The Rivals (15 page)

“The politicians downstairs are used to white-glove treatment,” Sarah continued. “And they're all drunk as skunks. They aren't going to want their constituents to know they were partying away while a girl was being murdered upstairs.”

Once Sarah knew help was on the way, she turned to Drew and asked, “What are you two doing here?”

“Clay called me,” Drew said. “I'm here as his attorney.”

“Have either of you touched anything?” she asked.

“I closed the girl's eyes,” Clay admitted.

“I told you not to say anything,” Drew admonished his cousin.

Sarah had avoided the girl's face, but when Clay spoke, she turned to look—and recognized her. “Oh, no,” she said. “That's Lourdes.”

“She told me her name was Natalie.” Clay frowned and said, “Actually, Niles Taylor told me that.”

“Clay,” Drew said. “That's enough.”

Sarah made a mental note to question Niles Taylor, then turned to Clay and said, “What happened here? What was she doing here? What did you do to her? Did you rape her?”

Clay exchanged a look with Drew and said, “I decline to say anything on advice of counsel.”

“Did you do this?” Sarah asked furiously. “She was only seventeen! The same age as your own daughter. How could you!”

“I didn't do it!” Clay shot back. “I woke up in bed with her, but I have no idea who killed her or why.”

“Goddammit, Clay! I told you to keep your mouth shut,” Drew snapped.

Sarah realized she'd blurted the fact that Clay had a daughter. The fact that Drew hadn't commented on her revelation confirmed to her that he knew the truth. She turned to Clay and said, “You're under arrest for the murder of Lourdes Ramirez.” She pulled a pair of metal cuffs from her utility belt and said, “Put your hands behind your back.”

“Is that really necessary?” Drew asked.

“Shut up and back off or I'll cuff you, too,” Sarah snarled.

“It's all right, Drew,” Clay said. “I expected this.”

He turned his back and presented his hands to Sarah, who snapped the cuffs tight around his wrists. She felt light-headed. She'd found the young woman she'd been searching for, but far too late to help her. She dreaded calling the girl's parents, but they would need to identify the body before the coroner drove it to Cheyenne to be autopsied.

“You don't belong here,” she said to Drew. “You can see your client once he's been booked.”

“I think I'll hang out here,” Drew said.

Sarah could have shoved her official weight around, but Drew had already had time to do whatever damage he wanted to do to the evidence. When the sheriff and the captain and the rest of the cavalry arrived, she could take Clay to jail, and Drew would be their problem.

By the time Sarah left the residence on Bear Island with her prisoner, the entire house had been surrounded by crime scene tape and the Teton County sheriff had shown up to supervise and smooth ruffled feathers.

Clay asked if they could leave by the back door, and Sarah saw no good reason why not. To her annoyance, Drew followed them. As they headed down the stairs, she heard politicians and businessmen blustering that they shouldn't be detained for questioning since they knew nothing about what had happened. Many of them had their cell phones to their ears waking up lawyers all over the country.

As Sarah locked Clay in the backseat of her Tahoe, she heard Drew tell him, “I'll meet you at the jail.”

Sarah drove into the secured sally port at the Teton County Jail and escorted her prisoner inside to be booked and fingerprinted. His possessions were inventoried and he was outfitted in a yellow jumpsuit, which was assigned to prisoners accused of violent crime, and put in a holding cell to await a hearing with a judge.

She kept waiting for Drew to show up, so she could kick him out, but he never did.

“I'm going back out to Bear Island,” she told the booking sergeant, “to see if there's anything else I can do.”

“Buck is going to be pissed as hell that his wife decided to go into labor tonight,” the booking sergeant said with a grin. “We haven't had this much excitement in years.”

“This is the kind of excitement I could do without,” Sarah said as she threw a wave over her shoulder.

When she backed out of the sally port, she found Drew standing in her way. She rolled down the window and said, “Move it or lose it.”

He crossed to the window and said, “We need to talk.”

“I've got work to do.”

“I want to talk about the girl who was killed. About what she told Clay.”

“You want to make a formal statement?” Sarah asked.

“I want to talk to you.”

“I'm an officer of the law. Whatever you say—”

“Cut the bullshit, Sarah. This is important. Clay's daughter was being held captive in the same place as the dead girl.”

Sarah gasped. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“Clay told me. He got it from Lourdes before he passed out.”

“Is that why Clay killed the girl? Because she wouldn't tell him where Kate is?”

“Clay didn't kill Lourdes. He was set up.”

“Somebody did a hell of a job.”

“No shit. Are you going to help me find out who set him up, or not?” Drew asked.

“I'm not.

“Why not?”

“I don't think our interests are the same here,” Sarah said.

“Of course they are. We both want to find the killer.”

“Even if it turns out to be your cousin?”

“There's not a chance in hell Clay murdered that girl.”

“How did Lourdes get to Bear Island? Who brought her to the party?” Sarah said.

“I have no idea. But Clay said she was watching a guy in the corner—who disappeared—and Niles Taylor introduced the girl to him.”

They were interrupted by a radio call. Sarah picked up the handset and said, “I'll get him now.”

“What's that all about?” Drew asked.

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“I'm not letting you out of my sight until you agree to help me,” Drew said.

“If you want to waste your time following me around, it's no skin off my nose.” Sarah closed the window, backed the Tahoe up and pulled into a parking spot. She heard Drew rev the engine of his Porsche before he realized she had parked her SUV and was on foot and headed around the corner.

He caught up to her as she reached the entrance to the Jackson Hole Municipal Building, which housed the Jackson Hole Police Department. It was a two-minute walk around the corner from the Teton County Jail, where she'd dropped off Clay, which was shared by town and county police.

“What's going on?” Drew asked as he leaned up against a counter that separated the public from the police. “What are you doing here?”

Sarah didn't bother replying. She simply headed down a hallway into an area where she knew a civilian wouldn't be allowed to follow.

Sarah had wanted to pick up Nate sooner, but the traffic accident south of town had been a bad one and had taken several hours to clear. Then she'd had a domestic call and a stolen snowboard call and finally the call to the house on Bear Island. This was the first chance she'd had to come for her stepson, who'd been waiting in isolation in an interview room until she could retrieve him.

She wanted to go back to Bear Island and question Niles Taylor herself, but she conceded it would be better to let her boss do it, so she didn't have to spend any more time tonight away from her kids. She would call Jim later tonight and find out what Niles had said.

Thank goodness the Jackson policeman who'd caught Nate vandalizing one of the arches on the town square had been a friend, or her stepson might have found himself caught up in the juvenile justice system.

Harry led her back to a 10x10-foot beige room where Nate sat at a round wooden table, his head in his hands. “Are you ready to go home?” she asked.

He almost leapt off the chair and was across the small room in two gangly strides. “Mom! Where have you been? I thought something had happened to you. I've been going nuts in here. No one would tell me anything.”

She didn't apologize for having to work a second shift, or for being late to pick him up, or try to explain where she'd been. She turned to the police officer who'd made the courtesy call to her and said, “Thank you, Harry. I owe you one.”

She put a hand on Nate's back and guided him back down the hall past the dying ficus at the front of the building. “Where's my truck?” she asked.

“At the end of our block at Clive's house. He drove to the square,” he said. “That cop took the keys from me when I got here, along with my wallet.”

Sarah stood with Nate while the policeman who'd arrested him returned the property he'd confiscated. He'd had to hang onto it himself because there was only a receptionist working at the police department, which shared a dispatcher and other facilities with the county.

Sarah intercepted the keys as they were handed to Nate. “You won't be needing these.”

Nate shot her an agonized look but apparently realized the wisdom of remaining silent.

Sarah didn't acknowledge Drew as she exited the municipal building with her stepson in tow. She couldn't stand the fact that she was giving him more ammunition for one of his diatribes against the likelihood of raising “good kids.” She could just imagine what he would say about her parenting skills after seeing her retrieving Nathan from police custody.

“Hi there, Nate,” Drew said, falling into step beside the boy. “What'd they get you for?”

Sarah was surprised to hear her son reply, “Copping an elk antler off the square.”

“How'd you get caught?” Drew asked.

“That freakin' Phil started running when he saw the cop. If he hadn't done that, we'd have got away clean.”

“You lose the loot?”

Nate shrugged. “An elk antler's not that easy to hide.”

“Nope. Sure isn't,” Drew agreed.

Sarah saw Drew's unholy grin behind Nate's back before the boy turned in his direction, at which point it disappeared.

“Your days of freedom are over, young man,” Sarah said severely, as they reached the Tahoe.

“Aw, Mom,” Nate said.

“Not another word, Nate.”

As Nate slid into the passenger's seat and closed the door, Drew grinned again over his head and spoke to Sarah across the hood of the Tahoe. “Did the same thing myself when I was his age.”

“And?” Sarah prompted, waiting to hear that he'd also been caught.

“Nate's right. Elk antlers are damned hard to hide. I tacked mine up over the barn door.”

“Don't you dare tell Nate that story,” Sarah hissed. “I'm trying to teach him—”

“The value of honesty and responsibility and other good things,” Drew said. “Can we talk after you get him home?”

“It's late. I'm tired. It's been a long day.”

“Every minute that passes means clues are getting cold, right? I think I saw that on
Law and Order
.”

“Don't be flip,” Sarah said sharply.

“Then it's true?” Drew asked.

“I can't—”

“I didn't know the word
can't
was in your vocabulary,” Drew said. “How about it, Sarah? Want to help me unravel a mystery and find a murderer?”

Sarah grimaced. “You have five minutes after everyone's in bed. Then you go.”

“Fine by me,” Drew said. “I'll follow you.”

He said the last words as Sarah was opening the door to the Tahoe. Nate heard them, watched Drew open the door to his Porsche and said, “If he's coming home with us, I'll ride with him.”

He didn't ask for permission from Drew or wait for Sarah to deny it. He simply bolted out the door and around the hood of the Porsche and into the passenger's seat of Drew's car.

Sarah waited, expecting Drew to kick Nate out of his car, but Drew just waved at her through his closed window, gunned the Porsche and tore out of the parking lot. She watched until he made a turn in the right direction, then sighed in disgust and followed him.

Drew wasn't sure why he hadn't kicked Nate out of his Porsche. Maybe because the boy reminded him of himself at the same age, yearning to be grown up but caught in a boy's body, with a boy's need for adventure. It was harder to prove yourself in the modern world. There were no savage Sioux to battle, no wild mustangs to break, no unexpected blizzards to catch you out on the range and force you to fight your way back home in blinding snow and freezing cold.

So you stole antlers from the town square.

Nate had a teenager's true reverence for fast, sleek cars, and Drew was sorry there wasn't time to stop and let the boy drive. But he could see Sarah's Tahoe in the rearview mirror, and he didn't think she'd appreciate him letting Nate drive his Porsche when she'd just, according to Nate, taken away the keys to the truck for “God knew how long.”

Nate launched himself out of the Porsche with the same exuberance with which he'd entered it, talking a mile a minute as he led the way to the front door of Sarah's house. Nate shoved it open, and Drew followed him inside.

Sarah's stepdaughter was sound asleep on the couch, the younger boy tucked against her, dressed in pajamas. The girl woke the moment the door opened and sat up, startled. She instantly checked on the sleeping boy and put her fingertip to her lips and whispered, “Shh. Where have you been? I've been worried sick!”

“I've been riding in Drew's Porsche,” Nate whispered back.

“Where's Mom?” the girl asked.

“Right here,” Sarah said as she stepped inside behind Drew. “Move, Drew. You're letting all the heat out.”

“You should see all the dials in Drew's Porsche, Mom,” Nate said excitedly.

His voice was so loud it—or maybe it was the cold air—woke the younger boy.

“Mom?” he said, scrubbing at his eyes. “Where were you? Me and Brooke were worried.”

Sarah crossed and sat beside her son and took him in her arms. “You should be in bed.”

“Brooke and me waited up for you and Nate. But we fell asleep.”

Despite the fact the boy was too big to be carried, Sarah picked him up. Drew instinctively stepped forward and took the burden from her arms. At first she held on, but he said, “Where's his bedroom?” and she turned and headed down the hall.

Drew could hear the two older children following them. Sarah stopped them at the bedroom door and said, “I'll put Ryan to bed. Nate, go take a shower. Brooke, go get ready for bed.”

Drew set Ryan down on his bed and stepped back, ready to leave the room. The boy caught his hand and said, “I know you.”

“Yeah, we met at breakfast,” Drew said.

“What's your name?”

“Drew.”

“Hi, Drew,” Ryan said. “Did you help Mom spring Nate from jail?”

Drew laughed at the image Ryan's words had conjured. “Your mom did that all by herself.”

“Get under the covers, Ryan,” Sarah said, pulling the covers down and tucking her son's legs under them. She kissed him on the forehead and said, “Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite.”

Drew backed out of the bedroom quickly, reminded vividly of his own childhood, where such scenes had been few and far between.

He could hear the shower running as he headed down the hall toward the living room. When he got there, Brooke was nowhere in sight. He kept going until he reached a large kitchen that harkened back to the days when families sat around the table and ate every meal together. He stuck his hands in his back pockets and waited for Sarah to find him.

She entered the kitchen a moment later and said, “Coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

She scooped some grounds into a coffeemaker, added water and hit the button, then opened the cupboard to retrieve mugs.

“Sugar? Cream?” she asked.

“Neither.”

She made a face. “Coffee needs something in it to kill the taste.” She retrieved cream from the fridge and a couple of packets of Sweet'N Low. In that short amount of time, the coffee had brewed, and she poured each of them a cup and carried them to the wooden trestle table.

He joined her and they drank their coffee in silence.

The phone rang and Sarah picked it up. She held her hand over the receiver and said, “It's my sergeant. He promised he'd call after he talked to Niles Taylor.”

Sarah said “Uh-huh” and frowned and nodded and said “Uh-huh” again before she hung up.

“What did he find out?” Drew asked.

“Taylor said he thought Lourdes was one of the local girls who get invited to the parties he hosts by the woman who plans these events for him. He said Lourdes introduced herself to him as Natalie. He just thought she was pretty and that Clay would enjoy her company.”

“That sounds like total bullshit to me,” Drew said.

“It might be, but how are you going to prove he's lying?”

“Did your sergeant talk to the woman who planned the party?”

“She said she didn't invite Lourdes. That she'd never laid eyes on her before.”

“Back to square one,” Drew said in disgust.

“What is it you wanted to say to me that couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?” Sarah asked.

“I don't think Clay was supposed to wake up with that girl in his bed,” he said.

“What makes you say that?”

“It doesn't make sense. Clay is worth a lot more to someone as a blackmail victim in his current position than out of politics entirely—which is what'll happen once word of this gets out. As attorney general he can investigate, or choose not to investigate, anything he wants—organized crime, labor unions, political party fundraising, illegal business tactics. As governor—or president—he'd be even more useful as a puppet on a string. Out of politics, he's wasted meat.”

“You think someone took pictures of them together and forgot to get rid of the girl?” Sarah asked skeptically.

“I think whoever took blackmail photos thought he had more time to get rid of the girl. Clay said the girl drugged his drink. But Clay never takes more than a sip of any drink. It's how he stays sober over a long night of politicking.”

“So he didn't take enough of the drug to put him out for the night,” Sarah said.

“Exactly. He woke up eight hours too soon—in time to see someone mucking around on the island with a flashlight.”

“Should I call my sergeant?” Sarah asked. “Should we be looking for a murder suspect out there?”

Drew grimaced. “He was gone the next time Clay looked. And if it was the murderer out there, don't you think the arrival of all those cops with flashing lights and sirens would have made him hightail it?”

“There's no way for him to escape the island without going past all those cops,” Sarah pointed out. “Each of those Bear Island properties is connected only by a narrow land bridge to the actual island sitting out there in the Snake River.”

“So he had a boat tied up on the other side,” Drew said. “That way no one sees him coming or going.”

“Maybe this guy's still on the river somewhere, or someone saw him on the river tonight.” Sarah called the dispatcher and told her to let the field supervisor at the crime scene know about the man who might or might not have been on the island when the murder took place.

“I had one more thought,” Drew said after she'd finished her call.

“Drew, I'm exhausted. I—”

“If you accept the premise that the dead girl was supposed to be disposed of and Clay become a cooperative blackmail victim, it would be possible to use the same MO endlessly in the same location.”

Drew saw that he had Sarah's full attention.

“You think this has happened on Bear Island in the past? To other political figures?”

“It's a possibility,” Drew said. “And raises the intriguing question of what your husband might have seen when he was there doing repairs fifteen months ago.”

Sarah's face held an arrested expression. “You think they've buried a body, or bodies, on Bear Island?” Sarah asked. “I can't believe they'd take that kind of risk. It's too close to home.”

“But convenient if you're trying to get rid of a large male.”

“We looked on the island for Tom,” Sarah said. “He wasn't there.”

“You didn't find him when you looked the first time,” Drew said. “That doesn't mean he isn't there.”

Sarah's face paled. “You think Tom saw something? You think they killed him? And buried him on Bear Island?”

“I can't imagine any man leaving you, Sarah. Not of his own free will.”

Sarah's eyes glistened suddenly with tears.

“It would be easy to miss a grave in all the undergrowth,” Drew continued. “The place is mostly tangled vines and swamp. Just wrap up the body, and when the coast is clear, walk it across to Bear Island on the land bridge, dig a hole in the dark and bury it.”

“Who's buried on Bear Island?” Nate said, entering the kitchen with his head bent under a towel he was using to dry his wet hair. He was barefoot and wearing a ratty green terry cloth robe. He pulled the towel free and said, “Mom?”

Sarah stared at him like a deer caught in headlights.

Drew tried to think of something to say that wouldn't provoke the boy into another dangerous adventure. He settled for saying, “No one. At least, no one that we know of.”

“Who do you think might be buried there?” Nate persisted.

Drew heard footsteps and Brooke appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Daddy,” she said, her hazel eyes bleak. “Drew thinks Daddy might be buried on Bear Island.”

“You're shittin' me, right?” Nate said, his gaze shifting from Brooke to his mother to Drew and back again.

“Watch your language, Nate,” Sarah said.

“I heard them talking,” Brooke said. “They think Daddy might have seen something bad happen to one of the missing girls, so he was murdered and buried on Bear Island.”

“No shit!” Nate exclaimed.

“Nate!” Sarah said as she rose to her feet. “That's enough. You two should be in bed.”

“But we're not in bed,” Brooke pointed out. “We're here and we heard what you said. There's no taking it back, Mom. We know. So what are you going to do about it?”

“What is it you expect me to do?” Sarah demanded.

“Go to Bear Island,” Brooke said. “Find Daddy.”

“Brooke,” Sarah said, her voice gentle, “it's very unlikely that Daddy—”

“You just don't want to find him!” Brooke said. “You wanted him to go and you're glad he's gone. You don't care that he might be—” Brooke swallowed a sob. “That he might be dead! That he might be buried in some swamp.”

Sarah reached for her daughter, but Brooke pulled free and ran for her room. Sarah shot Drew a helpless look and headed after her, leaving him alone with a stunned Nate.

“Do you think it's true?” Nate asked. “Is my father buried on Bear Island?”

“Your mom said they already looked for him there once, and didn't find him,” Drew said.

“But it makes sense,” Nate said, rubbing harder at his hair with the towel. “Dad did mechanical repairs and handyman stuff whenever the tow business was slow. He was there the day he disappeared. Maybe he did see something.”

“You and Brooke stay away from that island,” Sarah said, reappearing in the kitchen doorway.

“Are you going to take another look, Mom?” Nate asked.

“I'm an officer of the law. I'd need probable cause and a warrant to go digging around out there. Drew's wild guess about your father being buried there is just that—a crazy idea. So no, I'm not going on a wild-goose chase around Bear Island.”

“But, Mom—”

“Neither are you,” Sarah said. “Go to bed, Nate. Forget about Bear Island.”

Once Nate was gone, Sarah sank into the chair across from Drew and said, “I'm not sure whether I want Tom to be there or not.”

“Does that mean you're going to take a second look?” Drew asked.

Sarah sighed. “What I told Nate is true. I'm an officer of the law. And I don't have probable cause.”

“A murderer might have been out there tonight. Isn't that probable cause?”

Sarah looked thoughtful. “I might have probable cause, but I'll still need a signed warrant to search.”

“I'm not under those constraints,” Drew said. “All I need is a good excuse. Which I have.”

“You'd be trespassing,” Sarah said.

Drew grinned. “I don't plan to get caught. Want to come along?”

“Don't tempt me.”

“Didn't know I'd have to. Come on, Sarah. Don't you want to know for sure?”

“What are the chances we could find a body that's been there fifteen months?”

“You have to remove vegetation to dig a grave. It was so dry last summer nothing was growing. All we have to do is search the island for a body-sized barren spot. Are you coming? Or do I go alone?”

“I can't go, Drew. Any evidence that Tom was murdered and buried there that I found without a warrant would be—”

“Fruit of the poisonous tree,” Drew recited. “And inadmissible in court. All right, sweetheart. I'll go alone.”

“I'm not your sweetheart,” Sarah said quietly.

Drew rose and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “All right. We're just strangers who had sex. Good night, stranger. I'll let you know what I find.”

“When are you going?” Sarah asked as she rose to follow him to the front door.

Drew paused and turned to her. “If I go during the day, when it's light enough to look around, I'm liable to get spotted. It'll have to be at night.”

“You think a flashlight won't give you away? Or were you planning to search by moonlight.”

Drew smiled. “I'm probably not even going to need a flashlight, with the full moon so bright. Don't worry. I'll manage.” He turned again to leave, but her voice stopped him.