High in Trial - By Donna Ball Page 0,40
too.”
He winced and refocused. “Hey, hon. I’m sorry. I can’t get this thing off my mind.”
“That’s okay. Actually, great minds obsess alike. I had an idea after we talked last night. Remember we sent Smokey Beardsley upstate for possession five years ago? I did an inmate search, and guess where he ended up? Marion Correctional Institute, same as his old buddy Berman. Now, I’m not saying they were cozying up together or anything, but what do you think the chances are that the two of them didn’t get together to talk about old times?”
Buck sat up straighter. “Damn it, you’re right. Smokey got out last spring. He’s been keeping his nose clean, more or less…”
Wyn gave a disbelieving sniff. “As far as anyone can tell.”
“But if a guy like Berman wanted a contact on the outside…”
“It might be worth a trip down a dirt road to talk to him.”
Buck closed his eyes slowly. “Damn,” he said. “I miss you.”
“Always just a phone call away,” she returned brightly.
“And seventy-two miles.”
“Well, there’s that.”
After a silence, he said, “What are you doing today?”
“Buying oranges, getting my hair cut, going for a run, doing laundry. You?”
“Talking to Smokey Beardsley.” He hesitated. “Not too short.”
“What?”
“Your hair. I like it long.”
She laughed. “Later, alligator.”
“Hey,” he said. “Good morning. And I love you.”
Her voice was soft. “Back at you, big guy.”
She disconnected with a click, and he was once again alone with the computer screen.
* * *
Everyone gathered in the far corner of the parking lot, the one nearest the woods, and watched the coroner’s van take Marcie away. There was a crime scene van, three police cars, two detectives, two hotel security guards, and a growing contingent of hotel guests with their dogs. A frantic hotel manager with spiked blond hair kept a cell phone pressed to his ear while he paced back and forth, and a couple waitresses from the dining room brought trays of coffee and Danish, their eyes big with curiosity and dread. A portion of the field and the parking lot had been taped off, and most of the curious onlookers were kept on the far side of that tape. Those of us who were considered material witnesses, however, were confined inside the barrier. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
The detective said, “So you were walking your dog this morning when you found the victim in the woods. Is that correct?”
I wasn’t sure how many times I’d repeated my story. I wasn’t sure how many times I’d have to repeat it before they got it right.
“No,” I said. I felt Miles’s hand on my shoulder, gently kneading the knots that were tightening at the base of my neck. I took a breath and spoke more calmly. “The victim’s—Marcie’s—dog was running loose. My dog is a trained search dog. He tracked the runaway dog. But it was her dog, Flame, who led us to her.”
“Is that a fact?” The detective looked up from his notebook, appearing interested. “A trained search dog, huh?”
“We’re with Mountain Wilderness Search and Rescue,” I explained wearily. “Western North Carolina.”
He pursed his lips in a way that was meant to indicate he was impressed. “So what are you doing down this way?”
“There’s a dog show.”
He glanced around at all the dogs and uneasy-looking handlers gathered both inside and outside the taped barrier. “No kidding? My wife has a poodle. She always talked about showing it.”
“This isn’t that kind of dog show.”
I glanced down at Cisco, who’d grown bored with all the standing around and was lying at my feet. Miles had wanted to take him back to the room, particularly at the height of all the excitement and confusion, but he clearly didn’t understand how it was with us. My hand was melded to the leash now. Without the warmth of Cisco’s body heat against my foot, I would’ve felt like a part of me was missing. And I wasn’t the only one. None of the women who gathered around with such anxious, disbelieving looks on their faces had seen fit to leave their dogs in the car. When you’re scared, you want your best friend with you. That’s just the way it is.
Miles said, “Someone called Raine’s room last night trying to get her to come to the front desk. You’ll find a complaint on record with the night manager. It looks as though someone was trying to lure women from their rooms in the middle of the night.”
Of course, in the horror of the moment, the whole