Cutting Edge Page 23

Meredyth looked grimly down on him, much disturbed, and Randy's mouth hung open until he finally said, “Must be his thoughts are all jumbled up, Dr. Sanger.”

  “What's wrong? What'd I say?”

  “You accused Dr. Sanger of siccing those goons on you!”

  “What? That's nonsense,” he instantly replied. “Why would I think that, even in an unconscious state?”

  “Well, in a sense, I got you into this,” she countered. And in her most professional manner, she continued, saying, “You have every right to subconsciously explore your animosity toward—

  “Whoa-up there. Hold on...”

  'To point a finger of blame at me,” she groped for simple terms, “for having gotten you nearly killed. After all, I did—”

  “I wasn't nearly killed, and why are you saying that I blame you? I'm a grown man, capable of making my own decisions, and I decided I wanted in, as I recall.”

  “No, I manipulated you.”

  “You did no such thing. I don't get manipulated.”

  “I put your back to the wall in your own captain's office before Commander Bryce if you recall, so don't tell me about who's at fault and who's not.” Her voice rose wavelike, cresting and washing anger over him.

  “Damn it, woman, I decide when I go forward and when I go backward. My mother's name was Going back.”

  “Really? I don't see where that has any bearing.”

  Randy attempted a timid truce, his hands waving as he dared step between the cop and the shrink, saying, “Let's run the tape, okay?” He had tape-recorded the session, using a small recorder from Dr. Sanger's purse.

  “Good idea,” agreed Lucas, his eyes never leaving Meredyth. “I'd like to know exactly what I said to so upset you.”

  She dropped her gaze, shook her head, as if to say everything he did upset her. Randy clicked on the tape. Meredyth's voice crisply explained what the session en-tailed, who she was, who the subject and witness were, and the date; the tape then continued into the hypnosis itself. Lucas thought she sounded like any other psychiatrist at this point. Then, after a few questions posed by Meredyth to set the scene, he heard himself, speaking in the voices of the two thugs who'd jumped him. He soon realized why she had become so defensive and self-conscious about her role in dragging him into the case. It did sound as if he had subconsciously blamed her for the beating as he as much as said in his hypnotic state that the men had been sent by her. The one goon wanted it done Sanger's way.

  The phone rang, shaking Lucas from his despair at the evidence brought to bear against him. He shrugged in an apologetic manner toward Meredyth, a gesture he knew to be too little, too late. Maybe subconsciously he did conceal some dark caves of hatred for the doctor. Maybe he was upset with her for having gotten him so deeply involved in a case that could easily boomerang on them all.

  Randy picked up the phone on the third ring, his eyes never leaving the other two. “Yeah, yes, sir... matter of fact, he's... he's right here, Captain Lawrence,” sputtered Randy.

  He carried the phone over to Lucas and added, “It's for you.” He gestured to Meredyth after relinquishing the phone to Lucas, as if to say, Don't ask me how he knew you were here.

  “Yeah, Stonecoat here. Can I help you, Captain?”

  “We got another brutal killing up north, Lucas.” Captain Lawrence's voice seemed a fix of fatigue and angst. “Same M.O.?”

  “Sounds to be, yes.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “Rapid City, South Dakota—outskirts, actually.”

  “Outskirts? North, south, east, or west outskirts?”

  “West, I'm told. We got you booked in a place called the Wagon Wheel.”

  “Same M.O., using a crossbow?” he repeated, hardly believing it.

  “Near as authorities up there can tell. Some poor bastard and his woman, both with arrows through their hearts. That close enough?”

  “Execution-style murders? Mutilated corpses?”

  “You got it. Hands, heads, feet, sexual organs.”

  Lucas saw that Meredyth was listening intently. “Bloody business. Nothing but the torsos remaining?”

  “I've been trying to locate Dr. Sanger. You two are booked on a red-eye flight leaving tonight, but I haven't been able to locate her.”

  “I'll let her know.”

  “You know where she is, then?”

  “She's having dinner with her boyfriend at the Marriott, so I'll have her paged there.”

  “Her boyfriend? She's got a boyfriend?”

  “A nice guy named Conrad. Why not, Captain?”

  “Way she drives a man... just surprises me.” He laughed at his own feeble joke. “Anyhow, a plane will be waiting for you two at the same military hangar you left from last time.”

  “Roger that, Captain.” He hung up and informed the others of the horrid yet half-expected news.

  “Why have the killers stepped up their pace?” Meredyth wondered aloud.

  “I don't know, but at this rate, their dirty little activities are going to be front-page national headlines soon.”

  “Let's get out to the airport. Run me by my place, Lucas.

  “ She then turned to the younger man. “Randy, it's important that you go on as if nothing's happened. Just maintain.”

  “Got it. Dr. Sanger.”

  Lucas threw together a set of clothes and items for the trip nearly identical to what he'd taken on the last one to Oregon. He made a quick telephone call, getting reservations at a place he called the Prairie Wind Lodge in Black Hawk. After he dropped the phone back onto its cradle, she instantly asked, “Black Hawk?”

  “Near Custer State Park, in the Badlands area. Kinda rustic.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning friends of mine operate the place,” he told her. “I've hunted elk and deer in the area myself. Have even used a crossbow. May as well throw them some business.”

  She nodded. “So long as it's not so rustic we can't get separate rooms, fine.”

  “They're Indians, Sioux, a little Shoshoni mixed in. They had parts in Dances with Wolves.”

  “Really?” From her tone, he could not tell if she was amused or curious.

  'Their accommodations weren't good enough for Kevin Costner. He stayed at the Alex Johnson, downtown Rapid City, the presidential suite. But for you and me, we'll be fine at the Wind.”

  “Sioux, really... sounds interesting.”

  “Don't worry. Pawnees were the bad guys. Sioux were the good guys in the movie.” He left unspoken the suspicion he couldn't completely trust Phil Lawrence, nor did he feel comfortable bedding down in a place that was procured by Lawrence for Stonecoat's comfort. He wasn't altogether sure why he distrusted Lawrence, but sometimes an itch had best be scratched, he told himself now.

  TWENTY-THREE

  A case file was waiting for them on the plane when they boarded, couriered to them by none other than the real Jim Pardee, who shook Lucas's hand and wished them success, explaining that his captain had spoken to Lucas's captain, and that while he and Amelford felt they should be going to South Dakota, politics within the department were politics. “All the same,” he finished, “safe trip, and we'll be interested to hear about your findings when you get back, Stonecoat, Dr. Sanger.” He tipped his fifties-style hat and waved as he left the boarding area on the tarmac.

  The flight gave them ample time to review what they were in for. The information was sketchy, but detailed enough to tell them that it appeared the murders were the work of the same assassins.

  “Strange send-off,” she'd suggested as they lifted off.

  “Why, I thought Pardee was playing nice this time.”

  “At least he didn't kick you.”

  “Or put a knife to my throat.”

  The moonless, uncaring South Dakota night cloaked the land around Rapid City, but Lucas told Meredyth of its beauty, that it was wild and uninhabitable, nowadays serving as a playground for summer tourists in buses and by the carload. Every twist and turn in the highway he
re presented people with an awe-inspiring panoramic view of waterfalls and mountain peaks.

  It was just past three A.M. when they touched down at Rapid City, where they looked for a cab to take them out to Black Hawk.

  “Why don't we just stay at that Wagon Wheel place where Lawrence got us reservations?” she asked. “You know, no surprises...”

  'Too many people know about us coming up here.”

  “Such as?”

  “Pilot, clerks, Pardee, Lawrence, who knows who else? I'd just as soon they not know where I am when my eyes are closed.”

  “I thought you were easing off that paranoia kick.”

  “Who? Me? Paranoia's good defense against dead, Mere.”

  She secretly liked the way he shortened her name. No one else called her Mere. “Do you really think Pardee and Amelford might... ambush us?”

  “At this point? I think anything's possible. Come on. There's a cab.”

  They went the extra several miles the other side of Rapid City, and on arriving at the Prairie Wind Lodge, Meredyth found herself pleasantly surprised. It was a beautifully tasteful, extremely well constructed, authentic looking cabin village and main lodge made from what appeared to be native trees. Everything was clean and pleasant, even to a city girl like her.

  “We'll get some rest here tonight. I'll ring your room around nine, nine-thirty, we'll have breakfast, and then we'll arrange for a rental car.”

  She agreed. “Not much we can do in a half-sleep state. I'm exhausted.”

  He signed for the rooms, chatting with a kindly old Indian behind the counter who recognized Lucas. The man had come around the counter to give Lucas a bear hug. He was Lucas's size, perhaps sixty or sixty-five years old. Hard to tell with Native Americans, she thought.

  The man called to his wife and she appeared from a room in back, followed by two younger men, all of them greeting Lucas as if he were a long-lost brother. Even now in the middle of the night. They had been expecting Stonecoat, and had obviously either stayed up late or gotten up early to welcome him. Lucas introduced Meredyth to the Sioux men and mother, all of them smiling at her as if there were no intrusion and no bother. They wanted Lucas to enjoy some fresh-baked bread and a drink, and perhaps some wild Rapid City nightlife if it could be located, but he begged off, indicating Meredyth and saying they were both tired and needed two rooms.

  This request seemed to please them all, as if there might yet be hope of converting Lucas to their tribe. Their oldest daughter had joined them in the lobby, and was now staring out from behind jet-black hair that veiled her eyes. Perhaps they had hopes of Lucas joining their family, since they knew he had been divorced from a witchy white woman in Dallas.

  Meredyth was sure they liked the idea that she and Lucas were not sharing the same lodging. They went straight to work, assigning them rooms, taking Meredyth's bag and leading the way. Soon, with a few handshakes and pleasantries, Lucas and Meredyth found themselves in their rooms—special accommodations here in the main lodge that had been readied for their arrival.

  The interior was modern rustic, the walls filled with Indian primitive art, men hunting buffalo, wolves racing through the night in packs, antelope and elk and warfare scenes. There was no air-conditioning, so Meredyth decided this must have been what Lucas meant by rustic. Still, the air was cool and a lazy, serpentine breeze filtered through the open windows.

  She took a pleasant shower, and when she returned to the room, she realized just how richly warm were the colors of the wood. But most of all, the bed was soft and inviting and Meredyth quickly, easily found sleep.

  She didn't know why, but she felt safe here with Lucas Stonecoat in the room just across the hall from her, in the midst of the Badlands of South Dakota.

  Meredyth had eaten lightly, despite the sumptuous outlay of food on the buffet the lodge offered its guests by way of breakfast. She opted for cold cereal because she knew what lay ahead for her viewing pleasure. Stonecoat, on the other hand, sampled everything on the buffet, including buffalo sausage, grits, biscuits, biscuit gravy, scrambled eggs, hash brown potatoes, and something called French and Indian toast.

  Now they were at a place called Buck Mountain, elevation five thousand something feet, population fifty-three, now fifty-one, with the deaths of two of its summer residents. The victims were a surgeon named Maurice T. Shirley, near the pinnacle of his career and life at thirty-five, and his wife, Emily, who had recently married Shirley in a civil ceremony that had been kept hush-hush. Buck Mountain and Rapid City were summer home to Shirley, who was described in his usual home of Fort Worth, Texas, as a pillar of the community and an up-and-coming political force, as he was heavily into politics and very much the liberal Democrat. But on entering the Buck Mountain estate, a palatial playground overlooking vast reaches of the Badlands' surreal beauty, Lucas and Meredyth found little remaining of the former power in Fort Worth or his recent bride.

  Their lifeless, bloodied torsos seemed posed like grisly, gruesome artworks on a single wall before a three-sided window that gave a panoramic view of the surrounding foothills and rainbow-colored mountains and buttes shimmering in the morning sun beyond, undisturbed by the human tragedy. Meredyth looked from the awful bodies to the distant mountain walls and found herself questioning her own eyes. She knew the mountains were real, she was looking at them, but at the same time, her mind kept saying nothing could be so beautiful in the sight of such horror as that a few feet behind her.

  Miraculously, the press had not been alerted, so there were no cameras flashing other than police photographers and a man with the FBI. They found the place abuzz with police officials from Rapid City as well as the county sheriff's office, and uniformed men who were introduced as FBI agents who'd come in from Pierre, the state capital, at the request of Rapid City officials.

  “Agent Bullock, Agent Price,” said Sheriff Walter Hind-man, a garrulous, large man with thick, animated hands and a perpetual smile. 'This here is Dr. Meredyth Sanger and Detective Lucas Stonecoat, Houston, Texas. They're here 'cause they've been shadowing a similar killing, as I understand it, that happened in their neck of the woods.”

  Bullock and Price were tall, tanned, strong young men, polished. They wore ties and dark Brooks Brothers suits.

  “What's the FBI interest?” asked Lucas, knowing the FBI didn't investigate murder unless requested by local authorities to do so. All the same, Price read them the standard line.

  “We're here at the request of local law enforcement. Same as you. Maybe you'd like to tell us more about why you're here?”

  Meredyth launched into a full explanation, detailing their involvement, concentrating mostly on the murder of Judge Mootry, but laying out the trail of other deaths. “That's what took us to Oregon,” she finished.

  “Oregon?” Bullock and Price looked at one another. “You can't seriously be denying the connection,” Meredyth blurted.

  “We haven't heard anything about Oregon,” replied Price in a cool and controlled voice.

  Lucas shook his head. “Every man for himself, huh? There was talk there of FBI on the way when we left a kill scene very similar to this one.”

  “Damn, really?” Bullock for the first time looked shaken.

  Price and Bullock conferred in a comer about this development.

  Lucas said to Meredyth, “These two are full of it.”

  “Whataya mean?”

  “They're lying. They're putting on an act for us.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Body language gives 'em away. They knew about Oregon; that's why they're here.”

  Price returned to them alone. “We'll happily share what we know if you're willing to pool your knowledge. We need to know everything, just how far you've gotten to date.”

  “Hell, that sounds rather lopsided,” replied Lucas. “I mean, you guys don't even have anything on Oregon.”

  Price's face hardened and Bullock came forward, hearing what Lucas had said. “Forget it, Price. We don't need
these amateurs.”

  “Yeah, forget it, Price,” agreed Stonecoat.

  “You're a damned Indian, aren't you, Stonecoat? You don't particularly like the FBI, do you?”

  “Not much to like about a tail-wagging-the-dog agency that tramples on human rights and breaks up Indian families, no. You are, after all, part of the history of the extermination of Indian rights and lives.”

  Meredyth was trying to snatch him away, but he stood up to the FBI men.

  “We'll keep our own counsel then, and you keep yours, Mr. Stonecoat.”

  “Okay, if that's how you want to play this thing out. Fine with us.”

  “Lucas!” Meredyth hardly agreed.

  “If we wanted to, we could bar you from these premises,” countered an angry Bullock, who was easily Lucas's size and obviously in much better condition. “I'd say we're being fair, Detective. Now make your sweep. Come on, Stu. We've seen enough.”

  When the FBI men disappeared through the door, Meredyth hit him.

  “Ouch! What's that for?”

  “Your stubbornness.”

  “They had nothing we could use.”

  “You don't know that.”

  “They're at least as perplexed as we are as to motive and understanding of these brutal attacks. “How do you know that?”

  “I just know.”

  “What is it, some kind of mystical thing? You can look into their souls because they don't know how to hide their souls from your gaze? Give me some reason to trust you on this, Lucas.”

  “I know what I know, and those two were just in the way.

  Now, if you don't mind, there's a lot of work to do here.” Lucas stepped away, going for the ghastly torsos on the wall, examining each more closely. Wearing latex gloves, he studied the metal shafts that pinned the bodies to the wall. On either side of the metal shafts, the weight of the torsos was pulling them down, enlarging the entry wounds.

  The sheriff wanted very much to take the bodies down and wrap them in body bags for the coroner, who had come and gone, and be done with this day's work. Meredyth could hardly blame him. He had been the force here that had kept the crime scene intact to this point, and he wasn't winning any prizes for his decision to do so.