And she was in trouble. She might not believe it, or admit it, but somebody meant to hurt her. Whatever they were to each other, whatever they weren’t, he wasn’t going to let that happen.
As the camp came into view, Coop slowed. He flicked back his coat and rested a hand on the butt of his gun.
Long precise slashes ran down the length of both tents. Bedrolls lay sodden in the icy stream, along with the cookstove he’d used that morning to fry bacon, make coffee. The shirt Lil had worn the day before lay spread out on the snow. Coop would’ve made book that the blood that smeared it had come from the cougar.
He dismounted, tethered the horses, then opened Lil’s saddlebag to find the camera he’d seen her put in that morning.
He documented the scene from various angles, took close-ups of the shirt, the tents, the items in the stream, the boot prints that weren’t his, weren’t Lil’s.
Best he could do, he thought before digging out a plastic bag that would stand for an evidence bag. With his gloves on, he bagged Lil’s shirt, sealed the bag, and wished only for a pen or marker to note down the time, date, and his initials.
He heard the approach of a horse, thought of Joe. Coop stowed the shirt in his own saddlebag, laid a hand back on his weapon. He let it drop when the horse and rider came into view.
“She’s fine.” Coop called it out first. “She’s with the county sheriff. She’s fine, Joe.”
“Okay.” Still mounted, Joe surveyed the campsite. “You two didn’t have a drunken party and do this.”
“He had to come back, double around again while we were up above. It’s quick work. Down and dirty. Probably took him ten minutes tops.”
“Why?”
“Well, that’s a question.”
“It’s one I’m asking you, Cooper.” Joe slid off the saddle, held the reins in a hand Coop imagined was white at the knuckles under his riding gloves. “I’m not an idealist. I know people do f**k-all. But I don’t understand this. You’d have a better idea on it. You’d have thought about it.”
Lies often served a purpose, Coop knew. But he wouldn’t lie to Joe. “Somebody’s got it in for Lil, but I don’t have the answers. You’d have a better idea, or she would. I haven’t been part of her life for a long time. I don’t know what’s going on with her, not under the surface.”
“But you’ll find out.”
“The police are on this, Joe. Willy strikes me as somebody who gets things done. I took pictures of all this, and I’ll turn them over.” He thought of the bloodstained shirt, but kept that to himself. A father, already scared, already sick with worry, didn’t need more.
“Willy will do his job, and he’ll do his best. But he’s not going to be thinking about this, and about Lil, every minute of the day. I’m asking you, Coop. I’m asking you to help me. To help Lil. To look out for her.”
“I’ll talk to her. I’ll do what I can.”
Satisfied, Joe nodded. “I guess we’d better clean this up.”
“No. We’ll call it in, and leave it. He probably didn’t leave anything behind, but we’ll leave it for the cops to go through.”
“You’d know best.” On a shaky breath, Joe pulled off his hat, ran a gloved hand through his hair once, twice. “Jesus, Cooper. Jesus. I’m worried about my girl.”
So am I, Coop thought. So am I.
10
Lil shut down her emotions to assist Matt in the autopsy. One of the deputies stood by, going clammy green during the procedure. Under other circumstances, the poor man’s reaction would have amused her a little.
But the blood on her hands was partially her fault. No one would ever be able to convince her otherwise.
Still, the scientist in her collected blood and hair samples from the dead as she’d planned to from the living. She’d analyze, and have the data for her files, for her papers, for the program.
When the vet removed the bullet, she held out the stainless-steel dish. It rang, almost cheerfully, when Matt dropped it in. The deputy bagged it, sealed it, logged it in their presence.
“Looks like a thirty-two,” he said, and swallowed. “I’m going to see that this gets to Sheriff Johannsen. Ah, you verify this as cause of death, right, Dr. Wainwright?”
“A bullet in the brain usually is. No other injuries or insults. I’m going to open her up, complete the exam. But you’re holding what killed this animal.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll send a full report to the sheriff’s office,” Lil told him. “All the documentation.”
“I’ll go on, then.” He bolted.
Matt exchanged forceps for scalpel. “Given her weight, height, her teeth, I’d put the age of this female between twelve and fifteen months.” He looked to Lil for confirmation.
“Yes. She’s not pregnant-though you’ll verify-nor does she show signs of having given birth recently. It’s unlikely she mated this fall, being too young at that time to come into season. All visual indications are she was in good health.”
“Lil, you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to be in here for this.”
“Yes I do.” She made herself cold, and watched Matt make the first precise line of the Y cut.
When it was done, all the data recorded, all the conclusions made, her eyes were gritty, her throat raw. Stress and grief made an uneasy marriage in her stomach. She washed her hands thoroughly, repeatedly, before going into the office.
The minute he saw her, Lucius’s eyes filled.
“I’m sorry. I can’t seem to pull it together.”
“It’s all right. It’s a hard day.”
“I didn’t know if you’d want me to put anything up on the site. Any sort of statement or…”
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her hands over her face. Her mind simply hadn’t gone there. “Maybe we should. Yes, maybe we should. She was murdered. People should know about her, what happened to her.”
“I can write something up for you to look over.”
“Yeah, do that, Lucius.”
Mary Blunt, sturdy of body, sensible of mind, rose from her desk to pour hot water into a mug. “It’s tea. Drink it,” she ordered, and she pushed it into Lil’s hand. “Then go home for a while. There’s nothing you have to do. It’s nearly closing time. Why don’t I come over, fix you something to eat?”
As the camp came into view, Coop slowed. He flicked back his coat and rested a hand on the butt of his gun.
Long precise slashes ran down the length of both tents. Bedrolls lay sodden in the icy stream, along with the cookstove he’d used that morning to fry bacon, make coffee. The shirt Lil had worn the day before lay spread out on the snow. Coop would’ve made book that the blood that smeared it had come from the cougar.
He dismounted, tethered the horses, then opened Lil’s saddlebag to find the camera he’d seen her put in that morning.
He documented the scene from various angles, took close-ups of the shirt, the tents, the items in the stream, the boot prints that weren’t his, weren’t Lil’s.
Best he could do, he thought before digging out a plastic bag that would stand for an evidence bag. With his gloves on, he bagged Lil’s shirt, sealed the bag, and wished only for a pen or marker to note down the time, date, and his initials.
He heard the approach of a horse, thought of Joe. Coop stowed the shirt in his own saddlebag, laid a hand back on his weapon. He let it drop when the horse and rider came into view.
“She’s fine.” Coop called it out first. “She’s with the county sheriff. She’s fine, Joe.”
“Okay.” Still mounted, Joe surveyed the campsite. “You two didn’t have a drunken party and do this.”
“He had to come back, double around again while we were up above. It’s quick work. Down and dirty. Probably took him ten minutes tops.”
“Why?”
“Well, that’s a question.”
“It’s one I’m asking you, Cooper.” Joe slid off the saddle, held the reins in a hand Coop imagined was white at the knuckles under his riding gloves. “I’m not an idealist. I know people do f**k-all. But I don’t understand this. You’d have a better idea on it. You’d have thought about it.”
Lies often served a purpose, Coop knew. But he wouldn’t lie to Joe. “Somebody’s got it in for Lil, but I don’t have the answers. You’d have a better idea, or she would. I haven’t been part of her life for a long time. I don’t know what’s going on with her, not under the surface.”
“But you’ll find out.”
“The police are on this, Joe. Willy strikes me as somebody who gets things done. I took pictures of all this, and I’ll turn them over.” He thought of the bloodstained shirt, but kept that to himself. A father, already scared, already sick with worry, didn’t need more.
“Willy will do his job, and he’ll do his best. But he’s not going to be thinking about this, and about Lil, every minute of the day. I’m asking you, Coop. I’m asking you to help me. To help Lil. To look out for her.”
“I’ll talk to her. I’ll do what I can.”
Satisfied, Joe nodded. “I guess we’d better clean this up.”
“No. We’ll call it in, and leave it. He probably didn’t leave anything behind, but we’ll leave it for the cops to go through.”
“You’d know best.” On a shaky breath, Joe pulled off his hat, ran a gloved hand through his hair once, twice. “Jesus, Cooper. Jesus. I’m worried about my girl.”
So am I, Coop thought. So am I.
10
Lil shut down her emotions to assist Matt in the autopsy. One of the deputies stood by, going clammy green during the procedure. Under other circumstances, the poor man’s reaction would have amused her a little.
But the blood on her hands was partially her fault. No one would ever be able to convince her otherwise.
Still, the scientist in her collected blood and hair samples from the dead as she’d planned to from the living. She’d analyze, and have the data for her files, for her papers, for the program.
When the vet removed the bullet, she held out the stainless-steel dish. It rang, almost cheerfully, when Matt dropped it in. The deputy bagged it, sealed it, logged it in their presence.
“Looks like a thirty-two,” he said, and swallowed. “I’m going to see that this gets to Sheriff Johannsen. Ah, you verify this as cause of death, right, Dr. Wainwright?”
“A bullet in the brain usually is. No other injuries or insults. I’m going to open her up, complete the exam. But you’re holding what killed this animal.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll send a full report to the sheriff’s office,” Lil told him. “All the documentation.”
“I’ll go on, then.” He bolted.
Matt exchanged forceps for scalpel. “Given her weight, height, her teeth, I’d put the age of this female between twelve and fifteen months.” He looked to Lil for confirmation.
“Yes. She’s not pregnant-though you’ll verify-nor does she show signs of having given birth recently. It’s unlikely she mated this fall, being too young at that time to come into season. All visual indications are she was in good health.”
“Lil, you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to be in here for this.”
“Yes I do.” She made herself cold, and watched Matt make the first precise line of the Y cut.
When it was done, all the data recorded, all the conclusions made, her eyes were gritty, her throat raw. Stress and grief made an uneasy marriage in her stomach. She washed her hands thoroughly, repeatedly, before going into the office.
The minute he saw her, Lucius’s eyes filled.
“I’m sorry. I can’t seem to pull it together.”
“It’s all right. It’s a hard day.”
“I didn’t know if you’d want me to put anything up on the site. Any sort of statement or…”
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her hands over her face. Her mind simply hadn’t gone there. “Maybe we should. Yes, maybe we should. She was murdered. People should know about her, what happened to her.”
“I can write something up for you to look over.”
“Yeah, do that, Lucius.”
Mary Blunt, sturdy of body, sensible of mind, rose from her desk to pour hot water into a mug. “It’s tea. Drink it,” she ordered, and she pushed it into Lil’s hand. “Then go home for a while. There’s nothing you have to do. It’s nearly closing time. Why don’t I come over, fix you something to eat?”
