Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Since he had this shit down, he knew the stone was about love and friendship. Stability. Emotional balance. In healing, it helped to assuage negativity.
Crushed, it would mean the opposite of those.
The crushed was for her.
The triangle of stone was for Rus.
There was another message left for Rus.
It was carved five times in her flesh: on her forehead, across her chest, along her stomach and down each thigh.
He’s next.
The victim was Carrie Molnar.
They sat at Moran’s conference table, Rus and Moran.
“He’s been investigating it along with us,” Moran said to the table.
They were both sitting there, motionless, staring at the tabletop in front of them.
“Yes,” Rus agreed.
“He’s following us…or you,” Moran went on.
“Yes,” Rus agreed.
At the same time, they looked to each other.
And at the same time, they said one of the worst things either of them could say out loud.
“He’s a cop.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Or, Alternatively…Alive
“I can’t believe I didn’t fucking see it,” Rus gritted.
It was the next day.
The media were losing their goddamned minds, so Moran, Dickerson, McGill and Bohannan were in Rus’s room at Pinetop, mostly so Moran and Dickerson could escape the commotion and have some quiet to meet and think.
Moran had made a statement early that morning, standing just outside the doors to the sheriff’s office.
It had been short and carefully crafted by Moran, Megan Nichols, Rus, Bohannan, McGill and an FBI communications officer.
He’d said, “Last evening, the body of a woman was discovered in a rental cabin. The victim was a suspect in the Brittanie Iverson murder. We’re still gathering evidence, and the investigation is in its infancy. The victim’s family have not been reached, and we won’t identify her publicly until that’s taken place. When there are details the public needs to know about this case, we’ll share them through statements to the press and our department’s social media. Until that time, we have work to do.”
Questions were shouted, including if this was a revenge killing and if the people of Fret County, especially the women, should worry.
Moran had turned to go into the building, but he turned back and answered, “We have no reason to believe the citizens in this county are under any threat. I would say to them now what I’d say to them two weeks ago and two months from now. Be smart. Be safe. Be aware of your surroundings. But don’t panic. I cannot stress enough, there’s no reason to panic.”
With that, the presser ended as he turned and walked into the building.
He’d gone out alone, no cadre of officers or men in suits or hangers-on to share the limelight or make this seem like a bigger deal, even if it was.
Moran was a man who didn’t need to be propped up by a posse, and it came off that way, at least in Rus’s opinion.
It was agreed by all, the less said, the stronger it was communicated, the better.
If they wanted to fill in the blanks, they could print their retractions or deal with their canceled subscriptions later.
Rus had already talked to his Section Chief.
He’d also made certain they passed on what they knew to Turner and his crew.
And last, he hadn’t slept at all, not only because of the state CK left Carrie Molnar in, but also because he’d sat in on the interview of the couple who’d rented the cabin.
They’d had a long day’s drive up from Nevada to enjoy a long weekend in the Washington State wilderness. They’d hit town, the grocery store, then found their rental, only to discover Carrie Molnar’s dead body in the bed in which they’d intended to sleep away the daily grind of stress. At least for a while.
They were traumatized.
“It’s a blind spot,” Rus declared.
“There are a lot of things narcissists and control freaks do, Rus,” Bohannan said. “They’re all not cops.”
“It’s a viable theory,” Rus returned.
“I agree with you,” Bohannan replied. “With this new development, if this person didn’t have advanced investigative skills, I’d be surprised. I’m not convinced he’s a cop, but I agree that’s the working theory we need to go with.”
“What else would he be?”
“PI. Military police.”
“A cop,” Rus stated flatly.
Bohannan sighed.
Then he said, “You didn’t miss anything, Rus. With all you had before, I’d say cop was a leap. For one, cops don’t move around that much. Not unless he has a problem on the job. And this guy won’t have a problem on the job. He’ll close cases. He’ll be on the softball team. He’s not gonna dick up at work and have a messy record following him around. He’s going to be proud of his work and do it well. He’s going to be liked, at least by colleagues. They may feel close to him, but when he’s found out, the thing about him they can’t put their finger on that makes the hair stand up on their necks will make them not surprised he is who he is.”