Page 87 of Cougar Point

Her breath is coming in hitches and screaming has made her nose bleed again.

“Dear God. Please save me. Please. I’ll do anything you ask but please make this all go away. I want to go home,” she says, and her throat feels like it’s closing shut.

“Calm,” she says. “Calm.”

She coughs and blood spatters the top of her thighs.

She assesses her situation for her mind to have something to focus on besides her injuries. It doesn’t help much but sheis calming down. She tells herself not to scream. Not to draw attention because they’ll come back.

FIFTY-FIVE

MARCH 2023

Whatcom County

The footage showed a beat-up black Nissan Frontier leaving the parking lot of the Semiahmoo Resort at 2:27 on Tuesday afternoon. It could be nothing, of course, but he couldn’t pass up the coincidence of the kind of vehicle he was looking for being sighted in the area.

The quality of the video wasn’t great, and the way the light reflected on the windshield meant there was no chance of getting a look at the driver anyway, but the license plate was visible as the car reversed out of the spot. This one wasn’t an Ohio plate, and Lucas hoped it wouldn’t lead to a dead end like the other one had.

Lucas jotted the number down and called Kelly at the station to run the plate. A minute later, she came back with a name and an address. A Duke Scanlon of 216 Burnham Street in Bellingham. The address was only five miles from the resort, and when Lucas looked up the quickest route, he saw that it would take him across the bridge over the creek where Olivia Greenwood’s body had been found.

On the drive out, Sheriff Longbow called to say they were looking at recruiting a replacement for Larry, but it was liable to take a while, what with the budget cuts. That didn’t bother Lucas. He had always worked better solo anyway, and having a partner like Larry Stroud had been worse than having no partner at all. He told Longbow he would like to be in on the process to make sure they got someone better this time.

“Don’t worry, I’ll want your take on whoever we pick,” Longbow said. “How did your session with Dr. Wright go?”

“It went,” Lucas said. “Why, did she call you again?”

“As a matter of fact, she did.” Lucas could hear a smile in Longbow’s voice. “She says she’s impressed with your progress. Obviously she didn’t go into detail, but it sounds like you said something right.”

Lucas was pleasantly surprised. “Good to hear.”

“I guess you worked out how to play her, then.”

Lucas couldn’t help but grin, tried not to let it show in his voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sheriff.”

Longbow laughed. “Anyway, keep up the good work. And let me know how you get on with the black Nissan.”

As the sheriff hung up, Lucas reached the creek. He slowed as he crossed it, taking another moment to examine the scene in new light and conditions, and then sped up again when he reached the opposite side.

He reached the address of the registered owner of the Nissan Frontier five minutes later. It was an unassuming single-story house with white siding in a street of houses that looked similar. There was no black pickup truck in the driveway. Lucas parked at the curb and got out. The street was deserted, but then it wasn’t the time of year for yard sales and kids running around outside. Was it ever the time of year for kids to be out of the house, these days?

He approached the door, keeping his eyes on the front of the house, alert for a twitch of blinds. There was a faded sticker underneath the doorbell with a big red NOat the top and then a list that included hawkers, salesmen, charities, religious groups, but not police detectives. Lucas pushed the bell and waited for a minute. He pushed it again and waited another minute, straining to hear any sounds from inside.

He stepped back from the door and glanced around the street. Still nobody around. He walked around to the back and found a small, paved backyard with a stack of tires in one corner and a garbage can in the other. The back door was locked. The window on the left of the door had a gap in the closed blinds inside. Lucas peered through the gap and saw a threadbare couch and a TV and an empty pizza box splayed open on the floor next to a crumpled can of Bud Light.

He took a pair of gloves from his pocket and walked over to the garbage can, slipping them on. He opened the can and wrinkled his nose at the smell. The remains of some Chinese food, an empty milk carton and some crumpled junk mail. He prodded around a little and saw that one of the items of mail wasn’t junk. It was an envelope that had been opened and the letter stuffed back in before being tossed. Carefully, trying not to get sweet and sour sauce on his gloves, he extracted the envelope and removed the letter within.

It was a lease agreement on some property.

As Lucas was looking for a name, he heard the sound of tires on the road outside and springs creaking as a vehicle made a practiced turn onto a driveway. It sounded like it was this driveway. Lucas quickly folded the lease in half and slipped it into his pocket. He started walking back toward the front, removing the gloves as he walked.

The car that had pulled onto the driveway wasn’t a Nissan Frontier, it was a blue Chevy Tahoe, and the guy getting outof the driver’s side did not look happy to see a visitor on his property.

The guy looked like he might be in his forties, though that could have been the acne scarring on his face making him look older. He wore white sneakers, blue jeans, and a leather jacket. A black tattoo showed on the skin of his left wrist. Lucas could feel the death stare from behind his sunglasses.

“Who the hell are you?”

Lucas took his badge out. “Sergeant Michael Lucas, Whatcom Sheriff’s Department.”

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