Black Hills, Page 38

  him. He weighed the body down with rocks. Went to some time and trouble to get it in the river, in that spot, secure it. But the rain shifted things enough to bring it up to the point Gull spotted it.”

  “He’s probably disposed of other bodies with more luck.”

  “Yeah, that would be my take.”

  “So if he’s the one who killed Molly Pickens, he wasn’t dead or in prison like you thought, or not in prison for the length of time you thought. He’s just been mixing it up. Leaving some bodies for the animals, bodies that can be found or have been found. Hiding others.”

  “That’s the way it looks.”

  She nodded slowly, the way he knew she did when she was reasoning something out. “And killers who do this, serial types, who troll and travel, who know how to hide and blend, who have some measure of control, they aren’t always caught.”

  “You’ve been reading up.”

  “It’s what I do when I need information. They end up with creative names—and maybe a feature film. Zodiac, Green River. Still, they usually need to taunt the police, or use the media. He doesn’t.”

  “It’s not about glory or acknowledgment. It’s about the work. It’s personal, and he gets his satisfaction from that. Every kill is proof he’s better than the victim. Better than his father. He’s proving something. I know what that’s like.”

  “Did you become a cop to be a hero, Coop?”

  His lips curved. “In the beginning? Yeah, probably. I was completely out of place during my short stint in college. Not just trying to find my place, but out of it. The only things I learned about the law were—I didn’t want to be a lawyer, but the law itself was fascinating. So, law enforcement.”

  “Fighting crime in the urban canyons.”

  “I loved New York. Still do,” he said easily. “And sure, I imagined I’d be hunting down bad guys, protecting the populace. I found out, fast, I’d be standing around a lot, sitting around, knocking on doors and doing paperwork. There’s so much tedium in proportion to moments of absolute terror. I learned to be patient. I learned how to wait, and what it means to protect and serve. Then on 9/11, everything shifted.”

  She reached out, laid a hand over his, lightly, briefly. But it was all there in the touch. Comfort, sympathy, understanding. “We were all terrified until we knew you were safe.”

  “I wasn’t on the roll that day. By the time I got down there, the second tower was gone. You just did what you had to, what you could.”

  “I was in class when we heard a plane had hit one of the towers. Nobody knew, not at first, what was happening. And then . . . everything stopped. There was nothing else but that.”

  He shook his head, because if he let them, the pictures would form in his mind again, of what he’d seen and done, and hadn’t been able to do.

  “I knew some of the cops who went in, some of the firefighters. People I’d worked with, or hung out with, played ball with. Gone. After that, I never thought I’d leave the job. It was like a mission then. My people, my city. But when Dory was killed, it switched off for me. Just like somebody cut the wire. I couldn’t do it anymore. Losing that was the worst thing in my life next to losing you.”

  “You could’ve transferred to another place.”

  “That’s what I did, in my own way. I needed to build something back, I guess. To make something out of the death and the grief. I don’t know, Lil. I did what came next. It worked for me.”

  “You’d still be there if Sam hadn’t had the accident.”

  “I don’t know. The city came back, and so did I. I was done there, and I’d already put plans in place to come back before the accident.”

  “Before?”

  “Yeah. I wanted the quiet.”

  “Considering what’s happened, you haven’t gotten what you wanted.”

  He looked over at her. “Not yet.”

  It was nearing dark by the time he turned onto her road. Long shadows at the end of a long day.

  “I’m going to help with the feeding,” she said. “Then I have some work to finish up.”

  “I’ve got some of my own.” He reached over before she could open the door, and cupped the back of her neck in his hand. “I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not, because here you are. I could tell you I’ll never hurt you again, but I will. What I can tell you is I’m going to love you for the rest of my life. Maybe that’s not enough, but right now it’s what I’ve got.”

  “And I’ll tell you I need time to think, time to settle, and time to figure out what it is I want this time.”

  “I’ve got time. I have to run into town. Do you need any supplies?”

  “No, we’re good.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour.” He tugged her over, pressed his mouth to hers.

  MAYBE WORK WAS a crutch, Lil admitted. Something to lean on, to help her limp along after a hard knock. It still had to be done. So she hauled food while the animals chorused. She watched Boris pounce on his dinner, rip at it. And thought, If things go well, he’ll have company within the week.

  Another notch in the refuge’s belt, true enough, she mused. But more important, to her, another abused animal given sanctuary, freedom—as far as she could manage—and care.

  “So how was your adventure?”

  From the smile on Tansy’s face, Lil concluded her friend had wit nessed her humiliating exit earlier. And those who hadn’t actually seen it had certainly heard of it.

  She owed Coop for that one.

  “Men are idiots.”

  “Often true, but we love them for it.”

  “He decided to do the caveman routine so he could tell me why he stabbed me in the heart back in the day. Manly pride and for my own good, and other bullshit reasons, which—natch—I was too young and starry-eyed to consider or understand at the time. Better to rip me to bloody pieces than to actually talk to me, right? Stupid bastard man.”

  “Wow.”

  “Did he ever consider what it did to me? How much it hurt? That I thought I wasn’t enough for him, that he’d found someone else? That I’ve spent damn near half of my life trying to get the hell over him. And now he’s back and, gee, Lil, it was all for you. I’m supposed to just jump and cheer, and be what, grateful?”

  “I couldn’t say. And probably shouldn’t if I could.”

  “He’s always loved me. Always will love me, and tra-la-la. So he hauls me off like I’m some package he can drop off and pick up on his whim, again for my own good, and dumps all this in my lap. If I were less civilized, I’d kick his ass for it.”

  “You don’t look very civilized right at the moment.”

  She heaved out a breath. “Well, I am, so I can’t. Plus, it would be sinking to his Neanderthal level. I’m a scientist. I have a doctorate. And you know what?”

  “What, Dr. Chance?”

  “Shut up. I was dealing with all this, with him, with me, with it before this. Now I don’t know what the hell to think.”

  “He told you he loves you.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is? You love him. You told me when you and Jean-Paul called it a day it was because you were still in love with Coop.”

  “He hurt me, Tansy. He ripped me to pieces, again, just by telling me why he did it in the first place. And he doesn’t see that. He doesn’t get that.”

  Tansy put her arm around Lil, drew her against her side. “I do, honey. I really do.”

  “I can even understand, intellectually. If I step back and look at everything he said, objectively, I can nod sagely. Yes, of course, that’s reasonable on this particular level. But I’m not objective. I can’t be. I don’t care about reasonable. I was so pitifully in love.”

  “You don’t have to care about reasonable. You only have to care about how you feel. And if you love him, you’ll forgive him, after he suffers.”

  “He should suffer,” Lil stated. “I don’t want to be fair and forgiving.”

  “Hell no. Why don’t we go inside? I
can make Men Suck margaritas. I can stay tonight, thereby avoiding my own idiot man. We’ll get drunk and plot female world domination.”

  “That sounds so good. I could really use all of that. But he’s coming back. Until we’re secure here, that’s the way it’s going to be. I need to deal with it, somehow. Plus, I can’t get drunk on Men Suck margaritas—though you do make the champions—because I have to work. I have to work because some asshole hauled me off for two hours.”

  She turned, wrapped her arms around Tansy. “God, God, there’s a man dead, and his wife must be destroyed. And I’m standing here, feeling sorry for myself.”

  “You can’t change what happened. None of it’s your fault.”

  “I can think that, intellectually again. Not my fault, not my responsibility. But Tansy, my gut says differently. James Tyler was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it was the wrong place and time because this maniac’s focused on me. Not my fault, no. But.”

  “When you think like that, he scores points.” Firmly, Tansy drew her away so their eyes met. “It’s terrorism. It’s psychological warfare. He’s pushing at you. For him, Tyler wasn’t any different than that cougar or that wolf. Just another animal to be bagged and used to get to you. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “I know you’re right.” She wanted to say “but” again. Instead, she gave Tansy another hug. “You’re awfully good for me. Even margarita-free.”

  “We’re the smart girls.”

  “We are. Go on home, and deal with your own idiot man.”

  “I guess I have to.”

  Lil checked on the injured fawn—treated, fed, and secured in an area of the petting zoo. If she healed clean, they’d release her to the wild. If not . . . well, she’d have sanctuary here.

  Time would tell.

  She spent another hour in her office. She heard trucks leaving, trucks coming. Staff heading home, volunteer guards coming. Soon, she thought, the security system would be finished and she could stop imposing on neighbors and friends. Now she could only be grateful for them.

  She went out, and spotted Gull immediately. “Gull, nobody expected you to come here tonight.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. It’s better to be doing something.” He might’ve looked a little peaked yet, but his eyes were healthy enough to be lethal. “I half hope that son of a bitch comes around here tonight.”

  “I know it’s terrible, but because of you, his wife knows. She’s not wondering anymore. If you hadn’t found him, it would be worse. She’d still not know.”

  “Willy told me her boys came.” His lips pressed together as he looked off and away. “Her sons came, so she’s not alone.”

  “That’s good. She shouldn’t be alone.” She gave his arm a rub before she walked on.

  When she stepped inside the cabin, Coop was on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table. He turned something over, casually—too casually—as she stepped in.

  A photograph, she thought, from the brief glimpse.

  “I can make a sandwich,” she said. “That’s about all I have time for. I want to go take my shift outside.”

  “I picked up a pizza in town. It’s in the oven on warm.”

  “Okay. That works, too.”

  “I’ll finish up here. We’ll grab a slice together, and take first shift.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Couple of things.”

  Annoyed with the nonresponse, she simply walked back to the kitchen.

  There, on her table was a vase filled with yellow tulips. Because they made her eyes sting and her heart soften, she turned away to get plates down. She heard him come in as she dealt with the pizza.

  “The flowers are pretty, thank you. They don’t fix things.”

  “Pretty’s good enough.” He’d had to nag the woman who owned the flower shop to open back up and sell them to him. But pretty was good enough. “Do you want a beer?”

  “No, I’ll stick with water.” She turned with two plates and nearly rammed him. “What?”

  “We could take a break tomorrow. I could take you out to dinner, maybe a movie.”

  “Dates won’t fix things either. And I don’t feel right being away too long. Not now.”

  “Okay. Once the system’s up and running, you can make dinner, and I’ll rent a movie.”

  He took the plates, carried them to the table.

  “Doesn’t it matter how mad I am at you?”

  “No. Or it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that I love you. I’ve waited this long. I can wait until you stop being mad at me.”

  “It might be a really long wait.”

  “Well.” He sat, picked up a slice. “Like I keep saying. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She sat down, picked up a slice of her own. “I’m still mad—plenty—but I’m too hungry to bother about it right now.”

  He smiled. “It’s good pizza.”

  It was, she thought.

  And, damn it, the tulips really were pretty.

  22

  In his cave, deep in the hills, he studied his take. He imagined the watch—decent, high middle-range—had been a birthday or Christmas present. He liked to imagine good old Jim opening it, expressing his pleasure and surprise, giving his wife—also very decent if she looked like the photo in the wallet—a thank-you kiss.

  Six months, maybe a year down the road, he could pawn it if he needed some cash. Right now, thanks to good old Jim, he was flush with the $122.86 he’d taken out of Jim’s pockets.

  He’d also scored a Swiss Army knife—you could never have too many—a hotel key card, a half pack of Big Red gum, and a Canon Pow ershot digital camera.

  He spent some time figuring out how to work it, then scrolling through the pictures Jim had taken that day. Mostly scenery, with a few shots of Deadwood, and a couple of the not-shabby Mrs. Jim.

  He shut it off to preserve the battery, though Jim had considerately brought along a spare in his pack.

  It was a good-quality pack, and brand-spanking-new. That would be handy down the road. Then there were the trail snacks, extra water, first-aid kit. He imagined Jim reading a hiking guide, making himself a checklist for what he should take on a day trip. Matches, bandages and gauze, Tylenol, a little notebook, a whistle, a trail map, and the hiking guide, of course.

  None of that had done Jim any good, because he was an amateur. An intruder.

  He’d been meat.

  Spry though, he mused as he munched on some of Jim’s trail mix. The fucker could run. Still, it had been so easy to herd the bastard along, to push him farther off the trail, to move him toward the river.

  Good times.

  He’d gotten a good shirt and a new jacket out of the match, too. A shame about the boots. The bastard had good Timberlands. And really small feet.

  All in all, it had been a good hunt. He’d give Jim six out of ten. And the take was prime.

  He’d considered the rain a bonus. No way the half-assed cops and rangers, the hayseed local yokels, would find any sign of good old Jim with the rain washing out the tracks.

  He could have, he and those who’d come before him. Those who owned the holy ground.

  It had saved him the time and trouble of backtracking, brushing out tracks, laying false trails. Not that he minded doing all that. It was part of the job, after all, and carried some satisfaction.

  But when Nature offered you a gift, you took it with thanks.

  The problem was, sometimes the gift was a booby prize.