Page 23 of Crosshairs

“Let me get what I wrote up yesterday. It has contact information for a kid that might be Hannah’s boyfriend—it wasn’t in the original report.” Sam retrieved a folder from his SUV. “Clete may have a follow-up as well.”

Sam handed them each a copy. Ainsley took her folder and flipped through it.

“They did the autopsy, but they’re backlogged in Jackson so it’ll be a couple of days until we get even the preliminary report,” Sam added, “but I had a brief call with the medical examiner. There were small bruises around her throat, like someone had grabbed her. He’d found something he wanted to check out before he passed it along, but he did indicate the girl was about three months pregnant.”

Linc winced. That had not been in the report he’d read.

“Did you see the body before they moved it?” Ainsley asked.

He nodded. “I saw the faint bruises, and there was no gunshot wound or any other obvious cause of death. She looked as though she was asleep.”

The autopsy would pinpoint the cause of death. He flipped through the additional report as Ainsley scanned her copy. “I’ll go over this in detail later today.”

All three turned as a Dodge Charger with the Claiborne County Sheriff’s Department logo on the side pulled into an empty spaceon the other side of Sam’s SUV. Clete Randolph climbed out holding a large manila envelope. A gold badge stood out on a crisp white shirt with gold stars on the collar.

Linc liked the sheriff, and according to the reports he’d heard, the soft-spoken Randolph had been reelected four years ago by 80 percent of the voters. That spoke well of the man.

The sheriff adjusted the black tie he wore and strode toward them. Once he’d spoken to Sam and Linc, he turned to Ainsley and removed his flat hat. “Good to meet you, Ms. Beaumont. Fereday said some good things about you.”

“I’ll have to thank him,” she said and shook the hand he extended. “And I don’t stand on formality, Sheriff. Call me Ainsley.”

A smile of approval crossed his face. “If you’ll do likewise. I answer to Clete.” Then he turned to Linc. “I’m surprised but glad to see you here.”

“Thanks,” Linc replied. “It was Sam’s idea.”

The sheriff turned to Ainsley again and held out the manila envelope under his arm. “Unfortunately, I can’t stay today. I have to testify in a murder case up in Jackson this morning.”

Now Linc understood the white shirt and tie. Randolph usually wore a short-sleeved khaki uniform.

“Thank you,” Ainsley replied, taking the envelope. “And thanks for coming in person to tell me you couldn’t join us.”

He nodded. “Call me anytime you have questions.”

After the sheriff left, Sam asked, “You ready to see the crime scene? It isn’t far and we can walk, or drive if you’d prefer.”

“I need the walk,” she replied.

Good. Walking to the Methodist church should revive him. But Linc couldn’t shake the sense of someone watching as he trailed behind Ainsley and Sam. He heard a snap and whirled around, spying a skinny teenaged boy not ten yards from him. “You startled me,” he said.

The boy, dressed in cutoff jeans and a torn T-shirt, shrugged.“Just wanted to see what was going on,” he said. “Pays to know those kinds of things after that girl got murdered.”

Linc identified himself and then said, “What’s your name?”

“Colton.”

“You have a last name?”

“Mason.”

“Thank you, Colton. Were you here Tuesday night?”

He nodded. “We—I’m here with my folks—talked about pulling out after the rangers got through questioning us, but then my dad figured her killing was a one-off kind of thing. And they like the campsite.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

That was an odd answer. Either he had or he hadn’t, and Linc was betting he had. He waited Colton out, keeping his gaze pinned to the boy.

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