Cindi Myers - Cold Conspiracy

Travis took a box of tissues from a drawer of his desk and slid it over to her. “Thank you for coming to talk to us,” he said. “We’ll follow up with the bank, see if anyone there remembers this man. If we’re lucky, he’ll be on the security footage. And we may want to talk to you and to your parents again.”

“Of course,” Drew said. He stood and helped his wife to her feet, also. “Please keep us posted on how things are going.”

“We will.” Travis came around the desk to escort the Micheners to the lobby. Jamie stepped aside, then followed them into the hall. She was still standing there, reviewing everything the Micheners had said, when Travis returned.

“I’ve got Dwight checking Michaela’s phone records for a call or text that might be from Al,” he said. “Meanwhile, I want you to come to the bank with me. I’ll call Tom Babcock and ask him to meet us there. We need to get those security tapes and see what this guy looks like. Maybe we’ll recognize him.”

“Do you really think he’s the Ice Cold Killer?” Jamie quickened her steps to keep up with the sheriff’s long strides.

“He’s the best lead we’ve had so far,” Travis said. “I’m not going to let him get away.”

Abel Crutchfield lived in a mobile home on the west side of town that backed up to the river. His truck sat beneath a steel carport next to the trailer home, which was painted a cheerful turquoise and white. A trio of garden gnomes poked out of the snow around the bottom of the front steps, and a Christmas wreath with a drooping red ribbon still adorned the door.

Abel answered Gage’s knock and his eyes widened at the sight of the two officers on his doorstep. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions.” Gage handed him a business card.

Abel read it, then looked past Gage to Nate. “You’re the game warden I talked to this morning, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Nate gave him a reassuring smile. “This isn’t about that. We’re hoping you can help us with something else.”

“You’d better come in.” Abel pushed open the screened door. “No sense standing out in the cold.”

The front room of the trailer was neat but packed with furniture—a sofa and two recliners, a large entertainment unit with a television and a stereo system, and two tall bookshelves filled with paperback books and ceramic figurines of dogs, bears, more gnomes, angels and others Nate couldn’t make out. Abel threaded his way through the clutter and sat in one of the recliners and motioned to the sofa. “It’s my wife’s afternoon for her knitting club,” he said. “So I’m here by myself. What can I help you with?”

“Did you see anyone else while you were fishing this morning?” Gage asked.

“Nope. I had the lake to myself.”

“What about on the way to and from the lake?” Nate asked. “Did you see anyone on the road, or in the parking area?”

“What’s this about?” Abel asked. “Not that it makes any difference in my answers, but I’d like to know.”

“Another young woman was killed in that area this morning,” Gage said.

Abel sat back, clearly shocked. “You don’t think I killed her, do you?” he asked. “I was just out there fishing. I go fishing every Monday. Usually I bring home something for supper.”

“We’re not accusing you,” Gage said. “But we’re hoping you might have seen or heard something that could help us find the killer. Where were you between eight and ten this morning?”

“I was at the lake. I always try to get there by eight, and I leave about eleven to come home for lunch.” He turned to Nate. “You saw me there. It must have been about nine or so when we talked.”

Nate nodded. “That’s about right. And you didn’t see anyone else while you were at the lake?”

“Not a soul. I passed a couple of cars on the highway on my way out there, but once I turned onto the Forest Service Road, I didn’t see any other cars, and none in the parking lot. I saw a woman out walking, but that was all.”

Gage tensed. “A woman out walking? Where? What did she look like?”

“She was on the forest road, about a mile before the turnoff to the lake. She was tall and thin, with long blond hair—a lot of it.”

“What was she doing?” Gage asked.

“Just walking along, talking on the phone. She didn’t even look up when I passed.”

“What else can you tell me about her?” Gage asked. “Did you recognize her?”

“She was wearing jeans and hiking boots and a black parka. I didn’t get that good a look at her. She had her head bent, with that phone pressed to her ear and her hair falling all in her face.”

“Had you ever seen her out there before?” Nate asked.

“No. I usually don’t see anybody—not in the winter, anyway,” Abel said. “I don’t think there are any houses out that way.”

“Didn’t you think it was odd she was walking out there by herself?” Gage asked.

Abel shrugged. “People like to walk. It’s none of my business. She didn’t look like she was in trouble or anything. Just walking along, talking on the phone.”

“What time was this that you saw her?” Gage asked.

“Well, it was before eight. Maybe seven fifty.”

“Which direction was she walking?” Nate asked.

“North. Same direction I was headed.”

They talked to him a few more minutes, but he couldn’t tell them anything further. They said goodbye and returned to Gage’s cruiser. Neither man spoke until they were headed back to the sheriff’s department.

“The woman he saw wasn’t Michaela,” Gage said. “She has short, dark hair. And what was a woman doing out there by herself at that time of morning, anyway?”

“Something else really strange about that whole story,” Nate said.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Gage said. “What was she doing on the phone?”

“Right. Jamie had to drive a ways to call in when she found Michaela. There’s no phone signal out that way. None at all.”

BANK PRESIDENT TOM BABCOCK met Travis and Jamie at the Mountain States Bank, a worried expression on his face. “I hope we can help you,” he said as he led them past the teller windows to the back of the building. “It’s unnerving to think a murderer is one of our customers.”

“If he is a customer, it will make it easier for us to find him,” Travis said.

“You said on the phone you wanted to see footage from our security cameras,” Babcock said. “I’ve asked our IT specialist, Susan Whitmore, to meet with us. She knows her way around the system much better than I do.” He opened the door to a small office filled with computer equipment. “While we wait for her, can you tell me a little more about this? You said our teller, Michaela Underwood, was murdered? And this man she met at the bank might be her killer?”

“We don’t know that he killed her,” Travis said. “But he was supposed to meet her this morning. It may be he knows something about what happened. Were you here on Thursday?”

“Yes. Michaela worked eight to five that day. She took lunch from eleven thirty to twelve thirty, and was the only teller on duty from twelve thirty to three.”

“Do you remember her talking to a young man?” Travis asked. “Flirting with him?”

“I can’t say that I noticed anything like that.” He frowned. “Michaela was always very friendly. Customers liked her. We’re going to really miss her. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her…”

His voice trailed away as a chime sounded. “That will be Susan now.” He leaned out of the open door. “We’re back here, Susan,” he called.