Page 82 of Stockman's Showdown

Of course, the outlaw would grin at that. ‘Leo could have connections in the government, the courts, police, anywhere.’

‘I know. But I promised Marcus I’d keep him updated.’ Ryder sipped on his bourbon, his eyes following the length of that dress, the way it curved on her hips he itched to grip. ‘Where’s Charlie?’

‘Asleep.’

‘What brings you out here?’

‘This does.’ She dropped a scrap of material on the table.

He plucked it up, warm from being in her hand. ‘Elastic? Is this why you went into the sewing shop today?’

Putting her jug of gin on the table, she shuffled through the many images of the original crime scene. ‘It’s been playing on my mind ever since I spotted it in the crime scene photos, yesterday. Mrs Sternston gave me the complete history of that type of elastic. Do want to hear it?’ Her grin matched the shine in her eyes he’d come to recognise when she was being playful. And he liked her being playful. ‘I promise to give you the hard and fast version.’

He preferred long and slow, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, while pleased that she’d made the effort to come and talk to him. ‘Hit me.’

‘This is what they call braided elastic. It’s used on waistlines, sleeve hems, or necklines commonly found in women’s clothing, like the hem of a bodice. See?’ She flicked over the curved edge of her top, giving him a beautiful flash of her hot pink lacy bra.Pinching the elastic between her fingers, she stretched it slightly. ‘It has issues, like it will perish over time and lose its elasticity.’

‘And?’ Was he going to get another peek at that bra?

‘It shouldn’t be part of a murder scene, tucked into the far corner of a tack room.’ She tapped on the image showing the elastic lying in the dust in the corner of the room.

‘Maybe someone dropped it during the investigation? The cop was a rookie. Who knows who else walked through the crime scene before the police arrived?’

‘I get that. But still…’ She shrugged.

‘What did you see?’ Because Bree had a knack of looking at things differently.

‘I looked at the elastic band among the other evidence at the police station, to get an idea of how long it was, then bought some for our crime scene. And another thing, that chalk found in Price’s hand…’ Again, she shuffled through the images of the sixty-year-old crime scene. ‘It’s not chalk. The police report says it’s calcite mixed with limestone and sandstone.’

‘I’m not a geologist, Bree.’

‘That’s the kind of rock that makes up the Stoneys.’ She rolled a white rock across the table.

He sat up in his seat to catch it in his hand.

‘How did Price, who’d been shot, happen to have that rock in his hand? There was no blackboard to write orders on the wall in this room. The photos also showed there were no other footprints, no blood trails, nothing to say he’d gone in search of something to write with. I’ve seen movies where the victim has written their killer’s name in blood. But this…’

She was right.

Ryder scooped up the photo of Jack Price, holding the chalk as he lay on the ground. He stood to compare it to the drawing on the floor where Bree had written:Harry Splint did this.

‘If you were shot in the back, bleeding to death, would you write that neatly?’ She sounded so cold.

‘The adrenaline could’ve kicked in.’

She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Been shot before, have we?’

‘I know you’ve shot someone.’

‘In the bum. He was hurting Charlie.’ The fire in her eyes was both attractive and deadly. ‘And I’d do it again, without blinking.’

‘Okay, Bree,’ he said, holding his hand up to calm her down. ‘I’m not the enemy… Hey, how many were there that day?’

‘Two. The one I shot had Charlie in a headlock over the bonnet of the car. I could hear the pain in my grandfather’s voice.’

He gave her hand a tender squeeze. ‘I’d do the same if anyone hurt my family.’

‘Well, that idiot I shot wailed like a banshee. It was enough to scare away a flock of galahs grazing in the nearby paddock.’ She pulled her hand free, to walk around the string line set-up. ‘That guy was spilling blood through his fingers, with the help of his mate carrying him to the car. He was in no condition to write my name in the dirt out front of the homestead.’ She pointed at her drawing of the body spread out on the floor.

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