Harry
Reluctantly, Harry went back to work after dropping Brayden off at home. Mia’s killer must be found. He had a feeling the killer wasn’t done.
Harry stared at his computer screen. What was he going to find there? The tips from the crime report email weren’t useful and mostly garbage. He did his best work in the field. “Rudy?” he yelled out into the squad room from his office. “You still here?”
Rudy pushed his desk chair backward toward Harry’s open door. “Finishing some paperwork.”
“Take a ride with me. You’re driving.”
“Gladly.” Ryan Rudy was the type of cop you wanted around. He was always willing to help Harry out or volunteer for an extra shift. It was obvious Rudy loved his job, although Harry had to wonder if the guy just didn’t like being at home. Alone. His wife had been killed a few years ago, something Harry related well to.
They rode in a squad car to the crime scene where Mia had been found. Harry remembered to change into boots before they left the station. Rudy parked his cruiser on the side of Thomson Road at 4:35 PM. Harry jotted the time in his field notebook.
The pair traipsed through the two inches of snow. Some melting had occurred over the weekend and reduced the snow accumulation. The sun hung low in the sky; they had maybe an hour of daylight.
Yellow tape still surrounded the spot where Mia had lain. A triangle, strung between three trees. A portion of the tape draped near the ground like something had stretched it out. Or someone.
Harry stayed outside the marked off area and squatted.
“Find something?” Rudy asked.
Harry pointed at the ground. “These tracks weren’t here before.”
“Are those snowshoe tracks?”
“I’d say so. Odd though, considering the snow isn’t deep enough to need them.”
“Could just be some kids checking things out. The scene has been cleared, not even sure why this tape is still here.”
Harry tilted his head to the side. “Whoever it was wanted to cover their tracks.” He stood and walked to the edge of the creek. More snowshoe tracks marked the small bank. Scanning the area, he found a trail of the prints leading to and from the area. One half led in the direction of the highway where Harry had lost the boot prints the day the body was discovered. And the other pointed toward the Hunter’s Lodge, a bar and grill local hunters frequented after hunts. He knew the owner, they went to school together.
“Rudy, follow the tracks across the creek, then meet me at the Lodge with the car.”
“Getting dark soon.”
“I know, so hurry up. You got a flashlight and a gun. See any coyotes, shoot into the air. They’ll run off.”
“I’m not worried about me.”
“Get out of here. I can handle myself, all right?”
Rudy headed across the creek. Harry took off too, although he had less ground to travel, so he didn’t run like Rudy. They guy was much younger and faster.
The sun dipped below the horizon when Harry reached the Lodge. The tracks ended at the back of the faux log cabin building, where a pair of snowshoes leaned against the wooden siding. He snapped a picture with his phone. A cement walkway surrounded the building on all sides. The snowshoes were dry and so was the pavement beneath them. What the hell, maybe this was the work of some meddling kids. Harry smirked, picturing the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Do.
Harry walked around to the front door and went inside.
Soft country music played from overhead speakers. Cardboard beer signs hung from the ceiling. A bar with eighty coats of varnish ran nearly the entire length of the back wall.
Pete, the bar owner, glanced up from the glasses he cleaned. He recoiled his head slightly. “Fall off the wagon? What brings you here? Haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Funny. And no.” Harry didn’t want the half dozen men in the joint to hear this conversation. He sat at the bar in front of Pete, who set down the glass he wiped with a towel.
“Can I get you something?”
“No thanks.” Harry leaned in closer. “You hear about the woman that was found dead near here?”
“Yeah, I did. Is that what brings you by?”
“Tell me, you know anything about the snowshoes out back?”
“Snowshoes? Where?” Pete’s eyes widened.
Harry showed Pete the picture he took.
Pete pursed his lips and shook his head.
“This picture was taken in the back of your bar just now.”
“I can see that. But I have no idea who they belong to.”
“Thanks, if you hear anything…”
“I can ask around if anyone knows whose they are.”
“Would you? I’d appreciate it.” Harry slipped his cell back into his inside coat pocket.
“Yeah. Hey! Anyone know who belongs to those snowshoes out back?!”
That wasn’t what Harry meant by asking around. He cringed.
A man in a red flannel and full beard said, “Who’s asking?”
“Me,” Pete responded. “Are they yours, Zeke?”
“Nope. Not sure whose they might be.” Zeke was a large man with an unstable look about him, Harry could tell even with the man seated.
The other men either shook their heads or said ‘no’.
“Thanks a lot,” Harry whispered to Pete, rolling his eyes.
“Well, you asked.” Pete shrugged.
Harry walked outside and wandered the perimeter of the building. The sun had gone down completely. He put his leather gloves back on and inspected the shoes as best he could with the light provided by the only spotlight attached to the building above his head.
He was standing with the shoes in his hand when Zeke stepped around the corner. Harry scanned the woods on the one side of him. There wasn’t much to see except darkness. If Zeke decided to get nuts, that escape route looked bleak. The man before him towered over his own 6’ 2” stature. He’d been taller, but was shrinking lately. Harry moved his free hand to the open flap of his coat. “Can I help you with something?”
“You a cop?” Zeke asked.
Harry’s fingertips brushed the hilt of his Glock.
“I overheard you talking about that woman who was murdered.”
“Oh, yeah, what’d’ya hear?”
“That they’s police are looking for suspects. Found any yet?”
Not a lot of rednecks lived in Webster, yet Harry found one. Where the hell was Rudy?
Gravel crunched beneath a set of tires and headlights pointed toward the woods. The light revealed falling snow. A car door slammed.
“You taking them shoes?” Zeke asked.
“They yours?”
“I already told you they wasn’t.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind me taking them with me.”
“I can tell you one thing, no hunter killed that woman.” Zeke pronounced the last word whoa-man.
“How do you know that?”
“No hunter would trash the land around here. We all a tight-knit group besides, and word would’ve gotten out.”
Rudy appeared behind Zeke, the uniform cop’s holster unsnapped.
Thank fuck!
“Listen, Zeke, you’ve been very helpful this evening.” Harry wanted to ask him if they were so tight-knit, would they also cover for one another too? He opted for no bloodshed, if he could help it. They guy didn’t look like he cared one iota Harry was a cop.
Zeke appeared as if he was contemplating something stupid, yet he stepped aside. “You find who killed that woman.”
“We’ll do our best.” Harry walked past Zeke, relieved Rudy was there for back-up. “We need to bag these.” He held out the shoes to Rudy.
“Got one in the car, should fit.”
By the time they settled into the car, Zeke had gone back inside.
“What was that all about?” Rudy asked.
“Not a clue. I think making sure we’re doing our job. Find anything?”
“No, tracks ended at the road. You think that guy knows anything?”
“Who knows? I don’t think he would tell us if he did.” Harry ran his fingers through his hair. He desperately needed his bed and a bottle of Jim. Not a good sign.