Crossfire Creek Read online

  “How many national parks?”

  “One hundred and sixty-seven, sir. In three regions.”

  “Son, do you honestly think I can spare Munez or Jones?”

  “This isn’t just a murder investigation, Randy.” He had to cut through the hierarchical bullcrap that ASAC Randall Collins threw up as his first line of defense. “I’ve got a missing person, too. The eyewitness to the murder pulled a vanishing act, and she’s most likely hiding somewhere in the park.”

  Randy groaned. “You know I can’t assign another investigator, Pat. We’re stretched beyond thin as it is. And with Riata’s retirement last year, we’re down a man. I’m sorry, pal.”

  Pat nodded. It was the answer he’d expected; in truth, the request for another special agent had been a strawman. Something for Randy to knock down to soften him up for the real ask. “Do I have your blessing to press some of the rangers into service to assist?”

  “You can have one. I already got a call from the chief ranger out there, yapping about the distraction of the homicide investigation. He’ll spare one ranger but only through Friday. In another week, it’ll be peek leaf-peeper season and that park’ll be even busier.”

  He knew. But there wasn’t a thing he could do about the leaves changing. One park ranger would be better than no help. And park rangers were more than just nature educators; many of them were commissioned federal law enforcement officers. A Jeep pulled into the parking area and parked next to his vehicle. Luke Painter hopped out. He wore the Department of Interior law enforcement badge pinned to his green and gray.

  “Ranger Painter’s the logical choice. He’s park police, and he was first on the scene.”

  “I’ll make it so.”

  “Thanks, Randy.”

  The beleaguered ASAC grunted in response and ended the call.

  Pat slipped the phone back into his pocket and raised a hand in greeting. “Up here,” he called.

  Luke touched the brim of his hat in acknowledgment and headed for the slope, skirting the flags stuck in the ground—almost certainly by Luke’s hand—to mark the spot where Costa had fallen.

  “Hiya, Pat.”

  “Luke.” He clasped the man on the shoulder. “I just got off the phone with my ASAC. Looks like you’re gonna be on loan to me for the rest of the week.”

  Painter’s eyes lit up. “Happy to help. I was coming up here to see if you needed a hand with anything, as a matter of fact.”

  “There is something. I got a call from a tipster who claimed to see the Glassers at a gas station in Harrisonburg.”

  “You think it’s a solid lead?”

  “Honestly, no. If you wanted to disappear from this spot, would you head for Interstate 81?”

  “Nope. I’d go west on Route 40. Although, if I’m being honest … I’d hunker down here until interest in my whereabouts died down. Then I’d go west.”

  Pat grinned at him. “My thinking exactly. So, I’d like to find out what we can about the call before I go dashing off to Virginia.”

  Luke nodded. “Did the call come into your cell phone or …?”

  “No, through the main operator. This morning.” He pulled out his notepad and rattled off the time of the call and the phone number.

  “I’ll get on it.” He turned to leave.

  “Hang on a second. Come here and stand where I am. Tell me if you think Marlene’s telling the truth.” He stepped back, onto the path, to make room for the ranger to squeeze in between the trees.

  Luke took up the position and gazed down into the bowl where the picnic table sat. After a long moment, he shook his head. “Nah. She said the sun hadn’t set yet. From here, she should’ve been able to make out whether the gunman had something stuck between his teeth.”

  Pat wasn’t sure about that, but he was sure she could have given Chief Wagner something more than skinny white man, about the same height as the dead guy.

  “You know her well? Any idea why she’d lie?”

  Luke shrugged. “Marlene keeps to herself. She’s had some run-ins with people in town, has a reputation for being rude. I always figured she was just overextended, stressed out. Single parenting’s hard. Ever since Molly died …” he coughed “… Anyway, I don’t know her well. But I do know Dick Wagner. He doesn’t have what you’d call a light touch. He probably threatened her with jail or taking her daughter until she cooperated.”

  “Jail?”

  Luke’s expression tightened. “Chief Wagner and the DA have a habit of issuing arrest warrants for people who hadn’t even been accused of committing crimes.”

  “They’re relying on obscure material witness statutes to compel witnesses to testify by jailing them until they’re called to the stand?”

  “Right.”

  They shared a heavy silence.

  As far as Pat was concerned, it ran counter to everything the U.S. justice system stood for to jail—without bail—innocent citizens, who, in many cases, were the victims of the crimes being prosecuted. In truth, the principle was entrenched in the system, almost as old as the country itself. But for centuries, it had rarely, if ever, been invoked.

  In recent years, though, state and some federal prosecutors had used it to lean heavily on witnesses. Funny, how the witnesses who were thrown in jail—without the benefit of an attorney, because, hey, they weren’t accused of any crime—were invariably poor, people of color, or women. Or all of the above. Marlene Glasser checked all of those boxes.

  “I can keep her out of jail. We just have to find her and convince her to testify.”

  “I’ll ask Rory if she has any ideas where they might go.”

  “Rory? Your daughter?”

  “She goes to the Cherokee school. She’s a grade ahead of Joy-Lynn, but they’re friendly.”

  “How does that work?”

  “The school? Well, we live here in the park, but we’re actually on land contained within the Qualla, as it happens. Quirk of the boundaries. And that school is miles better than Mountainview.” He shrugged.

  “Anything you can find out would be helpful.” Pat felt a sneeze coming on and lowered his nose to his elbow.

  “Gesundheit.”

  “Thanks.” His glance fell to the ground before he lifted his head. “Hang on. What’s this?”

  He dropped to a crouch and rocked back on his heels. Luke squatted beside him. A wide gouge in the dirt created a circle that led to two sets of overlapping narrow tire tracks.

  “Bicycle tracks,” Luke mused. “Marlene said she’d been hiking.”

  “Small tires, too. Skinny. Almost like a … child’s bike.”

  Luke straightened to standing and Pat stared down at the tire tracks for another moment before joining him.

  “Joy-Lynn rides her bike all over this park. She comes up here to do nature landscapes.”

  “By herself?”

  He shrugged. “I’m sure she carries bear spray. I mean, I let Rory explore the park on her own.”

  Single and childless, Pat wasn’t about to second-guess the man’s parenting. But he’d seen the cold case files the ISB maintained: at least ninety percent, probably more, were files on missing men, women, and children who’d disappeared in one of the nation’s parks.

  “Whoever made these tracks left in a hurry. Look at the shell-shaped gouge.”

  They stared down at the bike tracks together.

  “I’ll run down your tip and find out what I can from Rory.”

  “Thanks,” he said absently, his eyes still on the ground.

  As the ranger headed back down the hill, Pat let his eyes trace the path of the tracks away from the scene. Was his star witness actually a traumatized eleven-year-old girl?

  12

  “Joy-Lynn witnessed the murder?” Aroostine asked in an undertone, as she washed the dishes and handed them to Marlene, who dried them. They stood shoulder to shoulder at the pop-up’s small camping sink.

  “Yes.” Marlene’s gazed drifted to the floor near the front of the camper, w
here Rufus was enjoying a belly rub courtesy of Joy-Lynn.

  “How’s she holding up?”

  “She’s tough. But I can tell she’s scared. Sometimes she gets stiff and frozen, like when we heard a sound in the woods. Of course, someone was messing around out there.”

  “It could’ve been an animal,” Aroostine offered.

  Marlene shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. “I went out to check. Unless the bears around here have learned to drive, it was a person. And I’m not surprised. Demetrius Costa was mixed up with some bad people, like the Porchino crew. Whoever killed him will want to silence the witness. That’s why I lied to Chief Wagner and said it was me. I didn’t want my daughter to be targeted. But that idiot leaked my name to the media. We had no choice but to run.”

  Aroostine studied her drawn face and wondered how to kindly point out how badly flawed her plan was from the start. If the police chief hadn’t outed her, was her ultimate plan to commit perjury?

  As if she sensed what Aroostine was thinking, Marlene jutted out her chin. “I did what I had to do. My kid can’t recognize faces. She’s got—”

  “Face blindness. Ellis told me.”

  “Then you know she can’t identify the killer. And Chief Wagner made it clear that he’d do everything in his power to get a description out of me. I can’t imagine how he’d lean on my kid if he knew she’s the one who saw it. There’s no way I’ll let him question her. Not ever.”

  The prospect of subjecting a child to a rough interrogation was unpleasant, but Marlene’s angst seemed disproportionate. Unless … Aroostine thought back to Terry’s comment that Joy-Lynn was stuck-up. “Do you keep her condition a secret?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll thank you not to tell me what’s best for my kid,” Marlene snapped before Aroostine could form her question.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Leaving aside the fact that she’s probably not getting the accommodations that would help her thrive, don’t you think you’re making her social life harder than it needs to be?”

  “You think I give two craps about her social life? I’m trying to keep her alive. What do you think will happen when she’s a few years older and some dickbag teenager realizes she won’t remember his face? Think about what’ll happen when a guy, or group of guys, gets her alone. Or when she’s working and a lowlife strolls into a store and reaches right into her cash register and grabs a fistful of twenties? She can’t ID the person, so now she’s fired and paying the store back out of her pocket. I’ve spent the past eight years sleeping with one eye open because she was too little to understand and take steps to protect herself. I can’t be concerned if she doesn’t get invited to parties.”

  Marlene shook with incandescent rage. Her face was red, and the tendons in her neck were visible, straining against her skin.

  Aroostine realized she’d taken a step back and closed the gap. “Hey, take it easy.”

  The woman closed her eyes, shook her head, and spoke in a whisper. “You don’t get it. But then, how could you?”

  “Okay, let’s slow down. Back to the investigation and Chief Wagner, the local police don’t even have jurisdiction. The murder happened in a national park. They’ve called in their Investigative Services Branch, it’s like the FBI.”

  Marlene opened her eyes and cursed under her breath. “I knew I should’ve called the ranger station in the first place. But I panicked.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll reach out to Ranger Painter and ask him to put me in touch with the ISB on your behalf.”

  “You’d do that for us? Why? We’re nothing to you.”

  Aroostine turned off the water, dried her hands on a dish towel, and placed a hand on Marlene’s forearm. “I know what it’s like to feel alone. Believe me. But you’re not alone, okay? If the special agent can’t provide assurances that the National Park Service will protect you and Joy-Lynn, either by assigning a protective detail or moving you to a secure location, I will help you disappear—permanently, if that’s what you want.”

  She waited while Marlene drew a shaky breath and thought over her options. “I … need to think about it.”

  Aroostine pretended not to notice the tears shining in the woman’s eyes. “No problem. Do you mind if I call Ellis and let her know you and Joy-Lynn are safe and sound? She’s really worried about you.”

  “I guess that would be okay. If you don’t tell her about Joy-Lynn seeing the murder.”

  “You have my word.”

  Joy-Lynn’s ears perked up at the mention of Ellis. “Can I say goodbye to her, to Ellis? And Mr. Pine. Please, Mama?”

  Her mother winced. “I don’t know …. I’m not so sure it’s safe for you to go to the Qualla.”

  Disappointment flooded the girl’s face, and she bit down on her lower lip, as if trapping her response inside.

  Aroostine turned her back and busied herself with putting away the dishes. Over her shoulder, she said, almost as if she were talking to herself rather than horning in on their conversation, “We could meet them somewhere less public. Or I could take you to the cultural center after it closes, when there are fewer people around.”

  “That might work. So long as it’s only Ellis and Joel Pine … and Boyd Caine, if he’s available. I think it would be good for Joy-Lynn to talk to him one last time.”

  “Thank you, thank you. I love you, Mom,” Joy-Lynn squealed as she launched herself at Marlene and squeezed her arms around her waist in a tight hug.

  Marlene stroked her daughter’s hair and met Aroostine’s gaze over the top of the girl’s head.

  “Are you sure? I know Ellis won’t breathe a word, but … I can’t vouch for the others.”

  “I know. Go ahead and call the ranger. If this special agent can help us, we’ll work with him. If not, we’ll be ready to move on as soon as Joy-Lynn says her goodbyes. Can we do that? Have everything in order before she goes over there?”

  Aroostine considered the moving pieces for a moment. “I can be ready to move you before dawn tomorrow if the ISB falls through. So, yeah. I’ll find Painter and get the ball rolling. Then, I’ll go get your things. I just need to know which cabin you were squatting in.”

  “What about the Qualla?” Joy-Lynn butted in.

  “After we’re all packed up and ready to go, I’ll call Ellis. We’ll plan on seeing her tonight, after it gets dark, and—one way or the other—we’ll be gone by morning.”

  “But my paycheck won’t be—”

  “I’ll front you the money, don’t worry about that. Now, can you tell me how to get to the cabin? There’s a lot to accomplish in the next eight hours.”

  13

  Boyd sat behind the steering wheel and checked the time on his cell phone before he pulled out of the elementary school parking lot. It was ten minutes after noon. Four hours of counseling sessions with the five-to-eleven-year-old set always left him brain-drained and limp.

  It was his habit, after a morning at Creekview Elementary, to drive over to the Qualla and hike one of the lesser-used trails that connected the Qualla Boundary to the national park. He typically hiked for an hour or longer, then took the afternoon off. His only private patient was scheduled for five-thirty at the cultural center. He could spend the next four hours combing the woods for Marlene and Joy-Lynn and nobody would think twice about it. It was a solid plan.

  What he’d do if he actually found them was, however, an open question.

  What would he do?

  He needed to ascertain Joy-Lynn’s mental state. That was the first order of business. What, if anything, had Marlene told the girl about the murder she’d witnessed?

  He prayed she hadn’t given Joy-Lynn any details. Normal parenting instincts should’ve led the woman to try to protect her daughter from the grisly reality of murder. But, if his years spent working with Joy-Lynn had taught him anything, it was that Marlene Glasser lacked normal parenting instincts.

  It was within the realm of possibility t
hat Marlene had recounted every gory detail to her daughter. He briefly closed his eyes against the thought.

  Don’t even think it.

  No, you have to think it. It’s the worst-case scenario. How will you handle it?

  He opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure, he couldn’t be sure until he talked to Joy-Lynn. But first, he’d have to find the pair and somehow separate them.

  He allowed himself a passing moment of frustration and pounded the steering wheel with his fists. He wasn’t trained to deal with this. This wasn’t what he did. But the situation was escalating, spiraling out of control. He had to try to fix it. He had to.

  He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. A bell dinged and the low fuel light lit up. It figured. He’d been hoping to wait until he had business in Tennessee to fill up. Gas prices were a dime lower across the border.

  There was no way around it; he’d have to put a few gallons in the tank now. He huffed out an irritated breath and dug out his wallet to see what he had on him. Three faded one-dollar bills. Great. He scrounged around in the cup holder for change and came up with two quarters and a dime. It would have to do. He didn’t dare go to the bank and make a withdrawal. He had to wait until his pay was deposited.

  He wondered idly if Coraline Windsong would consider paying him in cash for her son’s evening session. It couldn’t hurt to ask. He unlocked his phone and thumbed out a text. Then he shifted the car into gear.

  He felt a headache coming on. Better get moving now before he lost his mojo.

  Aroostine peeked through the visitor center window and saw a young, female ranger behind the counter. Definitely not Ranger Painter.

  She thought for a moment, then leaned against the front of the building and pulled out her phone and brought up the number for A Walk in the Park. Rory had mentioned that her dad didn’t allow her to have her own phone yet, so he acted as her receptionist.

  Sure enough, a male voice with a hint of a southern accent answered. “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Ranger Painter?”