Then they were moving again, the boy leading the way as they headed into the wild.

26

JANE STARED DOWN AT THE SPOT WHERE THE DEPUTY’S BODY HAD been found, and she tried to read the snow. The corpse had already been removed. Personnel from both the county sheriff’s office and the Wyoming Department of Criminal Investigations had searched the site, trampling the snow, and she could distinguish at least half a dozen different shoe impressions. What caught her attention, and the attention of the other investigators, were the snowshoe tracks. They led away from the dead deputy’s SUV and headed toward the woods. Moving in that same direction were a dog’s paw prints, as well as a set of boot prints-a woman’s size seven, possibly Maura’s. The trio of prints led into the woods, where the boot tracks later stopped. There a second pair of snowshoe tracks began.

Maura paused among those trees to strap on the snowshoes. And then she kept running.

Jane tried to picture the scenario that would explain these prints. Her initial theory was that whoever had killed Martineau had then taken the deputy’s weapon and forced Maura into the woods with him. But these tracks didn’t fit the theory. Staring down at the snow, Jane spotted a boot impression that overlaid the snowshoe track. Which meant that Maura had been trailing behind her presumed captor, not pushed in front of him. Jane stood mulling over this puzzle, trying to match what she saw here with what made sense. Why would Maura willingly follow a cop-killer into the woods? Why did she make that phone call in the first place? Had she been forced to lure a deputy into this trap?

“They’ve picked up fingerprints everywhere,” said Gabriel.

She turned to her husband, who’d just come out of the house.

“Where?”

“On the broken window, the kitchen cabinets. The phone.”

“Where she made the call.”

Gabriel nodded. “The cord was wrenched out of the wall. Obviously someone wanted to cut off the conversation.” He nodded at the slain deputy’s vehicle. “They lifted prints off the car door as well. There’s a good chance we’ll know who we’re dealing with.”

“She sure as hell didn’t act like a hostage,” a voice insisted. “I’m telling you, she ran for those trees. No one was dragging her.”

Jane turned to watch the conversation between the Wyoming DCI detective and Montgomery Loftus, who had reported the slaying. The old rancher’s voice had risen in agitation, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I saw them here, bending over his body like two vultures. Man and a woman. The man, he picks up the gun and turns toward me. I figure he’s gonna try to blast my truck, so I got off a shot.”

“More than one shot, it looks like to me,” said the detective.

“Yeah. Well, might’ve been three or four.” Loftus eyed the SUV’s shattered window. “Afraid that there’s my fault. But what the hell’d you expect me to do? Not defend myself? Soon as I got off the first few shots, they both took off for the woods.”

“Independently? Or was the woman forced?”

“Forced?” Loftus snorted. “She ran after him. No one was making her do it.”

No one except a pissed-off old rancher shooting at her. Jane did not like the way this story was being spun, as if Maura was one half of Bonnie and Clyde. Yet she couldn’t contradict what the footprints in the snow were telling her. Maura hadn’t been dragged into the woods; she had fled.

Sansone said, “How is it you happened to be on this property, Mr. Loftus?” Everyone turned to look at him. He had been silent up till then, an unapproachable figure who had drawn curious glances from DCI personnel, but no one had dared to challenge his presence at the crime scene.

Though Sansone’s question had been asked in a respectful tone, Loftus bristled. “You implying something, mister?”

“This seems like a rather out-of-the-way place to just show up. I wondered why you happened to be here.”

“Because Bobby called me.”

“Deputy Martineau?”

“He said he was up on Doyle Mountain, and he thought he might have a problem. I live just east of here, so I offered to come by in case he needed a hand.”

“Is this normal procedure, for a law enforcement officer to call a civilian when he needs assistance?”

“I don’t know what it’s like in Boston, mister. But out here, when someone gets in a jam, folks are quick to step in and help. Especially when it’s a lawman.”

Sheriff Fahey added, “I’m sure Mr. Loftus was just trying to be a good citizen, Mr. Sansone. We’ve got a big county to cover, a lot of territory. When your closest backup is twenty miles away, we’re lucky to have folks like him to call on.”

“I didn’t mean to question Mr. Loftus’s motives.”

“But that’s what you were doing,” said Loftus. “Hell, I know where this is going. Next you’ll ask if I’m the one who killed Bobby.” He strode over to his pickup and pulled out his rifle. “Here, Detective Pasternak!” He handed the weapon to the DCI detective. “Feel free to confiscate it. Run it though your fancy lab.”

“Come on, Monty.” Fahey sighed. “No one thinks you killed Bobby.”

“These folks from Boston don’t believe me.”

Jane stepped into the conversation. “Mr. Loftus, it’s not like that at all. We’re just trying to understand what went down here.”

“I told you what I saw. They left Bobby Martineau bleeding to death. And they ran.”

“Maura wouldn’t do that.”

“You weren’t here. You didn’t see her take off into those woods. Sure as hell acted like she did something wrong.”

“Then you misinterpreted it.”

“I saw what I saw.”

Gabriel said, “A lot of these questions might be answered by the dash camera.” He looked at Sheriff Fahey. “We should take a look at the deputy’s video.”

Fahey suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I’m afraid there’s a problem with that.”

“A problem?”

“The camera in Deputy Martineau’s vehicle wasn’t recording.”

Jane stared at the sheriff in disbelief. “How did that happen?”

“We don’t know how it happened. It was turned off.”

“Why would Martineau shut it down? You must have regulations against that.”

“Maybe he didn’t do it,” Fahey said. “Maybe someone else turned off the dash cam.”

“Don’t tell me,” she muttered. “You’re going to blame this on Maura, too.”

Fahey flushed. “You keep reminding us that she works with law enforcement. She’d know about dash cameras.”

“Excuse me,” cut in Detective Pasternak from the state’s Department of Criminal Investigations. “I’m just getting up to speed on who Dr. Isles is. I’d like to know more about her.”

Although he’d introduced himself earlier, this was the first time Jane had focused fully on Pasternak. Wan and sniffling, his stork-like neck exposed to the cold, he looked like a man longing to be in a warm office, not shivering on this windswept driveway.

“I can tell you about her,” said Jane.

“How well do you know her?”

“We’re colleagues. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“You think you can paint a full picture for me?”

Jane thought about how easy it would be to skew this man’s impression of Maura in one way or another. It was all in which details she chose to reveal. Emphasize Maura’s professionalism, and he’d see a scientist, reliable and law abiding. But divulge different details, and the portrait became murkier, the features obscured by shadows. Her dark and blood-splattered family history. Her illicit affair with Daniel Brophy. That was a different woman, prone to reckless impulses and destructive passions. If I’m not careful, Jane thought, I could give Pasternak all the reasons he needs to treat Maura as a suspect.

“I want to know everything about her,” said Pasternak. “Any information that can help the search team before they start off tomorrow. They’ll need to be briefed, when we convene back in town.”