Waking the Dead Part 17

"Present company excluded, of course."

She inclined her head. "Of course." It didn't take any special observational powers to conclude that Zach Sharper was the most dangerous person in the place. Even with no prior acquaintance with the man, she would have figured that within a minute of entering the tavern. There was something about his still watchfulness that would mark him as such to anyone with a normal amount of caution. Something that warned this man would be good to have at your back in a fight.

And a risky one to cross.

"Not bad." The expression of respect on his face would have been more satisfying if it weren't accompanied by surprise. "Jodie Paulsen does ch.o.r.es for Tim Jenkins, who lives between here and Blue River. Beth Swenson's drug of choice these days is meth. Tyler Babc.o.c.k is more mouth than brains." He turned his head slightly, considered the man at the dart-board. "I don't know the other guy. Logger, probably. Not sure I agree on him."

"Bet you twenty bucks he's got a knife concealed in his boot."

He took another quick look. "You're on. How do you expect to find that out?"

With a smile of satisfaction she said, "Leave it to me. I've got a . . ." When her cell phone rang she dug in her purse, looked at the screen. Not her mother. It was ridiculous to feel this overwhelming sense of relief. But it wasn't a number she recognized, either.

She rose as she answered it, striding toward the door. "Fleming." The background noise in the place would make it impossible to hold a conversation inside.

"Caitlin Fleming?" The voice on the other end of the line was female. "This is Detective Cindy Purcell, Las Vegas PD. Got your message about my missing persons case in a pile of a hundred others when I got back on the job yesterday."

"Thanks for the call back." Shoving out of the door of the bar, she nearly ran into a couple on their way in. Neither gave her as much as a glance before brushing by her. "I've got seven sets of skeletal remains, and so far none of them are identified."

"Well, I'd sure like to be able to close this case on Mark Chastens. Been missing for two years, and every lead I had fizzled." There was a pause, as if Cait's words had just sunk in. "You've only got skeletons?"

"That's right." Although she didn't see anyone in the vicinity, she remained guarded in her responses.

"Chastens was in a bad car accident ten years prior to his death. Had screws and plates put in his right hip." The detective's voice was hopeful. "That match with any of the remains you've got up there?"

Faintly deflated, Cait said, "No." She stared across the lot to where bugs were flying in crazed circles around a security light mounted on a pole and encased in wire. "That doesn't match any of the victims."

"d.a.m.n." The word came out as a sigh. Then, "You're sure? I mean maybe the screws came out or something."

"I'd see evidence of their placement in the bone. I've got four sets of male remains. None of them sound like your guy. Sorry." And she was. So far of the detectives who had returned her repeated calls, this made three of the missing persons who could be dismissed out of hand. Which had her even more excited about receiving the DNA profile on the elder Recinos. Their best chance of solving this case lay in their ability to identify the victims.

"Well, thanks anyway. Good luck with your investigation." The woman's tone grew wry. "With seven sets of remains, you've got a lot bigger problem than my missing persons case."

And that, Cait thought as she hung up the call, was an accurate and all too depressing summary of their predicament. There was no denying it. A DNA match right now was going to be the one thing that would propel this case forward.

Chapter 13.

Cait heard the crunch of boots on gravel a moment before a voice sounded. "Was that about the case?"

Turning, she saw Deputy Tony Gibbs approaching in a slouched shuffling stride. Slipping the cell in her jeans pocket she surveyed him with a critical eye. "Just a lead that went nowhere."

Hooking his thumbs in his jeans, he said, "Barnes had me running all over yesterday shopping for garbage bags. Said you were going to try and match them to those we hauled out of the cave, so I was surprised to see you here."

With an insincere smile she asked, "Is that what you told the men in there tonight?"

The flicker of surprise across his expression was its own answer. One he denied an instant later. "My buddies and me have an understanding. I can't share details of department matters with them. Our jobs depend on confidentiality, yours and mine. It isn't easy sometimes being the one everyone looks to for answers, is it?"

She managed, barely, to avoid rolling her eyes. "It's a burden."

He took a step closer, lowered his voice confidentially. "The thing is, Barnes isn't utilizing me as fully as he could. I know this area and the people in it. Be the easiest thing in the world for me to be conducting interviews on persons of interest in these parts. They trust me. Some won't open up to strangers, but they would to me."

Until they could come up with something solid establishing the killer as an area resident, there was no real reason for the interviews, but she didn't tell him that. She already knew him well enough to realize it wouldn't be wise to tell the man much of anything.

"You should speak to Mitch about that."

"Mitch has let this lead investigator thing go to his head." It was plain that Gibbs was disgruntled. A faint whine had entered his voice. "All he does is issue orders. We don't even have daily briefings updating everyone on the progress of the case. Just do this, do that. I know d.a.m.n well he's not telling us everything. If you ask me, he's priming himself for a run at Andrews's job."

"Seems like a solid cop." The door swung open and a man stumbled out of the bar, made his way in a haphazard fashion toward his truck.

"He's got no imagination," Gibbs corrected. He reached up a hand, scratched his prominent nose. "His type's got no business being top cop of Lane County. Problem is, this is Oregon. He just might get himself elected."

Cait studied the deputy more carefully. Although he danced around the subject, she didn't think it was Barnes's qualifications he objected to as much as the man's s.e.xual orientation. Whichever, she no longer had to worry about mentioning Gibbs's penchant for gossip to the chief deputy. He'd already limited the information being pa.s.sed to this man.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't already had a half formed opinion of Gibbs before this meeting. But her initial impression hadn't been too far off. He was a man whose job afforded him the only sense of importance he'd ever had in his life. And one he wielded to get respect, even if it meant sharing far more than he should about issues that should remain confidential.

"Everyone's efforts on this case are appreciated." She eyed the tavern. No more could be garnered from this conversation, but there were still people inside she'd like a chance to speak to. Cait began to inch away.

Gibbs grabbed her elbow when she would have pa.s.sed him. "But that's just it! My efforts are being underutilized."

Her gaze dropped to his hand before rising slowly to regard him. "You're going to want to move your hand."

He released her and stepped back with far more alacrity than Sharper had when she'd leveled a similar order at him, only the night before. But then, Gibbs wasn't in Sharper's league. Few men were.

"Sorry. It's just that I can do more." He shoved a hand through his short-cropped hair in frustration. "Just wanted you to know that, because I heard you were taking soil samples on properties that have hot springs on 'em. Most of the private property owners in this area aren't going to let a stranger go tramping around, because they got things they don't want law enforcement knowing about. Maybe growing a little weed on the side, but hey, that's got nothing to do with the case, right? But they might let me on because they trust me. They know I won't jam 'em up over something like that." He paused expectantly. When she didn't respond, he continued, "So if you run into trouble getting access to some places you'd like samples from, could be I can help you out with that."

His words had her stomach plummeting. Barnes had taken measures to stem the leak in the department too late. If Gibbs knew that much, chances were all his buddies inside Ketchers knew it, too. And by extension, so would untold other members of the nearby communities. The deputy couldn't know that she'd veered in a slightly different direction with the samples, but that didn't matter. The damage had already been done.

"I'll keep that in mind." A car pulled into the lot much too fast, and they both stepped out of the way of the gravel sprayed in its wake. It didn't appear to occur to Gibbs that he'd just revealed he was willing to turn a blind eye to his friends' illegal activities to retain their trust. Cait was inclined to believe that her original a.s.sessment of the man was valid.

She was headed toward the tavern door when he stopped her again. Not by touching her this time, which meant he had at least some measure of good sense. But his voice had grown diffident.

"Uh . . . I was wondering . . ."

Turning toward him, she c.o.c.ked a brow inquiringly.

He shifted his weight a bit. "Saw you come in with Sharper. But if you want to go somewhere quiet and discuss the case . . . maybe talk over some possible leads . . . I'm available." His shoulders seemed to hunch even more. "I was on my way out anyway."

"I appreciate the offer." Experience had made her an expert in the art of softening rejection. "Tonight, though, I think I'm going to take a break from the case for a few hours." That wasn't strictly true, of course, since her time spent inside was more about observing than relaxing. But Gibbs seemed to buy it.

"Oh, yeah, of course." He pulled his keys out of his jeans pocket. "I can understand that. Another time, maybe."

"Another time." And when she strode back toward the door he didn't try to stop her.

When Cait rejoined Zach, there was someone else standing at the table. Jodie Paulsen, she recalled. The farm hand whose boots bore the evidence of his occupation. But from the easy expression Sharper wore, he was friendly with the man. The same as he was with Kathy. For all his self-avowed solitary ways, it was evident that he was well regarded in the area. Even Sheriff Andrews spoke of his skills, at least, with a measure of respect.

Both men looked up at her approach. Paulsen's face was puppy-dog friendly. He was around Sharper's age, she estimated. Midthirties, with none of the guide's hard edges and vague sense of menace. Paulsen's plaid shirt was almost an exact match for his gingery-colored hair. And it was clear from his appearance that he'd come to the bar straight from his ch.o.r.es.

Zach's gaze was searching. "Trouble?"

Cait shook her head. "Just business." She gave the other man a smile. "Hi. I'm Cait."

"I know." Paulsen beamed a smile in return. "I've been standing here for ten minutes trying to pretend I wanted to talk to Zach, but really I was just waiting for you to come back inside so I could meet you."

"Careful." A corner of Sharper's mouth quirked. "You're going to hurt my feelings."

"Way I hear it you've got no feelings, Zach."

Cait caught his slight wince at the jibe as she sank back into her chair.

"You've been talking to your neighbor." Sharper tipped the cup to his lips and drank.

"Mostly just listening." Paulsen rested a hand on the back of the free chair in front of him. "Woman scorned. She had a lot to say, and nothing I said in your defense made it any better."

It was difficult to say which fascinated Cait more. The topic of conversation or the look of discomfit on Sharper's face. "Sounds like an intriguing story."

"Not one you're going to hear," he muttered.

She shifted her gaze from him to Paulsen. "Is your neighbor here tonight?"

The man took a huge swallow of beer before answering. "This isn't Sh.e.l.lie's type of place. And I'm just giving Zach a hard time. She knew the score going in. h.e.l.l, everyone 'round here knows Zach Sharper is the last person alive who's going the white picket fence route. Sh.e.l.lie's just sore because she thought she . . ."

"Jodie." Zach's tone was pleasant. His eyes flinty. "Shut up."

The man appeared to take no offense. "Shutting up." He took another drink and winked at Cait. Thoughtfully, she considered the man seated across from her as she took a sip of her own now-warm beer. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that Paulsen's a.s.sertion was correct. Sharper wasn't exactly the type of man about whom a woman should be spinning dreams of white lace and organdy.

She was also certain that he would have been brutally honest in that regard. And maybe that's what had roused the woman's ire. Some would find his brand of forthrightness abrasive. But few could complain that they didn't know where they stood with the man.

Rubbing at the condensation collecting on the outside of the cup, Cait figured she'd rather deal with a man like Sharper than most of those she'd dated. Men that used gloss and polish to mask their true design. Men who finally convinced her that the instinct she relied on to profile a criminal's motives didn't generalize to her personal life. When it came to taste in dates, she'd long ago concluded her judgment was too frequently flawed.

"So Gibbs says you work for some outfit out east. That you used to be a fed." Paulsen's words were directed at Cait.

Her answer was noncommittal. "I did work for the Bureau, but only in their labs, not as an investigator." And although they'd valued her contribution there, she'd known there was no way she'd be allowed to move out of the lab into an agent slot. Once she'd determined that that was exactly what she wanted, she'd grown increasingly restless. She didn't know how she'd come to Raiker's attention. But she hadn't had to weigh his offer too long. And she'd never regretted making the move. Her work for Raiker Forensics allowed her to utilize her forensic anthropology and molecular biology background while putting her at the forefront of investigations. So far it seemed a perfect fit.

She smiled at the man blandly and decided to do a little pumping of her own. "What else did Gibbs say?"

He seemed to recognize that the words were baited and exerted some belated caution. "Oh, not much." He moved his shoulders uneasily. "No one really listens to him anyway. He's a good guy, though."

"Hey, Paulsen, you in or out?"

Visibly relieved, he inched away. "Gotta go. I'm down five bucks. I make it a habit to break even before I leave the table."

"Good luck with that."

With a slap on Zach's shoulder, the man moved away. Sharper looked across the table at her, his gaze amused. "You must be a terror in interrogation."

"I underestimated him. I figured he'd walk right into that one."

"Jodie's smarter than he looks. Which is more than I can say for Gibbs." He toyed with his empty cup. "You run into him out there?"

She nodded. "Not hard to tell where some of the gossip about this case is coming from. But Barnes is on top of things. I don't think Gibbs is in the loop as far as details in this case go."

"Good thing."

Raised voices at the far corner of the bar drew both their attention. "Might be a good time to leave. These things tend to escalate quickly."

His suggestion seemed overly cautious. As far as she could tell, no one else was paying attention to the short loud-mouthed man and his much larger counterpart. And it was early yet. Far earlier than he'd indicated trouble could be expected.

"I'd like to stay a while longer and talk to some more people."

Sharper rose. "We need to leave."

Irritated, she remained seated. "Go ahead. I can find my way back to the motel if . . ."

A chair hurtled through the air and narrowly missed their table. The bar seemed to explode. Men tumbled from their chairs and waded in, flinging fists and beers with indiscriminate abandon. Zach all but hauled her to her feet. "Grab your purse."

They didn't go more than a few paces before their exit was blocked by the mob of men. And one woman, Cait noted. The emaciated blonde in the corner was beating one guy in the head with the heel of her sandal.

At the sound of a sickening thud, she risked a glance over her shoulder and saw the bartender on this side of the bar swinging a club at anyone within reach. He caught the arm of the logger and knocked the blade he'd drawn out of his hand.

Then she was shoved to her knees with a force that had her teeth snapping together. From the corner of her eye she saw a blur of motion as a pool cue swiped harmlessly over her head and caught Sharper squarely in the chest. In the next moment the other man's head snapped back. His eyes rolled white. And he crumpled, nearly landing on top of Cait.

Zach rubbed his fist, then pulled her up by her elbow. She followed him closely as they made their way toward the door. Out of it.

The brawl seemed to follow them into the lot. They stumbled toward Zach's Trailblazer. Before getting in, Cait looked over her shoulder. Bodies grappled in the shadows and rolled on the ground.

Her door flew open. "Get in." Zach's jaw was clenched. Once she'd obeyed, he engaged the automatic locks and started the vehicle.

"Well." She settled back in her seat and secured her seat belt. "That was interesting."

"That was avoidable," he corrected her tersely. He wasted no time pulling away and nosing the vehicle in the direction of the motel. "I seem to recall telling you the place is a nest of idiots."

He was ent.i.tled to an I-told-you-so. She kept her voice mild. "You mentioned something to that effect." There was silence as he traveled the few blocks to their destination. She didn't consider the night a total loss. Just the opposite. She'd wanted to meet Gibbs. She'd planned to talk to the taxidermist. All in all, the time had been well spent. At least until the end when she'd nearly been clobbered.

She looked across the shadowy interior of the vehicle at the man bringing the SUV to a stop in front of her motel door. The lot's nearby security light splintered the darkness in the front seat. "You owe me twenty bucks."

He threw the Trailblazer into park, incredulity lacing his words. "And how do you figure that?"

"Our bet." When he said nothing she prompted, "The logger? He had a knife at the end. Granted I didn't see him pull it, and you could split hairs and argue that it might not have come from his boot. So to be fair, I guess we could settle at ten."

"Given the fact that I saved your a.s.s back there, let's call it even."