Нора Робертс - Chasing Fire

“I don’t know if it had to be me. He’s pissed at all of us, just mostly at me.”

“Okay, possible.” He found the coffee bitter, wished for a little sugar to cut the edge. But just didn’t feel like getting up for it. “So Brakeman stands in the woods with his rifle, staking out the base. He gets lucky and we come along. If he’s as good a shot as advertised, why did he miss?”

“Because it has to be a hell of a lot different to shoot a human being than a buck. Nerves. Or he couldn’t bring himself to kill me—us—and decided to scare us to death instead.”

“Also possible. Why leave the weapon? Why leave a special edition, which had to cost, which he cared enough about to put his name on, under a pile of leaves? Why leave it behind at all when he had to know the cops would do a search?”

“Panic. Impulse. He wasn’t thinking clearly—obviously. Hide it, get out, come back for it another time. And maybe take a few more shots.” She stopped, rubbed at the tension in the back of her neck as she studied Gull. “And you don’t think Leo Brakeman shot at us.”

“I think it might be interesting to know who had access to his gun. Who might’ve liked causing him trouble, and wouldn’t feel too bad about scaring you doing it.” He sipped at the coffee. “But it could’ve been Brakeman following impulse, getting lucky, being nervous and panicking.”

“When you say it like that, it’s a lot to swallow.”

She plopped down in L.B.’s chair as Gull had opened her mind to alternatives. And thinking was doing, she reminded herself.

“I guess his wife would have access, but I have a hard time seeing her doing this. Plus, I’ve never heard of her going hunting or target shooting. She’s more the church-bake-sale type. And it’s easier to believe she might panic because she’s more the quiet, even a little timid, type. If you get past the first step, her actually coming out here with a rifle, the rest goes down.”

“Maybe a double bluff,” she considered aloud. “He left the rifle so he could say, hey, would anybody be that stupid? But I don’t know if he’d be that cagey. I just don’t know these people very well. We’ve never had much interaction, even when Dolly worked here. Which means I don’t know if anybody’s got a grudge against Brakeman, or would know enough to use him as a fall guy. It’s easier if it’s Brakeman. Then it would be done, and there wouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

“It’s up to the cops anyway. We can let it go.”

“That’s passive, and that’s what’s driving me crazy. Who killed Dolly? That’s the first question. Jesus, Gull, what if her father did?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” She hooked her feet around the legs of the chair, leaned forward. “Say they had a fight. Say she’s coming back from Florence—if she got work there like she claimed—gets the flat. Calls her father to come fix it. I can’t picture Dolly with a lug wrench and jack. He comes out, and they get into it over something. Her dumping the baby on her mother so much, maybe having the kid in the first place, or just dragging him out that time of night. Things get out of hand. She takes a fall, lands wrong, breaks her neck. He freaks, puts her body in the truck. He’s got to figure out what to do, decides to destroy the evidence—and the rest follows. He knows the area, the trails, and he’s strong enough to have carried her in.”

“Plausible,” Gull decided. “Maybe he confesses to his wife, and you get part two. There’s another hypothesis.”

“Share.”

“You said you didn’t know Dolly that well, but you had definite opinions about her. Jim died last August. We’re moving toward July. Is she the type to be without a man for a year?”

Rowan opened her mouth, shut it again, then sat back. “No. And why didn’t I think of that? No, she’d never go this long without a man. There’s a stronger case for that knowing that her whole I-found-Jesus deal was bogus.”

“Maybe the current guy’s in Florence. Maybe that’s why she got work there, or said she did. Or maybe they just met up in a motel on Twelve or thereabouts.”

“Lovers’ quarrel, and he kills her. If there’s a he. There had to be—it’s Dolly. Or her father found out, and so on. But if she had one on the line in Florence, why come back here anyway? Why not just go there, be with him? Because he’s married,” Rowan said before Gull could comment. “She fooled around with married men all the time.”

“If so, it’s more likely he’s in Missoula. She came back here, got work here at the base. She’d want to be close to whoever she was sleeping with. Say, he’s married, or there’s some other reason why they can’t be open about a relationship. Then you have the meet-up somewhere away from where people know you, would recognize you.”

“You’re good at this.”

“It’s like playing a game. You work the levels.” He took her hand again. “Except it’s not characters, it’s real people.”

“It still feels better to play it through. And here’s another thing. Dolly wasn’t nearly as smart or clever as she liked to think. If she was sleeping with somebody, she’d have dropped hints. Maybe to Marg. More likely to Lynn. She was going to church, so maybe to somebody she made friends with there.”

“It would be interesting to find out.”

“It would.” She needed to move again, do more than think. “Why don’t we go outside, see what’s going on?”

“Good idea.”

“Quinniock likes me, I think. Maybe he’ll give us a couple of nibbles.”

When they went out, she spotted Barry heading toward his patrol car. “Hey, Barry. Is Lieutenant Quinniock around?”

“He and Agent DiCicco just left. Do you need something, Ro?”

She gave Gull a quick glance. “I could sure use a little reassurance. I’d sleep better tonight.”

“I can tell you the weapon we found is Leo Brakeman’s. The lieutenant and DiCicco are on their way to his place to talk to him.”

“Talk.”

“That’s the first step. I had to back up Little Bear when he told them Leo’s a damn good shot. I don’t know if it makes you feel better or not, but I don’t think he was aiming for you.”

“It doesn’t make me feel worse.”

“He was wrong blaming you for what happened to Dolly. Some people just can’t get their lives together.”

“I meant to ask Lieutenant Quinniock if they found out where she’d gotten work. Maybe somebody she knew or met there killed her.”

Barry hesitated, then shrugged. “It doesn’t look like she was working. It’s nothing for you to worry about, Ro.”

“Barry.” She put a hand on his arm. “Come on. I’m in the middle of this whether I want to be or not. What was she doing coming back from down that way if she didn’t have a job?”

“I can’t say for sure, and I shouldn’t say at all.” He puffed out his cheeks as she kept looking into his eyes. “All I know is the police artist is scheduled to work with somebody tomorrow. The word is it’s a maid from some motel down off Twelve. Whoever he is, if we can ID him, the lieutenant’s going to want to talk to him.”

“Thanks, Barry.” She moved in to hug him. “Erin got lucky with you. Tell her I said so.”

“I’ll do that. And you don’t worry. We’re looking out for you.”

Gull slipped his hands in his pockets as Barry got in the car. “You didn’t come down on him for saying he was looking out for you.”

“Cops are supposed to look out for everybody. Besides, Barry gets a pass. He was my first. Actually we were each other’s firsts, a scenario I don’t necessarily recommend unless both participants have a solid sense of humor. That was several years before he met Erin, his wife, and the mother of his two kids.”