Cold Conspiracy

“I’ve got emergency flashers in my car,” he said. He glanced toward her SUV. Donna sat in the front seat, hunched over and rocking back and forth. “Is your sister okay?”

“She’s upset. Crying. Better to leave her alone for a bit.”

“Do you know who the woman is?”

She shook her head. “No. But I think it’s the Ice Cold Killer. I didn’t open the door or anything, but she looks like his other victims—throat cut, wrists and ankles wrapped with tape.”

He walked back to his truck, retrieved the emergency beacons and set them ten yards behind his bumper and ten yards ahead of the car. As he passed, he glanced into the front seat and caught a glimpse of the dead woman, staring up at him. Suppressing a shudder, he returned to Jamie, as a Rayford County Sheriff’s cruiser approached. The driver parked on the opposite side of the road, and tall and lanky Deputy Dwight Prentice got out. “Travis is on his way,” he said, when they had exchanged greetings.

“I was headed back to town to get ready for our meeting when I saw the car,” Jamie said. “It wasn’t here when I drove by earlier, on my way to the Pickaxe snowshoe trail.”

“The meeting has been pushed back to four o’clock.” Dwight walked over to the car and peered inside. “Do you know who she is?”

“I don’t recognize her, and I never opened the car door,” Jamie said. “I figured I should wait for the crime scene team.”

“Did you call in the license plate?” Dwight asked.

Jamie flushed. “No. I… I didn’t think of it.”

“I’ll do it,” Nate said.

Radio transmission was clearer here and after a few minutes he was back with Jamie and Dwight, with a name. “The car is registered to Michaela Underwood of Ames, Iowa.”

The sound of an approaching vehicle distracted them. No one said anything as Sheriff Travis Walker pulled in behind Dwight’s cruiser. Tall and trim, looking like a law enforcement recruiting poster, the young sheriff showed the strain of the hunt for this serial killer in the shadows beneath his eyes and the grim set of his mouth. He pulled on gloves as he crossed to them, and listened to Jamie’s story. “What time did you drive by here on your way to the trail?” he asked.

“I left my house at five after nine, so it would have been about nine thirty,” she said.

“Your call came in at eleven fifty-two,” Travis said. “How long was that after you found her?”

“I had to drive until I found a signal, but it wasn’t that long,” Jamie said. “We stopped here at eleven forty-five. I know because I kept checking the time, worried I was going to be late for work.”

Travis glanced toward her car. “Who is that with you?”

“My sister, Donna. She never got out of the car.” One of the dogs—the big husky—stuck its head out of the partially opened driver’s-side window. “I have my dogs with me, too,” Jamie added.

“All right. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

The others stood back as Travis opened the driver’s-side door. He leaned into the vehicle and emerged a few moments later with a small card, like a business card, and held it up for them to see. The bold black letters were easy to read at this short distance: ICE COLD. “Butch is on his way,” Travis said. Butch Collins, a retired doctor, served as Rayford County’s medical examiner. “Once he’s done, Dwight and I will process the scene. I’ve got a wrecker on standby to take the car to our garage.”

“It must be getting crowded in there,” Nate said—which earned him a deeper frown from the sheriff.

“Nate, can you stay and handle traffic, in case we get any lookie-loos?” Travis asked.

“Sure.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jamie asked.

“Take your sister home. I’ll see you at the station this afternoon. You can file your statement then.”

“All right.”

Nate couldn’t tell if she was relieved to be dismissed—or upset about being excluded. He followed her back to her SUV and walked around to the passenger side. The dogs began barking but quieted at a reprimand from Jamie. Donna eased the door open a crack at Nate’s approach. “Hello,” Nate said. He had a vague memory of Donna as a sweet, awkward little girl. She wasn’t so little anymore.

“Hello.” She glanced toward the blue sedan, where Dwight and Travis still stood. “Did you see the woman?”

“She’s not anyone we know,” Nate said. “A tourist, probably.” More than a few visitors had been stranded in Eagle Mountain when Dixon Pass, the only route into town, closed due to repeated avalanches triggered by the heavy snowfall.

“Why did she have to die?” Donna asked.

Because there are bad people in the world, he thought. But that didn’t seem the right answer to give this girl, who wanted reassurance. “I don’t know,” he said. “But your sister and I, and Sheriff Walker and all his deputies, are going to do everything we can to find the person who hurt her.”

Donna’s eyes met his—sweet, sad eyes. “I like you,” she said.

“I like you, too,” he answered, touched.

“All right, Donna. Quit flirting with Nate so he can get back to work.” Jamie turned the key in the ignition and started the SUV.

“You okay, Jamie?” he asked.

The look she gave him could have lit a campfire. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” she asked. “I’m a deputy. I know how to handle myself.”

“I wasn’t implying you didn’t.” He took a step back. “But this kind of thing shakes up everybody. If you asked the sheriff, he’d probably tell you he’s upset.” At least, Nate had known Travis long enough to recognize the signs that this case was tearing him up inside.

“I’m fine,” Jamie said, not looking at him. “And I need to go.”

Look me in the eye and let me see that you’re really okay, he thought. But he only took another step back and watched as she drove away. Then he walked into the road, to flag down the ambulance he could see in the distance.

JAMIE SHIFTED IN the driver’s seat of the SUV, as uncomfortable as if her clothes were too tight. Nate had looked at her as if he expected her to dissolve into tears at any minute. He ought to know she wasn’t like that. She was tough—and a lot tougher now than she was when they had been a couple. She had had to develop a thick skin to deal with everything life had thrown at her.

She was a sheriff’s deputy, and she had seen dead people before. She wasn’t going to fall apart at the sight of a body. Though she had forgotten to call in the license plate of the car, which she should have done, even if she wasn’t on duty. And she should have stayed and helped process the crime scene.

If she had been a man, would the sheriff have asked her to stay? No, she decided, her gender didn’t have anything to do with this. Travis Walker was as fair a man as she had ever known. But she had had Donna with her. She had to look after her sister, and the sheriff knew that. They had discussed her situation before he hired her. With their parents dead and no other relatives living nearby, Jamie was responsible for Donna, and might be for the rest of her life. While Donna might one day want to live on her own, with some assistance, most programs that would allow that were only available in larger cities—not small towns like Eagle Mountain. As long as Donna wanted to stay in their childhood home, Jamie would do whatever she could to make that happen.

She was happy to take care of her sister, but it meant making certain adjustments. She wasn’t free to go out whenever she liked. She couldn’t be spontaneous, because she had to make sure Donna was safe and looked after. She didn’t think many men her age would be open to that kind of life.

Which was fine. She didn’t need a man to make her complete.

She didn’t need Nate Hall. When his plans changed and he decided to go away for college, he had shed her as easily as if he had been getting rid of last year’s winter coat or a pair of shoes he’d outgrown.

He had told her he loved her, but when you loved someone, you didn’t treat them like you were doing them a favor when you said goodbye.

“I’m hungry. We missed lunch.”

Jamie guessed Donna wasn’t too traumatized, if she was thinking about food. “I’ll make you a sandwich before I drop you off at Mrs. Simmons’s,” she said. “I think there’s still some tuna in the refrigerator. Would you like that?”

“I don’t want to go to Mrs. Simmons’s house,” Donna said. “I want to stay home.”

“I have to work this afternoon,” Jamie said. “And I may be late. You can’t stay in the house by yourself.”

“Why not?” Donna asked. “I know how to dial 911 if something bad happens.”

Jamie tightened her hands on the steering wheel until her knuckles ached. “It’s not safe for you to stay by yourself,” she said. Even if Donna’s mental capacity had matched her physical age, Jamie wouldn’t have wanted to leave her alone. Not with a killer preying on women in Eagle Mountain.

“I’m old enough to stay home by myself,” Donna said.

“Mrs. Simmons’s feelings will be hurt if you don’t stay with her,” Jamie said. For sure, their older neighbor would miss the money Jamie paid her to watch over Donna while Jamie worked.

“You could explain it to her.” But Donna sounded doubtful. She was very sensitive to other people’s feelings—perhaps because her own had been wounded so often by unthinking remarks.

“If you don’t go see her, you’ll miss your shows,” Jamie said. Every afternoon, Mrs. Simmons and Donna watched old sitcoms and dramas on a classic TV station. Since Jamie didn’t subscribe to the expensive cable package required for such programming, Mrs. Simmons was Donna’s only source for her beloved shows.

Donna sighed—a long, dramatic sigh that would have done any teen girl proud. “I guess I had better go, then.”

“Thank you.” Jamie leaned over and squeezed her sister’s arm. “I really appreciate you being so nice about it.”

“What time will you be home?” Donna asked.

“I don’t know. I have this meeting, but if the sheriff wants me to work after that, I will.” She sat up straighter, her next words as much a pep talk for herself as for her sister. “The work I do is important. I’m helping to keep people safe.” Though she and her fellow deputies hadn’t been able to keep Michaela Underwood and the Ice Cold Killer’s other victims safe. The knowledge hurt, and it goaded her to do more. To do better.

“Will you see Nate at the meeting?” Donna asked.

Jamie frowned. “Nate is a wildlife officer—he doesn’t work for the sheriff’s department.”

“He’s nice,” Donna said. “And cute.”

“You think every man you see is cute,” Jamie teased.

“I don’t think Mr. McAdams is cute.” Donna made a face. Mr. McAdams was the meat market manager at Eagle Mountain Grocery. Jamie had to admit he bore a startling resemblance to the photo of last year’s Grand Champion steer that graced the door to the meat freezer at the grocery.

“Is Henry cute?” Jamie asked.

Donna grinned. “Oh, yeah. Henry is cuuuute!” She dissolved into giggles, and Jamie couldn’t help giggling, too. She could never feel gloomy for long when she was with Donna. Her sister had a real gift for bringing joy into the lives of everyone she knew.

They reached home and the dogs piled out of the SUV and raced into the house, then out into the backyard, through the dog door Jamie’s father had installed years before. Three laps around the yard, noses to the ground, then they were back inside, lined up in formation in front of the treat cabinet. “Treat!” Donna proclaimed and took out the bag that held the beloved bacon snacks. She carefully doled out one to each dog, pronouncing “Good dog!” as each treat was devoured.

The next hour passed in a blur of lunch, changing clothes and hustling Donna two houses down to Mrs. Simmons, who met them at the door, a worried expression on her face. “There’s some cookies for you on the table,” Mrs. Simmons said to Donna. “You go get them while I talk to Jamie.”

When Donna had left them, Mrs. Simmons said, keeping her voice low. “I heard they found another woman’s body.”

“Yes.” There was no sense denying it. Half the town listened to the emergency scanner, the way some people listened to music on the radio. “I don’t know anything to tell you,” she added quickly, before Mrs. Simmons could press her for more information.

“I never thought I’d see the day when I didn’t feel safe around here,” Mrs. Simmons said.

Jamie wanted to reassure the woman that she would be fine—that there was nothing to worry about. But with six women dead and the department no closer to finding the killer, the words would be empty and meaningless. “I have to go,” she said. “I’m not sure how late I’ll be. If it will be later than nine, I’ll call you.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Mrs. Simmons said. “Donna is welcome to spend the night if she needs to. She’s good company.”

Ten minutes later, Jamie parked her SUV in the lot behind the sheriff’s department. She stowed her purse in her locker and made her way down the hall to the conference room. Dwight and Travis’s brother, Deputy Gage Walker, were already there, along with Ryder Stewart from Colorado State Patrol, and US Marshal Cody Rankin, his arm in a sling.

“How’s the arm?” Jamie asked as she took a seat at the table across from Cody.

“The arm’s fine. The shoulder hurts where they took the bullet out, but I’ll live.” He had been shot by an ex-con who had been pursuing him and the woman who was catering Travis’s upcoming wedding. “I’m not officially on duty,” Cody added. “But Travis asked me to sit in and contribute what I could.”

The sheriff entered and everyone moved to seats around the table. Though newspaper reports almost always included at least one reference to the sheriff’s “boyish good looks,” today he looked much older, like a combat veteran who has seen too many battles. He walked to the bulletin board in the center of the wall facing the conference table and pinned up an eight-by-ten glossy photo of a smiling, dark-haired woman. The image joined five others of similarly smiling, pretty females. The victims of the Ice Cold Killer.

“Her name is Michaela Underwood,” Travis said. “Twenty-two years old, she moved to Eagle Mountain to live near her parents. She recently started a new job at the bank.” He turned to face them. “These killings have got to stop,” he said. “And they have to stop now.”

Chapter Three

The meeting at the sheriff’s department had already begun when Nate arrived. He slipped into the empty seat next to Jamie. She glanced at him, her expression unreadable, then turned her attention back to the sheriff, who was speaking.

“We’re putting every resource we’ve got behind this case,” Travis said. “We’re going to look at every bit of evidence again. We’re going to reinterview everyone even remotely connected with the women who died, everyone in the areas where they were killed—anyone who might have possibly seen or heard anything.”

“What about suspects?” Nate asked. He indicated a board on the far left side of the room, where photos of several men were pinned.

“Where we can, we’ll talk to them again.” Travis said. “We’ve ruled them out as the murderers, but they may know something.” He rested his pointer on photos of a pair of young men at the top of the chart. “Alex Woodruff and Tim Dawson drew our attention because they were at the Walking W Ranch the day the third victim, Fiona Winslow, was killed. They didn’t have an alibi for the previous two murders, of Kelly Farrow and Christy O’Brien. Once the road reopened, they disappeared. I’m still trying to confirm that they returned to Fort Collins, where they’re supposedly attending Colorado State University.”

He shifted the pointer to a photo of a handsome, dark-haired man. “Ken Rutledge came to our attention because he lived next door to Kelly Farrow and had dated her business partner, Darcy Marsh. When he attacked Darcy several times and eventually kidnapped her, we thought we had found our killer. But since his arrest, there have been three more murders.”

Quickly, Travis summarized the case against the remaining suspects—three high school students who had been seen the night Christy O’Brien was murdered, and a veterinarian who resented Kelly Farrow and Darcy Marsh setting up a competing veterinary practice. “They all have solid alibis for most of the murders, so we had to rule them out,” he concluded.

He moved back to the head of the conference table. “We’re putting together profiles of all the victims, to see if we can find any common ground, and we’re constructing a detailed timeline. If you’re not out on a call, then I want you studying the evidence, looking for clues and trying to anticipate this killer’s next move.”

They all murmured agreement.

“Some of this we’ve already done,” Travis said. “But we’re going to do it again. The person who did this left clues that tell us who he is. It’s up to us to find them. Colorado Bureau of Investigation has agreed to send an investigator to work with us when the road opens again, but we don’t know when that will be. Until then, we’re on our own. I want to start by considering some questions.”

He picked up a marker and wrote on a whiteboard to the left of the women’s pictures, speaking as he wrote. “Why is this killer—or killers—here?”

“Because he lives here,” Gage said.

“Because he was visiting here and got caught by the snow,” Dwight added.

“Because he came here to kill someone specific and found out he liked it,” Jamie said. She flushed as the others turned to look at her. “It would be one way to confuse authorities about one specific murder,” she said. “By committing a bunch of unrelated ones.”

Travis nodded and added this to their list of reasons.

“Are we talking about one man working alone, or two men working together?” Ryder asked.

“That was my next question.” Travis wrote it on the whiteboard.

“I think it has to be two,” Gage said. “The timing of some of the killings—Christy O’Brien, Fiona Winslow and Anita Allbritton, in particular—required everything to be carried out very quickly. The woman had to be subdued, bound, killed and put into her vehicle. One man would have a hard time doing that.”

“Maybe he’s a really big guy,” Cody said. “Really powerful—powerful enough to overwhelm and subdue the women.”

“I agree with Gage that I think we’re probably looking at two men,” Travis said. “But that should make it easier to catch them. And if we find one, that will probably lead us to the second one.” He turned to write on the board again. “What do we know for certain about these murders?”

“The victims are all women,” Dwight said. “Young women—all of them under forty, most under thirty.”

“They’re all killed out of doors,” Nate said. “Away from other people.”

“Except for Fiona,” Jamie said. “There were a lot of people around when she was killed.”

“They were all left in vehicles, except Fiona,” Ryder said. “And they were alone in their vehicles.”

“The killer uses the weather to his advantage,” Gage said. “The snow makes travel difficult and covers up his tracks.”

“I think he likes to taunt law enforcement,” Ryder said. “He leaves those cards, knowing we’ll find them.”

“He wants us to know he’s committing the murders, but is that really taunting?” Dwight asked.

“He killed Fiona at the Walker Ranch,” Gage said. “When the place was crawling with cops.” He shifted to look at Jamie and Nate. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew the two of you were nearby when he killed Michaela this morning.”

Jamie gasped. “That deer!”

Nate touched her arm. “What deer?”

“When my sister and I were on the trail this morning, a buck burst out of the underbrush suddenly, as if something had startled it,” she said. “That’s what my dogs were chasing. I wondered at the time if a mountain lion was after it. And when I was trying to catch the dogs I felt…unsettled.” Her eyes met his, tinged with fear. “As if someone was watching me.”

“That could be a good thing, if he thinks he’s taunting us,” Travis said. “We might be able to draw him out into the open.”

“So far he’s been very good at evading us,” Gage said.

“He has, but from now on, we’re going to be better.” Travis pointed to Nate. “Did you see anyone else when you were in the area near the murder this morning?”

“I talked to an ice fisherman—checked his fishing license. A local guy.” He searched his memory. “Abel Crutchfield.”

“Gage, find him and interview him,” Travis said.

Gage nodded.

“Anyone else?” Travis asked.

Nate shook his head. “Nobody else—except Jamie—Deputy Douglas—and her sister.”

“Jamie, did you see anyone while you and your sister were out there?”

“No one,” she admitted. “We didn’t even pass any cars once we turned off the main highway.”

“You start with the women,” Travis told her. “See if you can find any commonalities—or any one woman who had a reason someone might want to kill her. Enough that he would kill others to cover up the crime.”

“Yes, sir.”

Travis gave the others their assignments—Nate was going to work with Gage on re-canvassing people who might have been in the vicinity of the two murders that occurred on forest service land.

The meeting ended and they filed out of the conference room, unsmiling and mostly silent. Nate stayed close to Jamie. “Is Donna upset about all this?” he asked.

“A little.” She shook her head. “Not too much. She does a good job of living in the moment, and I try to keep things low-key—not bring the job home or act upset around her.”

“These killings have everyone on edge,” he said.

“It’s frustrating, having him do this right under our noses. I realize it might be more than one person, but it’s awkward to keep saying ‘killer or killers.’”

“I get that,” Nate said. “We all say ‘he,’ even though we suspect more than one person is involved.”

“This is a small community,” Jamie said. “We ought to be able to spot someone like this.”

“He knows how to blend in,” Nate said. “Or to hide.”

She rolled her shoulders, as if shrugging off some burden. “I was surprised to see you here this afternoon,” she said.

“The sheriff asked me to sit in. I’ve been one of the first on the scene for three of the murders. I spend a lot of time in the backcountry, where several of the women were found. He’s trying to pull in every resource that might help. And I want to help. There’s not a law enforcement officer in the county who doesn’t want to catch this guy.”

“Of course. Well, I’d better get to work. I’m going to start reviewing all the information we have about the victims.” She started to turn away, but Nate touched her arm, stopping her.

“Now that I’m back in Eagle Mountain, I’d really like us to be friends again,” he said.

The look she leveled at him held a decided chill. “I don’t have a lot of time for hanging out and reminiscing about the old days,” she said.

She shrugged out of his grasp and started down the hall but was stopped by Adelaide Kinkaid. The seventy-something office manager alternately nagged and nurtured the sheriff and his deputies, and kept her finger on the pulse of the town. She peered over the tops of her purple bifocals at Jamie. “Where’s the sheriff?” she asked. “There’s someone here to see him.”

“I think he’s still in the conference room, talking to Gage,” Jamie said.

“I’ll get him.” Adelaide started to move past Jamie, then said, “You go on up front and stay with the couple who are waiting. I’m thinking this might benefit from a woman’s touch.”

Nate followed Jamie into the small front lobby of the sheriff’s department. A man and a woman in their early thirties huddled together near the door, arms around each other, the man’s head bent close to the woman’s. They both looked up when Jamie and Nate arrived, the woman’s face a mask of sorrow, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

“I’m Deputy Douglas.” Jamie introduced herself. “The sheriff will be here shortly. Can I help you in the meantime?”