Her Shallow Grave (Detectives Kane and Alton)

and leave the Colorado cases to us. We have the resources to hunt down the information on the victims. Together we can catch this killer, for as sure as the sun is rising tomorrow, The Sculptor is in Black Rock Falls.”

Jenna shrugged and her gaze fixed on the table. “Okay. We originally thought maybe a long-haul trucker was involved and we have one person of interest. If you believe The Sculptor is targeting homeless women with tattoos who hitchhike then we need to dig a bit deeper.”

“Carter here. We’re still snowed in, so useless right now but it’s usual for hitchhikers to hang around truck stops looking for a ride. Problem is after a year, nobody is gonna remember one of a hundred or so passing through. I’ll send out ‘Have you seen these women’ flyers but after so long the chances of anyone remembering them is slim.”

“Can we trace where the victims holed up?” Kane raised an eyebrow at Jenna. “If they were homeless as you say, they may have visited shelters.”

“The problem with that, Dave—” Carter sounded amused “—is that the majority of homeless are incognito, they don’t want to be found.”

“Well, you should know all about that, Carter.” Kane flashed Jenna a grin. “So we’ll need their last known point of contact for information? Can you hunt them down?”

“That’s what I do.” Carter snorted. “We have been working on this since five this morning.”

Jenna sat at the kitchen table and poured herself a coffee, she held up a hand to Kane. “Okay, so we’ll concentrate on possible persons of interest here. If The Sculptor is here in town, it’s logical to believe if he murdered, froze, and transported the victims to Black Rock Falls, he must have a residence in Colorado or here. He’d need privacy for storing and dismembering bodies, or keeping women prisoner, so we’re looking for a needle in a haystack. He could be living anywhere in Stanton Forest or in the Rocky Mountains.”

“Yeah, it will be a huge task to locate him, those off the grid are like ghosts, but I’d still be inclined to look at anyone involved with the homeless.” Jo yawned. “Sorry, I haven’t been getting much sleep and getting up every morning to dig out my vehicle is a nightmare. As soon as the melt comes, I’m building a garage.”

Jenna frowned. “There are usually people looking for work at this time of year, why not hire someone to help you? High-school kids needing a few extra bucks might be willing to dig out your vehicle.”

“Ha, when you visit us, you’ll understand. Those not on ranches run the stores in town. There aren’t too many kids looking for work here.” Jo chuckled. “I’m heading home now to spend some time with Jaime before she forgets she has a mother. We have done everything we can for today. We’ll pick up the investigation again in the morning. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay, thanks.” Jenna disconnected and looked at Kane. “What do you think?”

“One, the killer moves around, but he doesn’t have to be a trucker.” Kane turned his coffee cup in his large hands. “He could fit a woman in the trunk of his vehicle. Most truckers are drivers, they don’t own their eighteen or whatever wheelers. I can’t imagine them risking carrying a body along with their load—and they run on tight schedules, so wouldn’t have time to stop and dump a body.” He lifted his gaze to her. “Secondly, I agree with Jo, he could work with the homeless in some capacity and be able to gain his victim’s trust. A woman would most likely go with him if he offered her a ride. So we’re looking for a white male, maybe in his forties, who comes across as friendly but nonthreatening. We know he drugs them, so once they are asleep, he has free range to do what he wants and as they are as Carter put it ‘incognito’, when they vanish nobody cares.” He sipped his drink. “The biggest problem we have, is unless he kills someone here, we don’t have a starting point. So far, we have victims from Colorado with no clue to where they died or how they arrived here. This Sculptor guy could be just passing through town. He could be anywhere by now. We’re chasing shadows, Jenna.”

Thirty-Eight

Gripped with terror, Ava Price stumbled through the dense undergrowth and squeezed between black trunks packed so close together, no trail was evident. The snow-laden pines surrounded her as far as her eye could see. With each step, the heavy branches dripped icy water down her collar. Exhausted, she stopped to look behind her, but could see nothing but trees and snow. The temperature was so low each breath cut painfully into her lungs but she had to keep going. Stopping in this weather meant freezing to death. If she could just find her bearings or a trail leading to a road, she might have a chance to get help.

She peered all around and listened intently for any sound. The forest was deceptive; the trees creaked and groaned as the wind whistled through the branches. Every noise set her nerves on edge. Preacher could be right behind her and she wouldn’t know until it was too late. To her left she could hear water, perhaps the famous Black Rock Falls was close by. Surely there would be a trail leading out of the forest if she could make it there. The falls were a tourist attraction and she may even find a cabin in the forest close by.

Heart racing, she took another furtive glance behind her. If Preacher was following her, the trees could easily conceal him and he would know the forest. Running on adrenalin and determined to survive, Ava dragged her frozen feet onward toward the sound of the falls. A loud bang startled her and a whooshing sound came close by. Had someone shot at her? Panic cramped her stomach and she ducked down, scanning the forest in all directions. The next moment, a massive bough came crashing through the branches, splintering on the way down and sending shards of wood in all directions. She covered her head and ducked away. It must be colder outside the protection of the forest than she’d imagined. The loud noise was frozen branches, snapping away from the trees. She had to keep going, and dragged her painful legs through the dead bushes, stopping only to grab a handful of snow to quench her thirst.

Hands and feet numb and cheeks frozen, she stumbled out the forest. In front of her was the edge of a waterfall. The falls had frozen in parts and didn’t come close to the expanse of the impressive Black Rock Falls she’d seen on the net, but it didn’t matter. People visited waterfalls all over the county and she might find help close by. Standing on the edge of a boulder, she made out a trail alongside the falls that led to the top. Without a second thought, she pushed her ice-cold fingers inside her pockets and made for the pathway.

Muscles aching, she climbed to the top of the trail and looked behind her. There was no sign of Preacher. Heaving a sigh of relief, she followed a narrow path. At the sight of a hunting cabin in a small clearing, she whooped with joy. She dragged herself to the front porch to find its front door padlocked for the winter and all the windows had shutters locked tight. A locked metal meat locker, dusted with snow, sat under a tree. It was big enough to hold a full elk. She sat on the porch steps to rest, staring into the distance, but as the sweat from climbing the fall’s trail turned to ice, she stood and searched around. The dirt road at the back had to be the way back to town.

Lifting her knees, she trekked through the thick snow to the road. Snow piled on each side, a sign a snowplow had gone through recently. Cold bit into her cheeks but keeping moving had warmed her a little. Making her way around the first bend, she caught a glimpse of the lowlands, which put her position at the top of the mountain range, many miles from town. The small road ended in a T-junction with a wider road leading in both directions. She headed down the mountain and, in the distance, heard an engine moving slowly in her direction. She ran slipping and sliding down the road until a truck with a snowplow attached to the front came into view. Standing in the middle of the road, she waved her arms to get the driver’s attention. As the snowplow slowed to a stop, the door swung open. Without a second thought, she jumped inside and closed the door behind her. She turned to the driver. “Thank you. I need help. Do you have a cellphone? I need to call the cops.”

The man was bundled up against the cold and wearing sunglasses with only a small patch of his cheeks visible. He turned and looked at her and shook his head but said nothing. Uncertainty crawled into Ava’s belly. She gripped the door handle ready to leap out and run away. Had she gone from one bad situation to another?

“Hot chocolate?” He startled her when he spoke in almost a whisper. The stranger took a Thermos from between the seats and handed it to her. “Drink it before I go. I don’t want you to spill it on the seats.” His voice was raspy and gruff. “I’ll call the cops from home. Back there.” He indicated behind him with his thumb.

“Thanks.” Fingers numb with cold, Ava fumbled with the top but managed to pour the meager contents into the cup. It was warm and very strong but she drank it down and then handed him the Thermos. “Can you take me there now?”

“Soon as I visit the meat locker.” The man headed the truck toward the old hunting cabin.

The warmth inside the truck was delicious and Ava leaned back in the seat, trying to ignore the pain in her defrosting limbs. As the truck made its way slowly up the mountain, Ava had trouble keeping her eyes open. She sat up straight but the heavy feeling of impending sleep had her in its clutches. As they drove along the road to the cabin, she pinched herself to keep awake. The truck stopped alongside the meat locker and the man climbed out. He unlocked the padlock and threw back the lid, making a loud clanging noise that echoed through the forest. Too exhausted to move, Ava followed him with her eyes as he opened the back door of the truck and lifted out something wrapped in a blanket.

Ava stared as he dropped the heavy bundle, a pig maybe, into the locker. She made out a flash of pale flesh as he pulled the blanket away and the carcass thumped to the floor. As he stepped away gathering up the blanket, his scarf fell away from his face. Terror gripped her as she recognized Preacher. Shaking her head in denial, she stared at him—surely, exhaustion was playing tricks on her. She squeezed her eyes shut and then o

pened them and blinked wildly. Trying desperately to focus, she gaped in horror at the opening to the meat locker. A human arm—a woman’s arm—hung over the edge.

Realization slapped her in the face. Preacher had killed someone. Panic closed the scream in her throat. She had to get away from him but couldn’t lift her arms. Pushing feebly at the truck door with her shoulder, she tried to open the door but it was as if her body had quit responding. She stared at Preacher. He was speaking, so softly she couldn’t make out the words, and leaning in the locker as if arranging the body. Her attention fixed on the arm he was tucking inside. She recognized the tattoo of a rose on the back of the hand and the black nail polish. Her heart pounded in disbelief. He’d murdered Zoe.

Thirty-Nine

Monday, Week 2