Chapter 22

Ch. 22: Dane

"Look at the timestamp."

Julian taps a fingernail against his phone.

"This story dropped less than an hour ago, and it says the body was found earlier this morning. It's barely past eight! How is that possible?"

He radiates nervous tension, and I endeavor to project calm. Taking the phone from him, I skim the story. As the details sink in, my attempt at calm escapes me.

"Shit."

"What?" He chews a nail.

I read aloud. "Sheriff's deputies responded to a report of a body found along the shore of Spring Lakes Reservoir early Thursday morning."

"Yeah, and?"

I bite back a sigh as memory raises the ghosts of old frustrations.

"You ever worked with the sheriff's department?"

Julian shakes his head. "No. Just the police."

"Police jurisdiction ends at the city limits. Everything beyond that is the county sheriff's territory. Unincorporated areas, county land—the Reservoir, for example. So, even though this is clearly tied to an existing case, the sheriff has the lead."

"So... Coleridge isn't in charge?"

"Nope. And the county sheriff is an elected official. Sheriff Walker's father-in-law owns the local paper. Played a big role in getting him elected. Ever since, the paper's had a funny way of getting the scoop on anything big—like this."

"Isn't that a conflict of interest, or something?"

"Probably." I shrug. "Walker's not a bad sheriff, overall. The problem is, he's always got his eye on the next election, and he likes to see his name in print—more than is good for him sometimes."

Julian snorts. "He and Coleridge are best friends, I bet."

"They hate each other's guts."

His expression sobers as he takes his phone back and scrolls through the article again. "So, what does this mean for us?"

This time I fail to restrain it, and sigh as I tug on my hair. "Ideally, there's be close collaboration between departments, given the existing case, but... Coleridge will flip her lid when she sees this. Walker will be on the defensive, for sure."

Frowning, Julian shakes his head. "I can understand why. I mean, publicly identifying a victim like this..." He swallows and his voice drops almost to a whisper. "Do you think they've even notified Stephanie's family?"

I grimace. "Unlikely. You know how long it takes to clear a scene, especially if there's foul play involved. If this report has the timing right, I doubt they've even removed the body yet."

Julian's expression transforms with dawning horror, then hardens with resolve.

Rising, he snatches his jacket off the back of the couch and heads for the door.

"Come on," he calls over his shoulder. "You're driving."

***

The closer we get to our destination, the more concerned I become. Julian sits huddled in the passenger seat. Sweat beads his brow and his skin is even paler than usual, which is saying something. At first, I chalk it up to a rough night, Rhiannon's surprise visit, and the shock of the sudden news. Something keeps nagging at me, though, and finally—just as the wooden sign marking the Reservoir's picnic and day-use area comes into view—it hits me.

Giving myself a good mental kick for being so goddamn dense, I pull to the side of the road, cut the engine, and release my breath in a curse.

"Fuck."

Julian peers through the windshield, looking for the cause of our delay. "What's wrong?"

I shut my eyes and let my feelings settle before I speak. When I do, my voice is rough and cracked as old stone.

"Nothing. I just realized that this is..."

"Where my dad died. Yeah."

Heartened by his level tone, I clear my throat. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

He shrugs. "It's a little late to turn around now."

"Hey." I reach over and touch his arm, prompting him to look at me. "I'll turn around in a heartbeat if you ask me to, Julian. Case or not, you're always top priority."

He shakes his head and turns back to the window. "I'll be okay. Unlike Stephanie. We failed her, Dane. And if the skin-changer took her at the same time as Lagrange, then the person we talked to..."

"There's another possibility," I say. "If the skin-changer did take Stephanie, this body might not even be hers."

"But if it is, then..."

I let my head fall back and study the mottled roof of my car. "Then... the changer's taken another victim, and the clock is reset. In which case, we've got two weeks, tops, to figure out who it is, where they're being held, and rescue them."

He hugs himself and sighs unhappily. "I need to read the body if I can. For Stephanie, and for whoever the changer takes next. We can't let this happen again."

I take a breath before answering. I know he's right, and that we won't get another chance, but I can't pretend I like it.

"Okay. Just remember this isn't all on you, and if you change your mind, just say so and we're out of here. There's no such thing as a one-man team."

Finally, he turns to look at me. "That should be my line," he says, and smiles. "I'll be fine, Dane. And if I'm not, I know you'll take care of me. You've seen me read bodies before. You know the drill."

I do, but that doesn't mean I want to make a habit of it.

"Alright. But don't get your hopes up. Walker's territorial as fuck, and we'll be lucky to get close to see anything, much less touch."

Restarting the engine, I pull back onto the road and continue toward the lake. If I didn't know what awaited us, it would have been a pleasant drive. Early morning sunlight streams through the boughs of the tall, evenly spaced pines, little chipmunks and ground squirrels scamper through the underbrush, and birds flit among the trees. Picnic tables dot the landscape, and I catch a glimpse of blue water up ahead.

As we near the boating area, I also see the first signs of something amiss: flashing lights in the open parking area near the boat ramp, and a row of official vehicles lining the side of the road.

Pulling up behind a car bearing the marks of the sheriff's department, I take stock of who's here and who's not. It's an eclectic mix of sheriff's deputies, fire personnel, parks services, and few unmarked vehicles—some of which I recognize.

"No sign of the coroner," I murmur. "He's either not here yet, or he's been and gone, but my money's on the former."

"Looks like the sheriff's here in person." Julian points to a large, shiny SUV blocking the road up ahead. It's bigger and fancier than the rest, and has 'sheriff' written on the side in red and gold lettering. "Is that usual?"

"Not for a department this size. But that's Randall Walker for you. If there's a chance of press coverage, he'll want to be sure he gets his mug in the shot."

I get out and slam the door shut after me, not bothering to lock it with the forest full of law enforcement. Circling around to Julian's side, I hear the echoes of a heated argument filtering through the trees.

"Sounds like Coleridge is here, too," Julian remarks mildly, and points.

I follow the direction of his gaze and see the source of the commotion up ahead. Near a picnic bench at the edge of the pines, Coleridge faces off against a large, balding man wearing a khaki uniform with a shiny, star-shaped badge pinned to the chest. Sheriff Walker clutches a brown fedora in one hand, and gestures angrily with the other as he shouts.

Coleridge is having none of it, and shouts right back at him. As we draw closer, I make out her words.

"...the most irresponsible, unethical, unprofessional, fucking shit-headed thing to do!"

Walker's face is red with fury as he jabs a finger at Coleridge's chest. "Now, see here, you meddlesome bitch. This is my investigation, and I'll run it however I damn well see fit. You've got no right to barge in here and tell me—"

"I'll tell you where you can shove your investigation," Coleridge snaps. "And I'm telling you this isn't an accident or a suicide, Walker. It's not a photo-op either. That young woman was murdered, and you better pray to the god of shady politics her family doesn't see that headline before your cowboys deliver the news properly. If they do, you can sure as hell kiss your chance at re-election goodbye."

Coleridge turns and strides away through the trees, and I angle our course to intercept. Behind her, the sheriff waves dismissively and walks off in the opposite direction, toward the lake.

"Chief," I call in greeting as the distance between us closes. She looks up and frowns, but some of the raw anger leaves her face, tempered by a friendlier expression.

"Hart. Hunter. What are you two doing here?"

"Saw the headline," I say.

"Shit." She runs a hand over her graying hair and sighs.

"I take it collaboration is off the table?"

Scowling, she turns to look after the sheriff and his posse.

"Walker's a son of a bitch but he's not a fool. He's allowing us to 'shadow' his 'operation' because he knows his team isn't equipped for something like this. He wants the credit and the glory, and I don't want evidence lost or mishandled. So, in a perverse way, our interests align. Problem is, he needs to look and feel like he's in charge all the time." She sighs. "This is why we need a centralized homicide unit. Get the fucking egos out of the way."

"I remember the last time you proposed that. Made for one hell of a town hall meeting."

She laughs, though it's a rough, humorless sound. Then she turns to Julian and her expression shifts. I'd almost call it 'motherly,' if I didn't know better.

"Hart, you alright?"

Julian crosses his arms and huffs. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Because you look like shit," Coleridge says before I can come up with a more diplomatic answer. "And because I know you got history with this place.

His eyes go wide. "You do?"

"Yeah. You think I don't do thorough background checks on consultants? Especially the ones who claim to be psychic. Your father took his own life here."

I bristle at her bluntness, ready to step between my mate and the threat of harm, but Julian speaks for himself.

"It's complicated," he says, "but yeah, he died after jumping from the dam."

She chews her bottom lip. "Are you up for it? You want to read the body, right?"

Julian and I exchange looks.

"There's a chance I might pick up something important. So, yeah; I'd like to try," he says.

Coleridge nods.

"Good. Come with me. Halloran and Vasquez are down there already, trying to manage the scene. I hate to speak ill of other law enforcement, but honestly, it's like herding cats."

She leads the way towards the lake, and we emerge from the trees into a wide, paved area filled with a haphazard collection of emergency vehicles and roaming personnel.

The boat ramp is a long slab of ribbed concrete that descends beneath the water, with an old wooden dock stretched alongside. Beyond this, the lake lies blue and serene beneath the morning sky, its surface as yet undisturbed by the wind and waves that build throughout the day.

Several hundred yards to the west, the curve of the dam bends the water in an artificially smooth arc, on the other side of which is a precipitous and deadly drop.

I look at Julian, but his attention is elsewhere. To our right, a black plastic screen has been erected around a spot further down the rocky shoreline. Beside it, Halloran and Vasquez stand side by side, arguing with a couple of deputies.

Coleridge sighs. "Leave this to me. You ready?"

Julian nods, his mouth set in a determined line.

With some misgivings, and still half hoping I can somehow shield him from whatever awaits us, I follow him towards the scene.