Page 50 of Silent Ridge

I look at the door and the top edge of the motor home to see if any cameras have been set up. Nothing. If I was a killer on the run, I would have set up some type of warning system. I look back along the path. I’ve left boot prints in the softer dirt. My boots are size six. His are size eleven. Maybe he does have an intruder system: shoe prints.

And I’ve just left the intruder alert for him.

I go back to the car and Ronnie gives me a questioning look.

“I think this is the place,” I say. “Looks like he has a car and has gone somewhere. Maybe getting supplies?”

Maybe killing another victim.

“What do we do now?” she asks. “Should we have Clallam County try to locate him? There aren’t many towns between here and Port Angeles. Or do you want to go back through some of the little towns ourselves and hope to spot him?”

Neither. I open my car door and find a leaflet on the floor. One of the church groups left it under my wiper blade one night. My soul needs saving but not today.

“Wait here,” I say, and go back to the motor home. This time I step off to the side of my previous shoe prints, being careful not to leave another set.

I stick the leaflet in the crack of the door where he’ll be sure to see it. If it’s not Michael Rader’s motor home, the occupant won’t think someone was snooping around. I then circle around the motor home, staying on the already bent grass. There are no windows or doors on the back side except for a driver’s-side door. There is a large window at the back but it has heavy shades drawn. I would have to jump up to look in any of the cab windows.

I go back around to the door with the steps and knock. I wait and knock again. No answer, and I detect no movement inside. I use a trick I’ve learned from one of the patrol deputies. I begin knocking with the side of my fist on the door and keep the pounding up for a full minute. I wait thirty seconds and start again, this time beating even harder for several minutes. This usually causes some type of response. Last week I served a robbery warrant in Port Hadlock where I used this technique. The guy, even knowing he had the warrant issued for his arrest, came to the door and yelled, “WHAT?”

There’s no response and I look at Ronnie. She’s been watching to see if there’s any movement. She shakes her head and holds her hands up at shoulder level. I don’t know if she’s sayingWhat are you doing?orNothing has moved.Either way, I can tell she’s expecting me to come back to the car, but I have a different plan.

I try the door latch and it doesn’t give. There is a metal tent peg on the ground by the grill. I stick the point of it in the crack by the latch and pry open the door.

I don’t have to look back at Ronnie to know she’s about to shit her pants. I’m committing a burglary. I don’t know if she will ignore this, but I don’t care at this point if it helps me find Michael Rader.

I draw my weapon and announce “Sheriff’s Office” loudly for Ronnie’s benefit and then open the door. I peek inside quickly toward the front and again to the back. No one shoots. I go in.

The motor home is more tricked out than Ronnie’s place in Port Townsend. Michael has some money, for sure. There’s not many places to hide in the back except for a bathroom. I check up front, crouched, gun out. No one is hiding. I crack the bathroom door enough to see if someone is inside. It smells of something strong and I know the smell but can’t place it. I’ll get back to it.

I call Ronnie on her cell.

“What are you doing?” she asks. And rightly so.

“Just keep a sharp eye out. If you see that I’m getting company, honk or call me back.” I hang up before she can say anything.

I put on latex gloves and go to the cab to look for anything identifying the owner. The visor above the driver’s seat has what I’m looking for. Vehicle registration. The motor home is a lease vehicle. I look in the cubbyholes and glove box. There is one pay stub. Monroe Correctional Complex. For Michael Rader. It’s seven months old. He made good money, but not enough to buy this luxury motor home. I’m guessing that, new, it would go for at least $300K.

I start at the cab and move to the back, searching cabinets, under mattresses, under the built-in stove, the bathroom. I find no weapons, ammunition or any gear. There are men’s clothes and a pair of Wolverine boots in the back bedroom, where the curtains are drawn shut.

I go to the bathroom again. The smell is strong but not unpleasant. Then it hits me. Almonds. I look in the cabinet under the sink again and find a container the size of a round Morton Salt box. The label identifies it as rat poison. I take the container out and don’t have to sniff it to recognize it as the source of the smell. There are granules in the sink and on the small countertop. Mixed in with this are black seeds that remind me of apple seeds.

I notice the top is not pushed down securely. I pop it open and inside I find a dozen or more small syringes. One is loaded with some type of thick, dark liquid. Either Michael is a diabetic or he’s mainlining cyanide.

I take a bag out of my pocket and collect a loaded syringe. I take another bag and collect some of the rat poison from the container and another bag for some granules and seeds from the countertop. Before I leave the motor home I look around to be sure I left the place as I found it. I don’t see anything to collect for DNA comparison but remember a piece of some type of fruit or vegetable I didn’t recognize in the refrigerator. It is cut in half and in a plastic bag. Part of it has been bitten off. I put that bag inside a bag of my own. Then I go outside, use my blazer sleeve to wipe my footprints from the metal steps. I open the grill lid and see something has melted on the grate. I pry it loose. It’s melted plastic with a needle on one end. A syringe. I collect it and head back to my car. It’s in the trash so fair game as far as evidence goes.

Forty-Six

We get back in the car and I show Ronnie what I’ve found.

“Let’s go to the crime lab. I want Marley to tell me what all of this is and see if he can get DNA from the mango- or avocado-looking thing.”

“That’s not either of those things,” Ronnie says, looking at the bag with the fruit in it. “It has seeds like an apple.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I say. If this stuff is what paralyzed Monique, and if the DNA matches any found at the scene, he’s as good as caught. Anything that happens when I find him will be legal. I’ll make sure of that.

I give Ronnie the lease information for the motor home. It’s leased out of Seattle. Long term. Lease-to-own. She calls the lease agency and they have the same address in Silent Ridge. The woman she talked to said Michael made a substantial up-front payment, in cash, of more than half of the cost of the vehicle. That explains their lack of a background check to verify the address is real.

I call Sheriff Gray and explain what we’ve found.

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