“When you match the prints, you need to plaster Howe’s photo all over the media,” Coop said. “Anybody coming into the area, using the trails, any of the locals, need to be able to ID him on sight.”
“That’s on the list.”
“If he’s using this aka, this Swift Cat, we might find something on it.”
“Thirty-five miles per hour,” Lil mumbled, then shook her head when Coop turned to her. “That’s the peak for a cougar, and on a sprint. They can’t run at that speed for any real distance. There are swifter cats. Much faster cats than the cougar. What I mean is…” She paused, pressed her fingers to her eyes to help line up her thoughts. “He doesn’t really know the animal he claims is his spirit guide. And I think he gave me the name he’s chosen because he believes we share that guide. I doubt he’s used it before, or often.”
“We’ll do a little checking on it anyway.” Willy set his coffee aside. “Lil, I know you’ve got your new alarms here, and the ex- New York City detective, but I can arrange for protection.”
“Where? How? Willy, this guy covers ground fast, and he can and will go to ground and wait it out if I leave. He’s watching this place, and he knows what’s going on. The only chance you have of tracking him down is if he thinks I’m accessible.”
“Lil gets volunteers and interns,” Coop began. “There’s no reason you couldn’t put a couple of officers in soft clothes and have them go to work around here.”
“I could fix that.” Willy nodded. “Work with the state boys, with the park service. I think we could get a couple of men on-site.”
“I’ll take them,” Lil agreed immediately. “I’m not being brave, Willy. I just don’t want to go hide out, then have to face this all over again in six months, a year. Ever. I want it over.”
“There’ll be two men here in the morning. I’m going to start setting up what I can tonight. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
Lil caught the glance that passed between the men.
“I’ll walk you out,” Coop said.
“No you won’t.” Lil took his arm, held on. “If the two of you have something else to say about this, I’m entitled to know. Keeping information from me isn’t protecting me. It’s just pissing me off.”
“I’ve placed Howe in Alaska at the time Carolyn Roderick went missing.” Coop glanced at Lil. “It’s just added weight. I tracked down a sporting goods store where the owner remembered him, and ID’d him through the picture I faxed him. He remembers him because Howe bought a Stryker crossbow, the full package with scope, carbon bolts, sling, and ammo for a thirty-two. He spent nearly two thousand, and paid cash. He talked about taking his girl hunting.”
Lil made a little sound, thinking of Carolyn.
“I expanded my like-crime search after Tyler,” Coop continued. “A body found in Montana four months later, male, mid-twenties, was left for the animals, and in bad shape. But the autopsy showed a leg wound-into the bone-the ME there concluded was from a bolt strike. If he still has the bow…”
“We could tie him up on the Roderick disappearance and the Montana murder,” Willy concluded. “Odds are he does. That’s a lot of cash.”
“He got over three hundred from tonight’s break-in, and what he took off of Tyler. It wouldn’t take long, the way he works, to build up a cash supply.”
“I’ll add the bow and bolts to the APB. That’s nice work, Coop.”
“If you make enough calls, you can get lucky.”
When they were alone, Lil went over to poke at the fire until the flames kicked up. She saw he’d brought his baseball bat, the one Sam had made him a lifetime ago. It stood propped against the wall.
Because this is home now, she thought. At least until we’re done with this, he’s home here.
And she couldn’t think of that, not yet.
“It’s harder to hide a crossbow than a handgun.” She stood there, watching the flames rise. “He’d be more likely to carry the bow when he’s specifically hunting. Maybe toward evening, or before dawn.”
“Maybe.”
“He didn’t use a bow on the cougar. If he had it, if he’d used it, it would’ve given him more time to get away, cover his tracks. But he didn’t use the bow.”
“Because you wouldn’t have heard the shot,” Coop concluded. “Which is probably why he chose the gun.”
“So I would hear it, and panic for the cat.” She turned now, put her back to the light and the heat. “How much more do you know you haven’t told me?”
“It’s speculation.”
“I want to see the files, the ones you put away whenever I come in.”
“There’s no point.”
“There’s every point.”
“Damn it, Lil, what good is it going to do for you to look at photos of Tyler before and after they dragged him out of the river, after the fish had been at him? Or to read the details of an autopsy? What’s the point in having that in your head?”
“ Tyler was practice. I’m the main event,” she said, quoting the e-mail. “If you’re worried about my sensibilities, don’t. No, I’ve never seen pictures of a body. But have you seen a lion spring out of the bush and take down an antelope? Not human, but take my word, it’s not for the faint of heart. Stop protecting me, Coop.”
“That’s never going to happen, but I’ll show you the files.”
He unlocked a case, drew them out. “The photos won’t help you. The ME determined the time of death somewhere between fifteen and eighteen hundred.”
Lil sat, opened the file, and stared at the stark black-and-white photograph of James Tyler. “I hope to God his wife didn’t see him like this.”
“They’d have done what they could beforehand.”
“Slitting his throat. That’s personal, isn’t it? From my vast police knowledge from CSI and so on.”
“You have to get in close, make contact, get blood on your hands. A knife’s generally more intimate than a bullet. He took Tyler from behind, going left to right. The body had cuts and bruises incurred perimortem, most likely from stumbling and slipping. The knees, hands, elbows.”
“You said he died between three and six. Daylight hours, or just going to dusk on the later side of that. To get from the trail Tyler was seen on to that point of the river has to take several hours. Probably more if we agree he’d have driven Tyler over the roughest ground, the least likely areas where he’d have found help or another hiker. Tyler had a day pack. If you’re running for your life, you’d shed weight, wouldn’t you?”
“They didn’t find his pack.”
“I bet Ethan did.”
“Agreed.”
“And when he maneuvers Tyler to the right position, he doesn’t shoot him. Not sporting. He comes in close for the personal kill.”
She flipped through to the list of what the victim’s wife stated Tyler had on him when he’d started for the summit. “It’s a good haul,” she added. “Victory spoils. He won’t need the watch. He knows how to tell the time by the sky, by the feel of the air. Maybe he’ll keep it as a trophy, or pawn it later on, a few states away, when he wants more cash.”
She looked over. “He took something, some things from every victim you think he’s responsible for, didn’t he?”
“That’s the way it looks. Jewelry, cash, supplies, articles of clothing. He’s a scavenger. But not stupid enough to use any victim’s credit cards or IDs. None of the MPs have had any account activity on their credit cards since they disappeared.”
“No paper trail. Plus maybe he considers credit cards a white man’s invention, a white man’s weakness. I wonder if his parents had any credit cards. I’d bet not.”
“You’d bet right. You’re a smart one, Lil.”