roadhouses in parts of the county where she wasn’t well-known. Places the victims had visited within a week of their deaths, just to see if anyone suspicious would approach her.
She’d rationalized those visits with the logic that she had the right to a taste of social life during her free time, and hadn’t mentioned her off-duty ruse to Hal since he’d already denied her proposal to pursue an undercover operation.
His written reprimand was now a part of her file.
“I ran into a stranger at the café today. I’m going to run his name through the system, then go check him out.”
“A tourist?”
“He bought the Swanson place. The place sold last November, yet he supposedly has only been here since some time in January. Interesting parallel with the killer’s activities.”
“Haven’t met this new guy, either.” Hal shrugged. “But it isn’t surprising. Outsiders don’t usually stay year-round unless they’re into winter sports.”
“True. He came in January, so maybe he’s a skier—though there aren’t any big resorts around here. He turned edgy when I mentioned being a deputy, and lit out of that café like a cougar after a lame deer.”
Hal’s gaze sharpened, locked on hers. “Be sure you have backup nearby when you go out there.”
“I will.” She suppressed a flash of frustration. Even after her nine years on the force, she still caught occasional hints of a faint, paternal tone in his voice. “But if it were Jim or Wes going out there, you wouldn’t say that.”
“If I was sending either one of them to interview a suspect at an isolated place? It’s policy, Megan.”
“You can ride along if you want to.”
He must’ve caught the edge in her own voice, because his mouth flattened to a grim line. “I get the feeling this case is way too personal for you, and it worries me. How many hours of your own time have you put in? Way, way too much.”
“It’s my job.” She glanced down at the plastic tarp and couldn’t quite suppress her inward shudder as a pervading sense of looming danger slid through her. “I don’t want this killer to claim another victim.”
“And I don’t want to lose a good officer. You’ll be off this case entirely if you don’t watch your step.”
The criminal records database yielded nothing on Scott Anders. Neither did the sex offender registry. The only hits Megan found were a couple of speeding tickets in Chicago from several years back, and as she pulled to a stop in front of his cabin, she wished once again that she’d nabbed his coffee cup at the café so she could run his prints through the national AFIS fingerprint database.
If Sue Ann hadn’t abruptly turned to clear away his dishes, Megan would’ve done it…but she could only imagine the woman’s questions and the potential for rumors, if she’d asked to borrow it for an hour or two.
These days, with CSI reruns scheduled almost nightly on television, Sue Ann would’ve latched on to the reason for her request in a split second.
After ten miles of nearly deserted two-lane highway, a turnoff led to five miles of gravel road that twisted up into the foothills. Here and there, pine forest gave way to glimpses to the west—sweeping panoramas of a deep valley, with a backdrop of the soaring peaks of the Rockies.
The lane leading to Anders’s cabin had been even steeper, more narrow, the loose sand and rocks providing intermittent traction.
Now, Megan made a quick call to another deputy to let him know she’d arrived, and then she stood at the door of her patrol car and surveyed Anders’s property. He must have had a great job, an inheritance or had won a lottery to buy a place like this one. Or maybe he’d found another less upstanding way to accumulate a great deal of cash.
The cabin itself was a sprawling, one-story log home with large windows facing the mountains. Behind it, several buildings were tucked among the pines. An unseen door slammed, and soon a black lab came
She’d rationalized those visits with the logic that she had the right to a taste of social life during her free time, and hadn’t mentioned her off-duty ruse to Hal since he’d already denied her proposal to pursue an undercover operation.
His written reprimand was now a part of her file.
“I ran into a stranger at the café today. I’m going to run his name through the system, then go check him out.”
“A tourist?”
“He bought the Swanson place. The place sold last November, yet he supposedly has only been here since some time in January. Interesting parallel with the killer’s activities.”
“Haven’t met this new guy, either.” Hal shrugged. “But it isn’t surprising. Outsiders don’t usually stay year-round unless they’re into winter sports.”
“True. He came in January, so maybe he’s a skier—though there aren’t any big resorts around here. He turned edgy when I mentioned being a deputy, and lit out of that café like a cougar after a lame deer.”
Hal’s gaze sharpened, locked on hers. “Be sure you have backup nearby when you go out there.”
“I will.” She suppressed a flash of frustration. Even after her nine years on the force, she still caught occasional hints of a faint, paternal tone in his voice. “But if it were Jim or Wes going out there, you wouldn’t say that.”
“If I was sending either one of them to interview a suspect at an isolated place? It’s policy, Megan.”
“You can ride along if you want to.”
He must’ve caught the edge in her own voice, because his mouth flattened to a grim line. “I get the feeling this case is way too personal for you, and it worries me. How many hours of your own time have you put in? Way, way too much.”
“It’s my job.” She glanced down at the plastic tarp and couldn’t quite suppress her inward shudder as a pervading sense of looming danger slid through her. “I don’t want this killer to claim another victim.”
“And I don’t want to lose a good officer. You’ll be off this case entirely if you don’t watch your step.”
The criminal records database yielded nothing on Scott Anders. Neither did the sex offender registry. The only hits Megan found were a couple of speeding tickets in Chicago from several years back, and as she pulled to a stop in front of his cabin, she wished once again that she’d nabbed his coffee cup at the café so she could run his prints through the national AFIS fingerprint database.
If Sue Ann hadn’t abruptly turned to clear away his dishes, Megan would’ve done it…but she could only imagine the woman’s questions and the potential for rumors, if she’d asked to borrow it for an hour or two.
These days, with CSI reruns scheduled almost nightly on television, Sue Ann would’ve latched on to the reason for her request in a split second.
After ten miles of nearly deserted two-lane highway, a turnoff led to five miles of gravel road that twisted up into the foothills. Here and there, pine forest gave way to glimpses to the west—sweeping panoramas of a deep valley, with a backdrop of the soaring peaks of the Rockies.
The lane leading to Anders’s cabin had been even steeper, more narrow, the loose sand and rocks providing intermittent traction.
Now, Megan made a quick call to another deputy to let him know she’d arrived, and then she stood at the door of her patrol car and surveyed Anders’s property. He must have had a great job, an inheritance or had won a lottery to buy a place like this one. Or maybe he’d found another less upstanding way to accumulate a great deal of cash.
The cabin itself was a sprawling, one-story log home with large windows facing the mountains. Behind it, several buildings were tucked among the pines. An unseen door slammed, and soon a black lab came
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