Catherine Coulter - Backfire

Hibbert said to Cheney, “I got the particulars you sent out on Federal Prosecutor Mickey O’Rourke Friday afternoon. When we realized the body was O’Rourke, I pulled our guys back immediately to preserve the crime scene for you. You’ve got a forensic team coming?”

Cheney nodded.

Sheriff Hibbert said, “The two kids who saw the killer-we knew they weren’t blowing smoke because Rufino Ramirez’s dad is a deputy sheriff in our Point Reyes Substation.

“We haven’t seen this kind of thing around here, Agents, since the trailside murders. It’s already all over town.”

Hibbert raised his face. “It’s been raining on and off all morning. I’m afraid I can feel more coming. No choice, let’s do this,” he said, and turned toward his cruiser and said over his shoulder, “Deputy Sheriff Ramirez took his boy, Rufino, and his friend, Eleanor, back to his house; then he called the other parents over, so they’re all together, waiting for you. How far behind you is the forensic team?”

Cheney said, “They’re only a few minutes out. I called Joe Elder, the forensic team leader, told him you’d have a deputy waiting here for them at the same place where you met us.”

Sheriff Hibbert nodded, climbed into his Crown Vic, and led them slowly past a few more dirt tracks before turning left at the fourth, which threw them into a mess of thick oak and bay trees. Soon they saw half a dozen more cars pulled onto the grass along the dirt tracks, their passenger sides pressed up against the trees. The tracks narrowed to a dirt path.

The sheriff pulled over, got out of his Crown Vic, and waved them forward. He said, “We figure the killer parked some twenty feet down this trail; that’s where we found tire tracks, nice and clear before the rain picked up. Our guys are taking the tire casts now. He carried O’Rourke’s body about a hundred feet farther into the woods. This is private land, but you can’t see the house from here.”

They followed him along a narrow trail, the trees so thick overhead it looked like twilight in the woods. There was no wind to speak of, but the air was pregnant with rain, and a light drizzle continued to fall. When they reached a small clearing, Sherlock looked up, hoping to see a bit of sun, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She hoped heavy rain would hold off for a while longer to give the forensic team time enough to set up some cover.

Marin County officers circled Mickey O’Rourke’s grave, talking, drinking coffee. Savich saw the hole was maybe three feet deep, deep enough to keep Mickey O’Rourke hidden in this desolate spot for decades, if it hadn’t been for those two kids. He wanted to meet them. He nodded to the deputy, then leaned down and pulled back a white tarp. They stared down into Mickey O’Rourke’s bone-white face and the obscene red slash across his neck. The deputies around the grave looked on with them.

Eve couldn’t bear it, just couldn’t. She swallowed, turned away. She said, “Ramsey is going to hate this. Why did he have to die?”

There was no answer to that.

They all turned around at the sound of footsteps coming up the trail.

“That’ll be our forensic team,” Cheney said, and waved when he saw Joe Elder.

“What are you standing in our way for!” Joe yelled, still from a distance. “Move your carcasses, let us through.”

Joe was nearing retirement now. He was impatient with fools, impatient with everyone, as a matter of fact, and would generally snort at anyone in his vicinity.

They listened to him bark out orders to his team of two men and two women, snarl at the deputies who happened to get into his space, and shout for some coffee for him and his people.

There was silence when they at last lifted Mickey O’Rourke out of his grave. Eve crossed herself, a habit ingrained from her childhood, and said a prayer. She looked over at Harry, whose face seemed to be carved from stone. His hands, though, were clenched at his sides.

Since there wasn’t anything more for them to do, Sheriff Hibbert led them to the Ramirez house. It was a mile away off another dirt road, a small clapboard house set pressed against a knot of bay trees.

They heard the two kids’ high, excited voices before they got through the front door. After introductions and their assurances no one would browbeat the kids, Julio Ramirez led them in from the kitchen.

They were eleven years old. Emma’s age, Sherlock thought, and skinny as skateboards. They looked both scared and excited, just like their parents. Eleanor looked a great deal like her mother, small and fine-boned, quite unlike her father, lucky for her.

Rufino was a good-looking kid, the image of his deputy father. A future heartbreaker, Eve thought.

It took about ten minutes before Deputy Ramirez convinced the other parents to adjourn back to the kitchen and wait. Finally they got the kids settled at the ancient mahogany dining room table, each with a soft drink and within easy reach of a plate of chocolate-chip cookies provided by Eleanor’s mother.

In another few minutes, they gently got Eleanor and Rufino to the point in their story where their explorations took them near the clearing.

Keep it light, Sherlock thought. “You two were smart not to call out to him.”

Rufino said, “We almost did, then Ellie grabbed my arm and pointed. We both saw the shovel and the big mound of earth. Ellie nearly peed her pants, she was so scared.”

Ellie punched him in the arm. “Yeah? Well you did, too, Ruf.”

Sherlock grinned at both of them. “I can sure understand that. Can you tell us what the man was wearing?”

Eleanor said, “A raincoat, it was brown, and he was wearing a Giants ball cap. It was drizzling.”

Rufino said, “We were trying to find a double rainbow, but we didn’t. We never saw his face because he had his back to us. He was pounding down a big pile of earth, then he pulled branches over the-”

“The grave,” Eleanor said, and squeezed Rufino’s fingers. “It was really gross.”

Rufino said, “And we knew right away it was a grave and we knew this man wasn’t good, so we were real quiet.”

Eve thought, You’re both alive because he never realized you were there. There was no doubt in Eve’s mind the man would have killed both children and buried them with Mickey O’Rourke. Her ponytail swung forward as she leaned toward the kids. “Did you see any part of his face? Like his profile?”

“No,” Rufino said. “We were always behind him. His boots were real dirty. His feet were small, like my dad’s.”

Harry asked, “Was your impression that he was tall? Short? Fat?”

“He was kinda tall,” Ellie said without hesitation, “and he wasn’t fat, but not as skinny as Ruf’s dad.”

“Was he about your dad’s height, Rufino?” Eve asked.

Rufino wasn’t sure; the guy was pretty far away. He knew the deputy marshal was disappointed, but he didn’t want to make anything up, and she smiled at him when she realized it. He smiled back. Yes, indeed, a girl slayer, Eve thought again.

She said, “Did he seem old to you? Young?”

“Old,” both kids said at once.

“Older than your parents?”

Neither child was sure about that. To these kids anyone over twenty was old.

Cheney said, “Then what happened?”

Rufino drank the last of his soda and wiped his hand across his mouth. “After he put some branches over the grave, he leaned down and picked up the shovel.”

Ellie said, “He said something, then he walked away.”

Harry felt his heart pick up. “Did you hear what he said?”

Ellie said, “Yes, sir, but it didn’t make any sense to Ruf or me. It was something like RIP and then a name-Mickey I think. We were afraid to move, so we sat there for another five minutes.”