Page 84 of Stockman's Showdown

He wanted to hold her, but she stepped back, her eyes dropping to his hands.

They were in tight fists.

He hadn’t realised how wound up he was.

But it did nothing to scare the redhead standing before him. ‘You may not have trusted people, but you knew you could trust your family—your brothers, who knew you back before you had money and would treat you that same way. You needed them to…’

‘Defrost,’ said the guy with ice in his veins.

‘And to not hate the world but to see it as place of good. Elsie Creek Station has the gift of being the perfect grown-up’s playground.’

‘I thought it would be a world without enemies.’

They glanced in the easterly direction of Leo’s property, the moment gone. Dammit.

‘I have to ask. In your time in the Army, and with your experience dealing with weapons, is it normal for someone to move around after being shot—like in the movies, leaving a blood trail?’

Ryder nodded, realising where she was heading with her questioning. She was trying to figure out if the scene had somehow been staged. ‘I’ve seen wounded soldiers do amazing things when filled with adrenaline. It’s quite possible for Price to write that message.’

‘He died with the stone in his hand, that wasn’t chalk, and this…’ She held up the elastic. ‘This is part of it, too. Somehow. I know I might not be making sense—’

‘It’s okay, Bree. I’m listening.’ After all, she’d listened to him without judgement. ‘I’m open to any theory at this stage.’ He took the elastic from her hand.

Bree tapped on the photo. ‘Look at the end. You can’t see it clearly in the photo, but when I checked it out today at the police station there’s a loop, like this…’ She knotted one end over into a loop then let the elastic dangle from her fingers. ‘What would you use that for? Specifically this length, and with a loop at the end. It had to be attached to something.’

A creeping sensation ran over his scalp. ‘Hold this end of the elastic and stay right there.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To test it against the model.’

‘You really got into the details of this crime scene, didn’t you? I’m impressed. It’s something I would do.’

‘I’m impressed at your doggedness over the elastic and chalk.’ But he had yet to digest the other part of sharing his soul with her. ‘Keep holding it, I’m going to pull on it.’

She pinched the end with two hands as he pulled the band past the window frame to where he had the dummy-gun balanced on the drum, and right over the trigger.

‘I’m going to let go from my end. Keep it taut. On my count… One… Two… Three.’ He let it go as if pulling on the shotgun’s trigger, the elastic band flung itself across the room, past Bree, and landed in the corner. Exactly like the murder scene’s photo.

‘The elastic was used from outside the room? But… why…’ Bree’s eyes widened. ‘Someone rigged it? Or… did he do it to himself?’

‘That’s a huge leap, don’t you think?’ Ryder raised a brow, but her question had him thinking. ‘Here, take this torch and follow me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To take a look at those oil drums. The images showed the lids were off those drums. There is nothing anywhere to say anyone did a check on those drums. And Charlie said no one touched this room in sixty years.’

‘Er, hello, I came here a few times a week when I was cooking up a new batch of gin.’

‘During that time, did you move any of those drums?’

‘Not then, no. Darcie locked it up and told everyone not to come here. And I purposely left them there as a barrier to keepthis space private. I only moved them to get to the window when I did the makeover of this room.’

‘Which ones were they? I’m looking for fourteen.’ He shone his torch over the two rows of oil drums they’d inherited when they’d bought the station. He knew Cap was trying to think of a way to safely get rid of them.

‘That row near the outer wall.’ On the far side of the long shed, she flashed her torch at the drums lined against the corrugated iron wall. ‘Are you looking for a weapon or something after all this time?’

‘We don’t know. I’m just looking.’ He grabbed a tyre lever from Dex’s workbench for jemmying open the lids. The toxic fumes of the old sump oil forced them to stand back. He did not want to dig around in that gunk.

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