I don’t know if this is useful information, but Jeff and Angela were in here three days ago.”

“And how did they seem?” the sheriff asked.

“Jeff looked a little rough around the edges. Angela kept fussing at him. Urging him to eat. Touching him.”

“Did that irritate him?”

“On the contrary. It appeared to soothe him.”

“So they weren’t fighting?”

“No. They even danced once before they left. It was sweet. They only ever had eyes for each other as teenagers.” She looked at Cam with sad eyes. “Don’t you remember they were crowned king and queen of the winter formal in their junior year? We were all so happy they reconnected after Jeff moved back home a few years ago.” She clucked her tongue. “Those poor families. Left to wonder why. I don’t envy you guys your jobs.”

“Me neither,” Cam mumbled into his beer.

The sheriff sighed. “There goes the jealous rage theory.”

They drank in silence until a shadow fell across the table. Cam looked up as Doctor Joely Monroe, a feisty redhead with gamine features and a brusque manner, scooted next to the sheriff in the booth.

“Hey, Doc,” Cam said. “I imagine it’s not a coincidence that you’re here?” As the only physician in the area, chances were good she’d treated the victims at some point in the last few years.

“I’m meeting some folks later, but I figured I’d find you guys drinking after the day you’ve had.” She lowered her voice. “So it’s true? About Jeff and Angela?”

“Afraid so.”

“Shit.” She sighed and shoved her hand through her hair, making the short red tresses stick straight up. “I don’t know if it matters, but Angela was my patient.”

“Was Jeff?”

“No.” Doctor Monroe motioned Lettie over to the table. “Two lemon drop martinis, each with a lemon vodka chaser.” She gestured to them. “You guys want anything?”

Sheriff Shortbull shook his head.

Cam said, “Ah, no. I’m good.”

They waited in silence until Lettie returned with the drinks. After the doc upended her first martini, she asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Damndest thing. We’re not exactly sure,” Sheriff Shortbull said and relayed the events. “Do you know anything that could shed light on this case?”

Her shrewd gaze winged to his. “Who will hear this?”

“I’d like to assure you that it’ll stay between us, but these things have a way of getting out. You know that. Especially in this case, because everyone is trying to make sense of… something in this fucked-up situation.”

She nodded. Fiddled with the stem of her martini glass. “I can tell you that I recently found out Jeff suffered from PTSD.”

Cam’s gut clenched for the second time at the reminder he’d had no idea Jeff had served in the military, let alone in a combat unit. As Cam tried to think back to the past few years and whether he’d simply forgotten that piece of information, Bob Wingate’s accusations pushed front and center.
You should have reached out to him.

“Angela came into the office last week for her annual checkup. She had bruises on her arms and legs. When I asked why, she said Jeff had been suffering from more combat nightmares than usual. He thrashed around a lot at night and she bore the brunt of it.”

Cam felt himself nodding. Those types of flashbacks were so real he woke covered in sweat, his throat raw from heat and sand, feeling like he’d been in the desert fighting for his life.

“Was Angela concerned for her safety?” the sheriff asked.

Doc Monroe shook her head. “She swore she knew how to handle it. Handle him. I had no reason not to believe her or I would’ve suggested she stay someplace safer.” She drained the vodka shot. “I see abused women in my practice far too often. I never would’ve put Angela in that category.”

“Can you back up?” Cam said. “Bob Wingate said something to me earlier, and you just confirmed it, but I had no idea Jeff was a combat vet.”