Point of disappearance, p.1
Point of Disappearance, page 1
“Did you hear it? Did you hear him?”
“Hear what?” Blanca asked.
“He was here. I heard him,” Tate said. “I wasn’t dreaming it this time.”
“Dreaming what, Tate?”
“The whistling. I heard the whistling. The same song.”
Blanca stared past him at the lone tree in the center of the clearing. This was it. This was the tree where Tate had been tied up.
“A-are you sure?”
“You don’t believe me? I’m sure, Blanca.”
“I believe you, but why? Why would he come back to this spot with you here?”
“What does it matter if I remember? I didn’t see him. I can’t ID him. That’s clear, or he would’ve taken care of me years ago.”
“You think he’d be worried about you catching him whistling alone in the forest? If he is the one who stole the case files from my hotel room, he knows you heard whistling.”
“Maybe he didn’t even know I was here. Maybe he’s out trolling for another victim. That’s his precursor. His warning. The whistling.”
POINT OF DISAPPEARANCE
Carol Ericson
Carol Ericson is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than forty books. She has an eerie fascination for true-crime stories, a love of film noir and a weakness for reality TV, all of which fuel her imagination to create her own tales of murder, mayhem and mystery. To find out more about Carol and her current projects, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”
Books by Carol Ericson
Harlequin Intrigue
A Discovery Bay Novel
Misty Hollow Massacre
Point of Disappearance
The Lost Girls
Canyon Crime Scene
Lakeside Mystery
Dockside Danger
Malice at the Marina
A Kyra and Jake Investigation
The Setup
The Decoy
The Bait
The Trap
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Tate Mitchell—A US forestry agent who uncovers bones in a shallow grave is forced to relive the nineteen-year-old nightmare of when his best friend disappeared. Can an FBI agent looking into the cold case help him expunge his guilt, or will his attraction to her only add to it?
Blanca Lopez—An FBI special agent assigned to the cold case of a missing thirteen-year-old boy, she has questions for the boy’s surviving friend, but that friend, now a grown man, is proving to be a distraction from the case she needs to solve to put her career back on track.
Jeremy Ruesler—This boy went missing nineteen years ago, but the discovery of a set of bones and another missing boy might resolve his cold case.
Noah Fielding—His disappearance bears eerie similarities to Jeremy’s case almost twenty years ago. Is the predator back?
Porter Monroe—This local has always been interested in the youth of Dead Falls, but now his interest suggests something sinister behind the friendly face.
The Whistler—The mystery man who may be responsible for the disappearances of both Jeremy and Noah, or has Tate imagined him?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from Under the Cover of Darkness by K.D. Richards
Chapter One
The smoke unfurled like a suffocating blanket, obscuring Tate’s view of the green pines in the distance. Despite the damp weather, sweat ran down his back beneath his fire shirt, which clung to him like a second skin. He hoisted his ax and buried it into a smoldering log.
The fire had already rushed through this area, but his hand crew wanted to make sure nothing reignited as the helicopters dumped flame retardant on the blaze, shifting to the right with the wind. He kicked at some blackened logs with the toe of his boot, and a flurry of sparks scattered in the air.
Turning around, he pulled the N95 mask away from his face. “I think we’re almost finished with this area. The rain should be helping us out soon.”
As if on cue, the skies opened, and a torrent of water pummeled the December forest fire, sending plumes of dark gray smoke billowing upward to meet the clouds. The sudden onslaught of rain turned the ashy ground beneath Tate’s feet to mush.
His teammates whooped and hollered behind him, the wait for the storm break finally over, making their job easier.
Tate yelled over his shoulder. “We’re not done yet, boys. Let’s break up a few more of these fallen logs. Plenty are still live.”
To emphasize his point, Tate hoisted his pick ax over his head and brought it down on a smoldering stump. It hissed at him, as the rain soaked the wood, dampening the embers.
As Tate kicked at a few more logs with the toe of his heavy boot, the ground gave way beneath his other foot. He slid down an incline to the amusement of his crew.
Rivulets of water rushed past him, pooling into a muddy dip in the land. He grunted and propped himself up on his elbows, surveying the scorched trees before him.
As he scrambled to his knees they sunk in the soft earth, and he pitched forward. He thrust out a hand. It landed on a smooth rock, and he pushed against the solid object to gain some purchase.
The rock moved beneath his palm, shifting to the side. The eye sockets of a skull stared back at him. Choking, he snatched his hand back.
Like a faint echo, his teammates’ voices swirled through the roaring in his ears. He licked his lips, his tongue sweeping through the wet ash clinging to his mouth.
“How long are you gonna stay down there wallowing in the mud, Tate? C’mon, man. It’s almost quittin’ time.”
A twig cracked behind him, and Tate twisted around. “Stay where you are. We have a crime scene here.”
James Clugston, his second-in-command, snorted. “What the hell are you talking about? The crime scene is where this firebug lit this blaze. We’ll find it, but this ain’t it.”
Tate struggled to his feet, his legs rubbery. One arm windmilled for balance, as he planted his boots in the muck. “I found a skeleton down here, so I guess we have two crime scenes.”
The whooping and hollering stopped, and James coughed and spit. “Are you kidding me? How old is it?”
Turning his back on the bones, Tate faced his teammates and took a deep breath, tasting the smoke from the fire on the back of his tongue. “What the hell do I look like, a medical examiner?”
“You look like a tired, overworked US Forest Service agent. Like I’m looking in the mirror.” Aaron Huang stepped aside as Tate slogged up the incline.
James stood on a fallen, blackened log and peered down the gully. “Who are we calling for this? Dead Falls Sheriff’s Department? I’m sure they’ll be able to crack the case in about fifty years.”
Despite Tate’s agreement that the Dead Falls Sheriff’s Department was useless, his crew’s laughter rubbed him the wrong way. He snapped. “Have some respect. That’s someone’s kid.”
Aaron choked. “Kid? That’s a kid’s skeleton down there? I thought you didn’t know crap about forensics.”
Tate gulped. Was it a kid’s skeleton? Did the skull seem small? “I—I just mean, that’s someone’s family member. I don’t know the age or the sex or anything else, but we’d better call someone who can figure that out before we trample all over everything.”
Cocking his head, James said, “Haven’t we already done that? We just put out a major fire on top of this crime scene.”
“As incompetent as he is, we need to start with Sheriff Hopkins.” Tate unzipped his vest and dug in his pocket for his cell phone.
His thumb quivered as it hovered over the numbers on the display. Was Hopkins too inept to handle the discovery of these bones? One part of Tate hoped so. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the identity of the person in that shallow grave.
* * *
BLANCA LOPEZ STEPPED off the ferry from Seattle to Dead Falls Island, rolling her suitcase beside her and clamping her laptop bag between her arm and her body. Her heels clicked authoritatively on the concrete dock, even though she hadn’t a clue where she was going.
The words of her mentor, Manny Rodriguez, pinged in her brain. Always act like you know what you’re doing and where you’re going. Even though she now despised Manny, he had gotten a few things right.
She mumbled, “Got it, Manny.”
“Ah, miss, er, ma’am?”
She spun around so quickly her heel caught in a crack in the concrete and she stumbled. The young deputy caught her arm, a sea of red suffusing his baby face. “Yeah, sorry.”
She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and straightened her shoulders. “No need t o apologize, Deputy. You saved me from an embarrassing start to my assignment.”
Dropping her arm, he said, “I’m Deputy Fletcher.”
Blanca thrust out her hand. “Good to meet you, Deputy Fletcher. I’m FBI Special Agent Blanca Lopez.”
When he took her hand, she squeezed hard to make up for her earlier klutziness. Had Manny ever fallen on his face when meeting the local law?
When she ended the handshake, Fletcher flexed his fingers and said, “Do you want me to take you to your hotel or straight to the station? We have a car for you at the station.”
“I think station.” She jiggled the handle of her suitcase. “I can dump my stuff in the car, maybe have a quick meeting with Sheriff Hopkins and pick up any files he has for me.”
“Sounds good, ma’am. Can I take your bags for you?”
Blanca wrinkled her nose. “You can call me Agent Lopez, Deputy, and I can handle my own bags.”
“Sure, ma—Agent Lopez.” He strode ahead of her, his back stiff. “This way to the car.”
Blanca bit her lip. Manny always told her to command respect, but she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with the locals. Manny never seemed to care about local law enforcement, but Blanca had come to realize it helped the investigation if they didn’t hate you. Manny wasn’t always right.
She cleared her throat. “The island looked beautiful coming in on the ferry. So green. Are the falls dead? Is that the reason for the name?”
“Dead?” Fletcher cranked his gaze over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows. “Not sure what a dead waterfall would look like, but no. It’s called Dead Falls because the angle on that water is a dead drop. Get it?”
“Makes sense.” A lot more sense than a dead waterfall. What was a dead waterfall?
Her high heels wobbled on a pebble in the parking lot, and she took a little hopping step to avoid further embarrassment.
She eyed the suitcase trundling beside her over the rough asphalt. She’d filled it with similar work clothes—skirts, slacks, jackets, blouses and heels. She just hoped her new hiking boots would work out here and that she’d packed enough jeans and sweaters to last for the duration of her stay, and that depended on how much information the Dead Falls Sheriff’s Department had on her cold case.
Maybe that fire a few days ago had already done her work for her. Case closed if the bones exposed by that blaze belonged to Jeremy Ruesler...or at least that part of the case solved. They could put Jeremy down as a murder instead of a missing child, but most law enforcement agencies and probably the poor boy’s family already knew that.
If that skeleton did belong to Jeremy, they still needed to figure out who killed him—and she had a perfect starting point for that.
Fletcher pointed out a few landmarks on their drive from the dock to the station. The rugged terrain of the island that she’d spied from the ferry spread inland, covered by dense forest and rushing bodies of water, including those falls. She’d never been much of an outdoorsy girl, but the sight of that deep green and the smell of pine mingling with the salt of the ocean had caused prickles to rush across her skin. The atmosphere of the island charged her with a sense of awakening, a new start, and she sat on the edge of the passenger seat, drinking in Fletcher’s impromptu guided tour. God knew she needed a new start.
By the time the deputy pulled into the parking lot of the Dead Falls Sheriff’s Station, Blanca’s newfound appreciation of the world hit reality. The beige, one-story stucco building looked like police stations all across the country. She had a hard time believing the course of her future resided within those prosaic walls, but she had turned a corner this past year, and this assignment was going to be the culmination of her reset.
She could almost hear Manny’s low laugh in her ear. Follow me, kid, and I’ll steer you right.
She curled her fingers around the strap of her purse. Manny had steered her straight to hell. Maybe the fresh air of Dead Falls Island could blow his memory right out of her mind.
“Agent Lopez?” Fletcher sat beside her, his door open, one foot already planted on the parking lot. “This is it.”
“That didn’t take long. Thanks for the guided tour.” She flashed him a quick smile before releasing her seat belt and pulling the handle of the door.
The deputy waited for her at the entrance of the station and held open the door for her. “Would you like me to transfer your suitcase to the trunk of your car, Agent Lopez?”
“Whatever’s most convenient for you, Deputy Fletcher.”
“That way, when you’re done talking to Sheriff Hopkins, I can just hand you the keys to the car and you can be on your way. There’s a GPS in the car, so you can follow that to your hotel.”
“That works for me. Thanks.” She walked through the swinging door he held open for her and followed him down a short hallway. Her heel taps echoed in the mostly empty station. All patrol cars must be out on duty. These small stations definitely didn’t have the same buzz as their big-city counterparts. The fact that they couldn’t handle homicide investigations didn’t surprise her. It had been a PI and a forensic psychologist who had solved the latest murder in Dead Falls. No wonder they’d had this cold case on the books for the past nineteen years.
The clicking of fingers on a keyboard intensified as they drew closer to the end of the hallway. Deputy Fletcher tapped on an open door, and the clicking stopped.
“Sheriff Hopkins, I have FBI Special Agent Blanca Lopez with me.”
Blanca peeked around the corner of the office door, and a balding man with crumbs on the chest of his uniform stood up behind the desk. “Thanks, Fletch. Agent Lopez, welcome to Dead Falls Island. C’mon in. Car ready, Fletch?”
“Yes, sir. I’m just going to move Agent Lopez’s suitcase from the squad car to the sedan...and the other stuff.” Fletcher backed out of the sheriff’s office awkwardly, his long legs almost not up to the intricate maneuver.
Blanca thanked the deputy again and stepped into Hopkins’s office. Family pictures populated the bookshelf behind his desk, and plaques and awards dotted the wall. Her gaze tracked across his messy workspace, noting the absence of anything that looked like cold-case files.
Clearing her throat, she reached over the desk to shake hands. She didn’t give this one the death squeeze, as his hand lay limp and damp in her own. When they broke apart, she resisted the urge to wipe her palm on her slacks.
She shuffled back, and when the back of her knees touched the edge of the chair, she sat. “Thanks for having me here, Sheriff Hopkins.”
Smiling, he folded hands. “When the FBI calls and tells you they want to look into one of your cold cases, you jump.”
“We appreciate the response.” She settled her laptop case on the floor. “I’m assuming you haven’t gotten any DNA results back from the bones, yet?”
“Nope.” He transferred a batch of papers from one side of his desk to the other. “We don’t have the familial DNA yet for comparison.”
She widened her eyes. Were the locals just waiting for the FBI to do all the work? “Is the Ruesler family still on the island?”
“The mother is. She’s not being particularly cooperative. Never was, after the initial investigation failed to locate her boy.” Hopkins finally folded his hands as if to keep them from fidgeting among the mess on his desk.
“I would think...” Blanca rubbed her chin. “No, I take that back. Maybe she doesn’t want to know. Some people would prefer to have that closure, and some would rather keep believing.”
Hopkins lifted his rounded shoulders, spreading his hands, as if he’d never even considered the matter. “Maybe as an outsider, you can get her DNA.”
“I’ll try.” She bent forward to retrieve a notebook and pen from the side of her bag, her ponytail slipping over her shoulder. “Is there anything you can tell me about the site where the skeleton was found? Any items there beside the bones?”
His rather dull eyes, a muddy gray, stared at her. He blinked once. “I wasn’t there. US Forest Service Agent Tate Mitchell found the remains while wrapping up a forest fire.”
Blanca gripped the arms of her chair, as a zing shot up her spine. Tate Mitchell found the remains? How had she missed that all-important detail?
