Murder in the Mist (21 page)

Mitch merely nodded at her explanation. “Give us a layout of the area, Ranger Dorsey.”

She pointed. “All of the trails are rustic. There are a few boardwalk areas, but most are covered with leaves. Every trail loops into each other, and all are visibly marked with a number and arrows, so campers don’t have to guess which path leads back to their campsite, or the visitor’s center, the beach area, and even to the higher elevations for the veteran hikers.”

Laura and the ranger followed Mitch to the vacant area. He used the toe of his boot to sift through fallen leaves and dirt. “How likely is it for someone to get lost?”

Dorsey thought for a moment. “I’m not saying getting lost wouldn’t happen, but the trails are marked exceptionally well.” She shrugged. “Wandering off in the dark without a flashlight adds to the possibility. Even though we don’t allow alcohol or drugs in the park, unless we searched every vehicle, people can slip it in. If Daisy Fuller was inebriated, and wandered off without a flashlight, then, yeah, she could have easily gotten off the trail and gotten lost. Conditions for the night she disappeared would have aided in losing her way. Don’t forget it was storming, and then fog set in. Thing is, if she’d hunkered down and stayed put until daylight, she’d have found her way back to her friends.” She shook her head in disgust. “Amateurs.”

Mitch thanked the ranger for her help. He glanced at his watch. Nine a.m. “Unless you get a distress call, don’t worry about us.”

Dorsey climbed into the off-road vehicle and turned the key. “Good luck. Hope you find what you’re looking for.” She waved and drove off.

“All right. Let’s look at the facts, Friday. We have a group who admitted they’re dopers. If the tent was backed up to this wooded area, it’s possible Daisy was stoned enough to lose her bearings and went tromping through the weeds instead of heading in that direction toward the restroom.” He pointed. “Let’s take the trail that parallels where the rear of the tent should have faced, and see where it leads us.”

Laura nodded. She lifted the trekking poles. “Lead the way.”

“We’ve got all day. You stroll on the trail. I’ll go through the brush to see if I can spot where Daisy may have walked. Don’t push beyond your comfort level. If your leg gets tired, tell me.”

After a mile, a bench looked inviting. Laura sat, stretching her leg.

Mitch waded out of the thick brush to join Laura. “How is it?”

“The trekking poles really work. My leg is tired, but not as much as I’d expected. I guess you’re not having much luck with spotting evidence, huh?”

Mitch slapped his hand against his thigh. “This is damned frustrating. Not even a broken twig, or a piece of torn clothing.”

They sat, neither of them speaking. Mitch lifted a finger to his lips to signal quiet as he pointed. Laura followed the angle of his arm. She lifted her camera and clicked. A doe with a fawn stood in the high brush. Laura offered Mitch a wide-eyed grin. “It’s beautiful here. Nothing like New York, where the only animals you see are the pampered pets at the end of a leash or police horses and carriage horses.”

“Do you ever think of returning to your old job?”

She turned toward him and sighed. “Once in a while, part of me gets an itch for the limelight. A small part. The rest of me likes my new life. It’d take a mighty big offer, with lots of money behind it, to entice me back to overpriced restaurants, shoulder-to-shoulder crowded sidewalks, noxious fumes, yelling, rudeness.”

She lifted the camera again and adjusted the zoom lens.

“Another deer?”

“Mmm, no. How far are we from where the park property ends and the residential area begins?”

“I’m not quite sure. Why?”

She removed the camera strap from around her neck and offered it to Mitch. She showed him how to look through the display screen. “I see a rooftop.” She pointed to a button. “This controls the zoom.”

Mitch moved the camera around until he spotted the barest view of a rusted metal roof. He zoomed in. “It’s off the path, and the going could get tough…”

She interrupted his sentence, slipped her hands through the pole straps, and, gritting her teeth, stood. “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

Wild blackberry bushes tore at their trouser legs. Mitch watched the ground as he walked. After a half hour, he held up his hand as a signal to halt. He stooped down and pointed. “Get a shot of this before I pick it up.” He reached in his front pants pocket and removed a pocket knife and a plastic evidence bag.

Laura focused from three different angles. Mitch used the tip of his pocket knife to brush the leaves away and then to lift the blue rubber stub. He held it up. “What is it?”

Laura snapped more shots before he dropped it into the bag. “May I?”

She scrutinized the piece of rubber. “I’m not completely certain, but this looks like a toe post from a flip-flop.”

A grin spread across Mitch’s face. “Good work, Friday. Sybella Dauzat said the victim was wearing flip-flops. If the shoes broke, that accounts for the cuts on the bottoms of her feet, and wading through this thick brush explains the multiple scratches on her legs.”

“Maybe she spotted the rooftop and hoped to seek shelter from the storm. I wonder who lives there?”

“We’ll soon find out.”

The distance was farther than it looked through the camera lens. The park’s trail led away from the area Mitch and Laura traversed. After an hour of stepping over fallen logs, and wading through bushes that threatened to trap and hold them captive, Mitch and Laura stood at the edge of the woods and looked down at a small cabin. An old wooden boat with peeling blue and white paint lay keel up on two rickety sawhorses. The yard was littered with rusting appliances, car tires, and a bicycle frame. Other than junk and weeds, the place appeared abandoned.

Mitch removed the backpack and unzipped it. He pulled out both bottles of water and handed one to Laura. He watched her drink deep and then stand as if trying to catch her breath. “How’s the leg?”

When she didn’t answer, he said, “Your eyes tell me all I need to know. Let’s head back.”

“No, Mitch. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be okay. The trekking poles help more than you’ll ever know. We’ve come this far. Besides, I want to know who lives in that cabin.”

“Tell you what. You stay put. Rest your leg. Your aunt said there were several abandoned cabins up here. This could be one. If it’s occupied, let me check it out first. I’ll signal if it’s safe. Deal?”

He read the relief in her expression. She drew in a long breath and released it. “Deal.”

****

The minute Mitch turned toward the dilapidated structure, Laura allowed her shoulders to sag. She bit her lip against the throbbing white-hot pain that seemed to permeate her entire right side. Thankful for the support, she allowed the trekking poles to bear the brunt of her weight. She watched Mitch as he descended the slope and approached the cabin with caution. One hand on his service revolver, he walked to a window and stood on tiptoes to peer inside. From a distance, he fit the visual image of a dangerous cowboy. Mesmerized, she caught herself staring at him.

A stab of anxiety pierced Laura when he disappeared around the front of the house. She clenched her hands around the poles. The air suddenly felt heavy. Heavy and damp and full of promise for rain. The weather, the pain—this entire situation made her edgy. She drew a deep, fortifying breath and reminded herself that she was fine, and that Mitch knew how to take care of himself.

Relief washed over her when she heard him call her name, and spotted him climbing up the hill toward her.

“Anything?”

“Nope. Place looks like it’s been abandoned for years. No sign of any recent activity. In fact, all the floorboards have either rotted away or someone pulled them up.” He touched her on the arm. “How’re you holding up?”

“Great. Where to from here?”

“I see a trail marker. We’ll head toward it and hope it leads us to Ocean Path, and then on to the beach area at Thunder Hole. I’d like to get a look around the area and the cavern.”

“You lead. I’ll follow.”

“Friday, I can call and have Ranger Dorsey come get you.”

She didn’t speak right away. She was tired, but in a different sort of way. This was physical fatigue, unlike being exhausted after too many sleepless nights from battered emotions. She liked this kind of tired better. She was pushing her body and knew she’d pay the consequences tonight and maybe tomorrow.

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. After a moment, she touched his hand. “Thanks for caring, Mitch.”

He gave a nod and led the way up the steep incline. To take her mind off the ache, she said, “Have you created a profile of the killer?”

She could almost see the muscles rippling through the back of his tan uniform shirt, and the way his glutes tightened as he strained up the incline fluttered her insides. She reminded herself he was leaving. He was running for sheriff in El Paso, and he needed to exact restitution on the men who had harmed his family. This thought solidified her resolve to remain detached emotionally. His voice interrupted her meandering thoughts.

“We know his favorite kill method is to break the victim’s neck. He’s not a flashy killer or a serial killer, yet he certainly gets the job done. With the recent discovery of the animals, all with cervical fractures, this indicates our perp’s desire for taking lives is most likely increasing.

“There was no evidence of sexual assault. This could mean the crime itself gives him orgasmic gratification, or he gets caught in a megalomaniacal fantasy which possibly means that if he was abused as a child, he’s punishing the person who harmed him, most likely a female relative. He is strategic and canny, intelligent and confident, but he might struggle with reacting appropriately to other people’s emotion-driven social cues.

“The one thing I don’t want to happen is for the trail to grow cold. Every lawman knows the more time that passes, the more difficult it becomes to find a suspect. Also, is there a connection between Lynnette Braswell and Daisy Fuller?”

Behind his back, Laura frowned. “Then this person could be a sociopath, living right under our noses, and we’d never know it.”

Mitch grunted his response. “Exactly.”

She huffed as she spoke. “I guess every case is like a jigsaw puzzle. It’s a matter of making all the pieces fit together to solve the crime.”

He darted a quick glance over his shoulder. “Not altogether different from what a good investigative reporter does.”

Laura smiled through gritted teeth. She tried not to think about the sweat pooling under her arms or trickling between her breasts. Then, one moment she was using the poles as stability and the next moment the tip of one of the rods slipped on a rock and her foot slid out from under her. She teetered precariously before she grimly fell forward. She squealed as she reached for a handful of bushes and dirt to keep from sliding backwards.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Laura was aware of Mitch calling her name. A buzzing roared in her ears, and sparklers burst in front of her eyes. She blinked and took a moment to regain her senses. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth where she had bitten her bottom lip. “Oh, damn.”

Mitch came crashing down in front of her. Before she realized he’d grabbed her, she was sitting next to him. Her chest heaved. She was hot. Her legs trembled. He removed a bottle of water from the backpack and wet his handkerchief to wipe the blood from her lips and chin. He handed her the bottle. “Here, swish some around and spit it out so I can see if you need stitches.”

The water was tepid. She did as instructed. He gently folded her bottom lip down. “You’ll need some ice to reduce the swelling, and to be on the safe side, let’s get you to a doctor.”

She ran a hand through her short-cropped hair. “I must look a total mess.”

He merely grinned. “I haven’t seen a girl with a fat lip and dirt on the tip of her nose and cheek in a while. Kinda cute.”

She offered him a lopsided smirk. “You’re a real pal.”

After another moment she brought the water bottle back up and drank a long, deep swallow. “What time is it?”

“A little past noon.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re about a hundred yards from the marked trail. Can you stand?”

He placed his arms around her to help her upright. She took a step, only to have her right leg fold beneath her. “Stay put while I check the trail number.”

Something scuffled in the underbrush not far away. Her attention snapped into gear. Nothing appeared. It was broad daylight and she was jumping at shadows. She thought about how Daisy Fuller must have felt wandering around at night…sopping wet…lost.

Mitch stood before her, holding out his hands. “Ranger Dorsey is on her way.”

****

Mitch knelt down and lifted Laura in his arms. He stilled with the strange feeling her simple contact stirred within him. He hadn’t been touched intimately by a female since his wife died.

Laura nestled against him. Her supple body invited thoughts he hadn’t entertained in a long time. Like how much he missed spending the night in a soft bed with a woman he could devote hours to pleasuring. Warnings inside his head reminded him that she needed a man who wasn’t as cold and dead inside as he was.

He hadn’t realized until this moment how much he’d missed that connection with a woman. The sound of the four-wheeler approaching jerked his mind back on track. He stepped out of the brush and onto the trail, and set Laura on her feet.

“So what are we going to do now?”

He turned his thoughts inward to shake away those feelings and to focus on what was important. “You need a doctor. We’ll call it a day and return to town.”

He lifted his hand and waved as Ranger Dorsey pulled to a stop. She handed Laura a small package. “I brought the ice pack Mitch requested for your lip. Looks like a whale of a bruise is forming on your cheek, too.”

Laura groaned. “Great. Just great. Every person I see will ask what doorknob I ran into, or some such idiotic remark.”

As soon as Mitch had Laura settled in the front seat, Dorsey put the vehicle in gear. “Sorry about your fall, Ms. Friday.”