front of Emma’s apartment.
They would know in minutes she was gone. He’d have to take a roundabout way to the cabin and avoid any highways that might have a roadblock.
No matter. Excitement thrummed through his body. Emma was his now. All he had to do was get her to the cabin, where he would keep her locked up until she yielded to her love for him. He could see in her face she was still afraid of her feelings for him. Time would change that.
68
Sam hung around the cabin until the local funeral-director-slash-coroner was allowed to examine Trey’s body. After his preliminary examination, he informed them Trey had died from a gunshot wound to the heart, and from his experience, he figured he’d been dead at least eighteen hours, maybe even twenty-four. The medical examiner in Jackson would pinpoint the exact time of death during the autopsy.
“If you don’t need me any longer, I want to find Gordon Cole and talk to him,” Sam said to the sheriff.
“Good idea,” Nate said. “I’ll catch a ride with one of my deputies.”
“Do you know where Gordon lives?”
Nate rubbed his forehead. “Doc lives on Cole Road, but I’m not sure about Gordon. Let me ask around.” He disappeared inside the house and reappeared a few minutes later with the doctor’s address and cell phone number. “The coroner is old friends with him,” Nate said. “You know how to get back to the main road, right?”
“Yeah. Stay on the dirt road until it intersects a gravel, then take a left.”
Nate gave him a thumbs-up. “Call dispatch if you need anything, and they’ll contact me on the radio.”
As soon as Sam had cell coverage, he dialed Emma’s number. It went straight to voicemail. He checked the time. Eight thirty. He bet she forgot to charge her phone. As soon as he interviewed Gordon, he would drive to her apartment and make sure she was all right.
After he put Gordon’s address into his GPS, he dialed the doctor’s number and got an answering service. He left a request for the doctor to call him. Sam followed the directions from his navigation system and wasn’t surprised when an hour later, the directions took him to a ritzy part of town and a house that sat on at least three acres of ground. A fence surrounded the property with a security gate at the entrance. Sam stared at the keypad, then redialed the doctor’s cell phone. He was about to disconnect when the doctor answered. “This is Dr. Cole.”
Sam identified himself. “I’d like to talk with you a few minutes.”
“About . . . ?”
If he said Mary Jo Selby, he figured the doctor would find an excuse to not talk to him. “Trey Carter.”
“What about Trey?” Gordon’s voice was cautious.
“He’s dead.”
A sharp gasp sounded through the phone. “What? How?”
“That’s what I’d like to discuss with you.”
There was silence on the line, and then the front gate swung open and Sam drove through. Gordon met him at the front steps dressed in sweats and athletic shoes.
“Come inside,” Gordon said. Sam followed him inside and down the hall to what looked like a TV room. “What happened to Trey? Was he killed in the line of duty?”
“No. Someone shot him at his cabin. Do you have any idea why?”
The doctor blanched. “I need a drink.”
He walked to a bar on the far side of the room and poured a good two inches of amber liquid into a glass that he tossed down in one gulp. Judging from his reaction, Gordon hadn’t known about Trey’s death . . . or he was a good actor.
He turned to Sam. “Tell me what happened.”
“Not much to tell, yet. Nate and I drove out to talk to Trey about Mary Jo Selby and Ryan Winters’s deaths.”
He swallowed hard. “Y-you found Ryan’s body? Where?”
Sam watched his expression. “We found where he’d been buried.”
Gordon leaned against the bar and closed his eyes.
“You want to tell me about it?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Really? I think I’ll go see what Sheriff Carter has to say when he discovers his son is dead.”
“You can’t pay any attention to that old man.”
“He was pretty clear the other night when he told me Trey didn’t murder Mary Jo. Was it you who killed her?”
“No!” His face flushed.
“Well . . . since Ryan is dead, and now Trey, that just leaves you . . .”
“None of us killed her! There was someone else there that night.”
“Who?”
The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know.