Tahoe Blue Fire (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 13) Read Free Page B

been made by a single round. The entrance wound is at the back of the neck. It is a clean and symmetrical hole and I see no tattooing from gunpowder, so I’m guessing the shot was fired from a distance. Looking at the territory around the house, I’m guessing the shooter was some distance up the mountain.
    “The exit wound shows substantial tissue shredding and what appear to be pieces of a broken vertebrae. It appears that the wound was caused by a high-powered round, which, despite likely deformation, exited the body and fell out of sight someplace below the house.
    “The position of the body doesn’t reveal which direction the shot came from. The victim may have twisted as she went down. But I see a faint spray pattern of blood on the back of the victim’s collar. There is a much larger pattern of blood and other tissue on the deck, presumably from the exit wound at the front of her throat.”
    I turned and looked behind me to my right. “Behind me to the north is an opening in the trees on the mountain slope above. There is a grouping of large boulders. It’s a south-facing slope, and the snow has mostly melted. I’m guessing the shot came from up among those boulders. Your approaching officers should know that there is access to that point from both Sandy Way and Squaw Summit Road. The shooter could still be up the slope, but I doubt it.”
    I thought of running up the slope with Spot to search for the shooter, but I was unarmed, and the dispatcher wanted me to stay on the line and report any critical information. And if I was up the slope when officers approached from multiple directions, I would be a distraction. They might even mistake me for the shooter.
    Sirens sounded in the distance, a faint discordant warbling as some rose in pitch while others fell.
    A minute later, the sirens swelled in volume as vehicles raced into the valley on Squaw Valley Road. Looking down from Scarlett Milo’s deck, I could see two Placer County Sheriff’s vehicles followed by a black-and-white CHP unit. One of the Placer County vehicles turned up the road I’d taken. The CHP vehicle turned off the main road, heading for a point east of the shooter’s possible location. The other county vehicle drove past the road I’d taken. It went out of my sight before its sound indicated that it had turned onto another road to the west. They were trying to outflank the shooter, a smart move but one I didn’t think would produce results. There were too many ways for the shooter to escape.
    Two more vehicles with flashing lights came into the valley. One was another CHP vehicle, and the other looked similar to the Placer County vehicles but with different lettering. I guessed that it was a sheriff’s vehicle from Truckee, which is in Nevada County, the next county to the north. Yet more sirens sounded in the far distance, a huge response for a rural mountain community, but a normal one for a place with vacation residences owned by celebrities, high-ranking government officials, business magnates, and foreign royalty.
    One siren grew loud as it came up Milo’s street and stopped at her house.
    I disconnected from the 911 dispatcher and walked partway down the deck stairs so I was visible from the street. Placer County Sergeant Santiago ran over while his deputy stayed at the side of the SUV patrol unit, sidearm in his hand, crouching behind the vehicle, looking up at the mountain.
    “McKenna,” Santiago said.
    “Sergeant.”
    Jack Santiago was the kind of man who most people would overlook. He seemed medium in every way, unremarkable in looks, height, size, demeanor, presence. Yet, when observed up close, one saw the intelligence in his eyes, the determination in the set of his jaw, and the strength in his shoulders. Santiago drew no attention to himself, but he won citations and respect. I’d rarely seen a more dedicated cop.
    He looked around at the forest, taking in the lay of the land, the access points, the view corridors. Then