Page 72 of High Frequency

“She was fucking shot at,” Dan spits out.

I elbow him in the gut as I turn a reassuring smile on my boss.

“I twisted my ankle but I’m fine.”

“What’s this about getting shot at?”

“I was getting to that…”

I turn to shoot Dan a warning look before launching into my description of events. When I get to the part where the shooting starts, Wolff hands Ewing the rounds they collected.

“There may be more, but our focus was on finding Sloane,” he offers.

“Can you show Deputy Schmidt where?”

“Sure. But there was something else,” Wolff points out, piquing my attention. “We heard an ATV start up and take off farther up the mountain. I was going to go have a look.”

“When was that?” I want to know.

“Right around the time we found you.”

“You think it was the shooter?” Ewing asks.

“I’d think it would have to be,” I volunteer. “This is a hiking trail, and not a particularly popular one. Why else would someone be heading up the trail on an ATV?”

“Where does this trail lead?”

“The trail meanders to a small lake about four miles from the trailhead. It loops around the lake and returns the same way,” Bo answers the sheriff, showing him on the map.

“So whoever went up there has to come down the same route, basically,” Ewing concludes.

“Is there anything else up there? Hunting cabin?” I probe further.

“Nothing visible on the satellite,” Bo indicates. “But it wouldn’t be unless it was built in a clearing. Lots of hunting shacks up in these mountains no one but the builder knows about.”

“Is this BLM or US Forest Service land?” I follow up.

If it falls under Bureau of Land Management, you’re not allowed to build anything, but with the USFS, you can apply for a permit to build a recreational cabin. A permit would mean a paper trail we could follow.

“Most of the land here is US Forestry,” Wolff informs me. “There are a few pockets of BLM land, and some privately owned sections, but the bulk on this side of the Fisher River is national forest.”

“Frank, you take one of the ATVs, and go with Wolff. Do the whole trail, see what you can find. Look for tracks, trails, shelters,” the sheriff orders the deputy.

“I’ve got a forensic team coming in,” he continues. “I’m going back to the trailhead to wait for them. Jillian, are you able to hang around to show the team the dumpsite?”

“I can show them,” I pipe up, sensing which direction this is going in.

Junior pins me with a look. “No, because you’re getting that ankle checked out.”

Behind me I hear Dan mutter, “Thank you.”

“I can stay,” Jillian answers the initial question. “I’ll head back to the trailhead with you for a bit though. I need to feed Emo.”

I’m annoyed at being sidelined—this is my case, dammit—but I recognize when I’m outvoted. Maybe once that ankle has been looked at, I can come back out here.

Ewing nods at her, “Excellent. And Sloane? Call me for an update once that ankle is taken care of.”

I outright reject the sheriff’s suggestion to call an ambulance to pick me up from the trailhead, and concede instead to the least complicated option; to let Dan get me back to the ranch, and from there drive me to Libby.

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