out, maybe he hasn’t. Anyway, Paul was already shaken having just discovered a macabre crime scene and here this guy comes, right across his path, carrying a bow and arrow on his back.”
Harper widened her eyes. “Carrying— You think he’s the murderer?”
“He says he’s not, and there’s no evidence at this point to say he is, except the bow and arrow. Though the one he was carrying has arrows different in appearance than the ones used in the two crimes. And there are spots for each arrow in the case he was carrying and none were missing. We took it into evidence. But add in the fact that he knows how to use one and that he lives in the vicinity of Isaac Driscoll, and he’s at least a person of interest.”
Harper stared at the sheriff for a moment. “They both live out there?”
“Appears so. Says he lives ten thousand, five hundred seventy-three steps from Driscoll, in the direction of the three mountain peaks.”
“Huh?”
“I know. That’s how he described the distance between their residences. Strange.”
To say the least. She shook her head in disbelief. She led guided tours into that wilderness—nature lovers, campers, hunters. But she couldn’t imagine living there permanently—in every season. It would be . . . practically impossible to survive, at least without a whole hell of a lot of gear.
“Did they know each other?”
“Lucas says he traded things with Driscoll, who made trips into town. Fish Lucas caught for clothing items, etcetera. He said other than that they didn’t have much of a relationship—he didn’t consider the man a friend. Just someone he did business with.”
Business. “Fish he caught? So . . . that man in there has never been to town?”
“That’s what he says.”
“So, he couldn’t have killed the woman at the bed & breakfast.”
Dwayne shrugged. “We’re going on his word alone right now because it’s all we have. We won’t have forensics back for a little while, but so far, nothing places him there. We really have nothing to hold him on.”
Harper pressed her lips together, going back over Dwayne’s words. Never been to town? Never been out of that wilderness? How was that possible? Her questions were endless. But that wasn’t why Dwayne had asked her there. He wanted information from her, not the other way around. “I don’t typically take tours south, and hunting is better east of the river. But in any case, I’ve never run across either one of them that I can remember. And I’ve never come across a dwelling of any sort. I’m as surprised as you are.” Twenty miles made a hell of a difference as far as terrain, but it wasn’t so far that someone couldn’t live a more comfortable life in a populated town and still enjoy the wilderness for all it offered. She didn’t get it.
Dwayne stood up from the table, gesturing to a small fridge near the door that she assumed held drinks. She shook her head and he removed a water bottle, uncapping it and taking a long sip before saying, “We called in the Missoula crime lab to process the scene, but we’ve had to call in the Montana Department of Justice to investigate. We’re simply not equipped to deal with a crime like this. The agent they sent is at the first crime scene at the Larkspur, but he should be back shortly to ask Lucas a few more questions. And”—he paused, creasing his brow as if he was worried about what her reaction would be to his next words—“I’m hoping you’re okay that I’ve offered up your services. We could use your help.”
CHAPTER THREE
Agent Mark Gallagher stood still, taking in the room as a whole, memorizing the layout, waiting for anything that immediately seemed out of place to catch his attention. Nothing did except the large dark stain on the carpet. But he’d expected that. The woman who’d died here had not experienced a peaceful death.
No, there had been fear and suffering, and finally death, though a quiet one, as the arrow that had driven through her throat, had cut off her air, and the scream he was sure had been trapped within. He’d seen the crime scene photos. The woman was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and white cotton underwear—presumably what she’d worn to sleep in—and her eyes were open in horror. Judging by the thrown-back covers, she’d been halfway between the bed and the window—she’d attempted to run but hadn’t gotten very far.
Of course, she hadn’t had