how? Why? That was the most important thing to figure out really. Find out why and he should find out who.
And whomever had shot the victims certainly knew his or her way around a bow and arrow. He would double-check with an authority on the weapon, but from his own educated guess, both were kill shots, carried out expertly and swiftly. Powerfully. How strong would someone have to be to shoot through a human body? He’d have to look into that. What he did know, was that neither victim had been shot by a novice.
Mark took one last look around the sparsely furnished room: a bed, stripped now of bedding, and a dresser. Hanging above the dresser was the only piece of art Mark had seen in the house. He moved closer, studying it. It was a depiction of an old-fashioned battle. Men with shields and arrows stood facing another group with the same weaponry across a great divide. He wasn’t a big history buff, and didn’t recognize the uniforms, if they could be called that, many of the soldiers bare-chested and wearing what appeared to be short skirt-type bottoms. Was it an historical Roman battle? Mark took a picture of it with his cell phone so he could look it up later.
He opened the top drawer and found it full of boxes of matches, lined up in two rows. The rest of the drawers held a few random clothing items, folded haphazardly. Mark closed the drawers, left the room, and returned to where Harper waited for him.
The rest of the information he needed would come from the crime lab. He hoped to God there was something for him to work from—a lead of some sort. He knew the department had thrown him this case because no one else had the desire to trek through the frigid wilderness in the middle of winter. And he didn’t either, but he was going to do his damnedest to work this case well. To settle into this job, and this new life he and Laurie were trying to accept. Mostly separately.
Harper was standing by the door where she’d first stood, her hands in her pockets again as if ready to leave as soon as possible. He didn’t blame her. There was something . . . depressing about this place. And not only that a murder had been committed there—though that would increase the dismal factor anywhere. No, the whole place felt oppressive and dark. He had the urge to fling open the door and escape outside, which was saying something since outside was a virtual ice box.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yup. I want to ask you about something that was found here, but I can do that in the truck. The crime lab was supposed to email it to me after it was processed, so I’ll have to make sure it’s there first.”
She seemed even more eager to get out of the gloomy cabin, taking two quick steps to the door and pushing it open with perhaps more strength than necessary. It banged against the side of the porch, and she glanced back with a sheepish look on her face but didn’t slow her descent down the two rickety steps. Mark closed the door behind them and took a deep breath. The cold air filled his lungs and it felt good—cleansing. Vital.
As they trudged to her truck, Harper glanced toward the three mountain peaks to the south and then back at him. “Agent Gallagher, what do you think about Lucas? Living out here alone on Driscoll’s property? Trading with him? It’s odd, right?”
Mark nodded. He planned to be the one to talk to Lucas if any evidence arose that involved him, and even if it didn’t, he’d make a point to return his bow and arrow and get a better feel for the man. “I’m going to look into his situation. I’m confused by it too.” He hadn’t been very forthcoming at the station, and whether that was because he was hiding something or that he simply didn’t have the answers to many of the questions he and Dwayne had asked, Mark didn’t know. Hell, Lucas didn’t even seem to be certain about how old he was or his age when he’d come to live on Driscoll’s property. Fifteen winters, he’d said, the look in his eyes so bleak, Mark had cringed inside. And it’d been a damn long time since someone had said something that made him cringe. If Mark had to guess, he’d