C. Box - The Highway

Pederson held his gaze for a moment, seeing if she would waver. She didn’t.

“Good enough for me,” he said. She wasn’t sure she’d convinced him, but she was sure by his manner that it no longer mattered.

* * *

“We took a look at those DVDs,” he said.

She didn’t comment.

“Worse thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. “There are four different women-girls-altogether. They all end the same way. There’s no way somebody faked all that to frame Legerski. No way in hell. It’s him. Luckily, we’ve identified two of the victims so far and we’re putting their images out nationwide. We’ll figure out who the other two are.”

Pedersen shook his head slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like it before and I hope I never do again,” he said.

“Four,” she said. “Any possibility he killed more?”

“I’d bet a million dollars there were a hell of a lot more than four victims,” Pedersen said. “Maybe he didn’t record them all or maybe we just haven’t found the other disks yet. But when you look at that horror chamber he’s got down there, and the scratch marks on the walls of that room-there were more than four.”

She nodded, and felt a chill worm up her spine as she recalled the room. “I know,” she said. “I was in there. So did you dig up the bodies?”

“No,” he said, “And that’s the thing. We haven’t even found the four. We don’t know where he buried them, or burned their remains, or what. I’ve made a request to the feds for body-sniffing dogs and imaging technology so we can go over this little ranch inch by inch. I’m scared as hell to find out how many there are.

“I wonder how high the count will be,” Pedersen said, “Think about it. This is a damned human slaughterhouse. Two of those girls on the CDs aren’t local, so who knows where they came from or how many there will turn out to be? We’re going over that bunker with a fine-tooth comb finding hair and fiber evidence, blood, DNA … we’ll get an idea,” he said.

“We know that he didn’t bury them with the cars we’ve recovered out there,” he said, gesturing toward the roaring backhoes and heavy equipment working in the meadow.

She said, “You’ve found entire buried cars? ”

“We’ve dug up eight vehicles so far. A couple look like they’ve been buried for three or four years. He didn’t even bother to take the plates off, so we’ll figure out who owned them soon enough. But the scale of it just blows me away, Deputy Dew”-he corrected himself in midword and finished with-“Investigator.”

“Eight buried cars?” she said, now knowing exactly what had been beneath those churned-up rectangles she’d seen the day before.

“The thing that just pisses me off is he used county backhoes, right from our shop,” Pedersen said. “It looks like he checked them out under a fake name and drove them out here. Our own equipment! Legerski was running this thing right under our noses using our own resources.”

All Cassie could think about was if she’d waited, if she hadn’t killed Legerski, the trooper might confess his crimes and identify the victims.

* * *

Cassie said, “How long do you think he’s been doing it?”

Pedersen shrugged. “Years, I’d guess. But he wasn’t alone.”

“You mean there were more involved than Legerski and Jimmy? Is that what you’re saying?”

Pedersen looked hard at her. “You mean you don’t know? The Sullivan girls said there were at least three of them.”

Cassie shook her head. “I haven’t talked to the girls since we were separated on the top of the stairs yesterday. All I’ve done is interview after interview.”

“Oh. Well, yes, they say there were three.”

“Who is number three?”

“They say he was a truck driver. He was the one who pulled them out of their car.”

The news pummeled her. “I can’t help but assume the truck driver is the same one who gave me the evidence.”

“That’s what we’re thinking. And we’ve got a suspect.”

“Who?”

“A local named Ronald Pergram. He’s a weirdo, all right. He’s got a place near here but it burned down yesterday. That’s what led us to think it might be him. His body might be inside, but we don’t know yet. His truck wasn’t there, but we don’t know if it might be garaged somewhere or getting tuned up, or what. Just in case he’s running, though, we’ve got an APB out on his truck but no hits yet. We’ll find him, though, one way or the other.”

“I hope so.”

“It’s not like you can just hide an 80,000-pound truck.”

Something dark passed over Pedersen’s face. He said, “You need to see something. That’s why I brought you out here.”

“See what?” she asked, her insides still knotted.

He gestured with his chin toward one of the huge fresh mounds of dirt in the pasture.

* * *

She knew before she saw the entirety of the pickup partially hidden by the excavated dirt. Cody Hoyt’s battered old Dodge, listing to the side due to a flattened tire. The bed was filled with loose dirt and the windows were broken out. The top of the cab was dented in, probably by the ton of dirt dropped on it to fill the hole.

Pedersen put his hand on her shoulder. “We dug up a fresh excavation and he was inside,” he said. “The only body we’ve found. It looks like Legerski or somebody shot him at close range. Powder burns on his face, that I could see for sure.”

Cassie closed her eyes and felt her knees get weak again. She was grateful when Pedersen stepped over and put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him.

“I notified Sheriff Tubman, who called his ex-wife,” he said. “I’m damn sorry. It’s hell to lose a partner.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe he killed him.”

“He would have done the same to you if you’d let him. But you got the guy who pulled the trigger,” Pedersen said. “There’s that.”

* * *

As he walked her back to the tent she saw Sheriff Tubman’s SUV swing into the makeshift parking lot. He was out of uniform but wearing his Stetson with the factory curl, and appeared to be doing his best to look grave. But by his bearing and step, she could tell he was practically ecstatic.

“I’ll leave you two,” Pedersen said, releasing her. “I’ve got to get back to the tent.”

She wished he would have kept hugging her, and felt instantly resentful toward Tubman for breaking it up. There was nothing romantic about Pedersen’s intention, but the man was solid and reassuring and those were two things she could never say of Tubman.

“There she is,” Tubman said as he walked up. “There’s my girl.”

“I’m not your girl.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, brushing her comment aside. “I’m just proud of you. You’re a hero.”

She grunted.

“You wouldn’t believe the calls I’m getting-from all over the country. The networks want to interview us, and they’re sending camera crews-it’s mind-boggling. This is the biggest thing to happen in this part of the state in years, and you’re the one who got the bad guy. I’m just … so proud.”

Cassie glared at him with contempt. She knew she’d probably guaranteed his reelection. He could continue to preen and collect rent money from drug dealers for another term.

“What?” he asked, genuinely surprised she didn’t share his triumph.

“They found Cody’s body,” she said. “Did you forget?”

“Of course not. I’m sorry. I conveyed my sympathy to Jenny and his son Jarrod.”

“Justin,” she corrected.

“Justin, right.”

“How’d she take it?”

He feigned gravity. “Hard. But it’s not like she didn’t expect something like this, given who he was.”