“You’re the boss,” Brody muttered as he headed toward his office, and this time Mattie could see that the red flush on his neck suffused his face. The man was as mad as a hornet.
Chapter 19
As she drove toward the mountains to get to the car’s location, Mattie searched her memory, trying to connect her observations of Brody’s stress indicators with specific points in the discussion. Although she couldn’t vouch for exact detail, she remembered that the chief deputy’s mannerisms had demonstrated tension from the very beginning of the meeting. That in itself didn’t seem too unusual, since Brody had always been wound pretty tight. The man could crack walnuts with those jaws of his.
But the telling signs began when Sheriff McCoy pointed out that Brody had played golf in Phoenix during the same month the dentist’s gun had gone missing.
So what about Brody being in Phoenix? Her own shoulders tightened as she continued to think along that line. If Brody had stolen that gun, then he might have used it to kill Grace Hartman and Mike Chadron. It was unthinkable, but she couldn’t keep it out of her head.
Where had Brody been on Friday morning between eight and ten o’clock, the time period when Grace was killed? She went over the morning to recall where she’d been herself. Seven o’clock—report. She’d been there, but Sheriff McCoy had led report that day. As far as she could remember, Brody hadn’t been at the station at all. She felt a moment of vague light-headedness as the blood drained from her face. Surely not. Surely Brody couldn’t be involved with these crimes.
What would be his motive? Was he involved with drug running? No one could get rich on a deputy’s salary, but you could still earn a good living. A dirty cop wasn’t unheard of, but Brody?
It would be easy enough to look at the duty roster from the week to check Brody’s schedule, and she planned to do it as soon as she returned to the station. Realizing that a slight thrum, like the vibration of a guitar string, had begun to quiver inside her, she took a deep breath to calm down. Thankfully, they’d reached the turnoff to Ute Canyon, and the sheriff was booking it in his Jeep, staying well ahead of her. She’d have to pay attention to her driving if she was going to keep up.
Twenty minutes of climbing and hairpin turns later, they drove past the cabin and up the road another mile. The sheriff stopped behind a light-green SUV with a US Forest Service logo on the door, which was parked at the entry into a rugged logging trail that looked like it was no longer in use. Sandy Benson stood by her vehicle.
“You’d better climb into the back, Deputy,” McCoy said, getting out of his vehicle and opening the back door. “I don’t think your patrol car can make it in there.”
“Let me get my equipment,” Mattie said.
Making sure to remember all her supplies, she gathered them up and loaded them into the back compartment of the Jeep. Then, after snapping a leash on Robo, she led him to the back seat, where he jumped in easily, getting more excited by the minute and panting like crazy. Stella stayed in the front passenger seat.
Typically, police vehicles were designed with washable seats in back and a steel mesh grill to separate the driver from the bad guys, but the sheriff’s Jeep lacked these modifications. It was decked out like any standard Jeep Grand Cherokee except for the law enforcement technology in front. Although her surroundings promoted comfort, Mattie sat on the edge of her seat.
“How much farther?” she asked.
“About a half mile in.”
They followed the ranger’s SUV along a narrow two-track filled with potholes; sharp stones; and half-buried, small boulders. Branches screeched against the side of the vehicle, sounding much like fingernails on a chalkboard. Mattie put an arm around Robo to brace him as the Jeep bumped along, tipping side to side.
As they approached a steep, rocky grade, Stella glanced back over her shoulder. “Hold on, Robo.”
Mattie gave her a quick smile, acknowledging the detective’s concern for her dog. “He is,” she said, gripping him as the front end rose at a steep angle and then jolted into a small chasm. The engine growled and the four-wheel drive gripped as the Jeep maneuvered the deep erosion in the track.
After a grueling ride that made Mattie’s teeth rattle, the sheriff pulled to a stop behind Sandy Benson. She’d reached a point where they could glimpse the sheen of a red vehicle partially hidden behind pine trees.
“Great work, Sandy,” McCoy said as they all unloaded from the vehicles. “It took a lot of effort to locate this one. It’s well hidden.”
Benson approached their vehicle. “It was a team effort, and we were determined to find this car. But it also took some luck, since we came down this trail once before but stopped back there where the road’s washed out. We didn’t think someone could navigate this little SUV over something that deep. Must have been really motivated.”
“I expect so,” McCoy said. “Let’s get your equipment, Deputy, and go on over there.”
Mattie strapped on her utility belt, gave Robo some water, and then put on his working collar. Robo settled in immediately and followed her at heel. McCoy carried Stella’s kit, a hard-sided container that looked like the kind of tool case you’d buy at a hardware store. Behind the trees, they found Grace Hartman’s brand-new, dark-red Honda CR-V looking none the worse for wear.
“The CSU vehicle will never be able to get back here,” McCoy said to Stella.
“They’re on their way, too. Sandy, would you go back and meet them? Have them transfer their equipment into your vehicle and drive them back up here.”
“Sure. How far are they behind you?”
“Hard to say, maybe a half hour, maybe less.”
“I’ll go wait now, then.” And she left.
Stella began handing out latex gloves. “This is sort of like, what came first, the chicken or the egg? Who searches first, the CSIs or the K-9? This one is up to me, so I choose Robo. But let’s preserve this scene for the CSI unit as much as we can.” She looked at Mattie. “Do an exterior sweep first and then we’ll see if we can open it up.”
Mattie led Robo to the car and said, “Search,” directing with her right hand. Robo pinned his ears and started sniffing, paying extra attention to wheel wells and door panels. Mattie even had him sniff what undercarriage they could reach, spending more time at the rear. Not once did Robo indicate a find.
“Nothing,” Mattie said.
Stella approached the car and peered into the front window on the driver’s side. “That’s handy,” she said. “Our perp left the keys.”
She reached for the handle, and the door opened with a soft, new-car click. Mattie and the sheriff peered through windows, watching Stella as she leaned into the driver’s side and sorted through items carefully, using only her gloved fingertips.
“Tell us what you find, please,” McCoy said.
“She must have been a tidy girl,” Stella said. “No trash. But there is a lot of black dog hair here in the passenger seat. Looks like lip gloss here, an iPod plugged into the stereo. I’ll just open up this middle compartment so Robo can sniff inside it in a minute. Here are some CDs and, get this, a pair of binoculars.” She looked at Mattie with one eyebrow raised. “Good little detective. How long has she had this vehicle?”
“A little over a month.”
“I’ll open the glove box, too. Not much in here. A flashlight, car manuals, tire air gauge. Not very interesting.”