Page 102 of The Killing Plains

The middle-sized case contained more of the same—Colly’s clothing, washed and meticulously repacked. The smallest was Satchel’s, and when Earla unzipped it, everyone froze. A folded sheet of white printer paper lay within, and beside that, on top of a stack of child-sized t-shirts, was a brown-gray swatch of fur the size of a human hand. Through its empty eyeholes, the red fabric of the topmost shirt was visible, giving the thing a glaring, demonic look.

“Oh,shit,” Avery said.

No one else spoke. Colly was aware of the noise of blood rushing in her ears. Finally, Earla raised her camera and began to take photographs.

“You’ve got gloves on,” Russ said after a few minutes. “See if something’s written on that paper.”

Without a word, Earla set down her camera and gingerly unfolded the page, laying it on the open suitcase. On it was scrawled in rough block capitals:FINAL WARNING. IT’S HARD TO GET BLOOD OUT OF THE WASH.

Russ and Colly exchanged glances, and Avery cursed again. Earla picked up the camera.

An hour later, after documenting the scene, bagging the mask and note, and examining the other contents of the small suitcase, the forensics specialist stood with a groan, her knees cracking.

“I’ll be honest, Russ, I’m out of my league here. The DPS crime lab should take over.”

“No,” Russ said firmly. “The Rangers had their chance.” He shot Colly an embarrassed look. “But it’s your call.”

“I think I agree,” she said slowly. “We’re not going to solve the case through forensics. This break-in’s the act of someone who’s either terrified or cocky. He’s taking stupider and stupider risks, which is good for us. Bringing in the Rangers might shut him down.”

Russ nodded. He turned to Earla. “You’re okay with releasing the scene?”

She shrugged and pulled off her gloves. “Nothing more I can do.”

The four of them went out onto the porch. The sun had set and the azure sky deepened to a dark periwinkle. A few stars were already shining.

“What are you thinking, Earla?” Russ asked.

“That I could use a smoke.” She patted her pockets absently.

Avery produced a pack and took a cigarette for herself, then offered one to Earla.

“I’ll take one,” Russ said.

Earla’s brows rose. “Thought you quit.”

“Yeah, well.” He lit up and leaned against the porch rail. “Okay, Earla, what do you think?”

Earla dropped heavily onto the porch swing. “It’s the same whackadoodle who rigged up that rattler.”

“Why?”

“Who breaks into a place in broad daylight and stays long enough to do a couple loads of laundry? Same nutcase who stands in front of a house full of people rigging a booby trap in a minivan. This perp’s got cojones.”

“Psychotic?”

Earla frowned. “If he was irrational, he woulda got caught already.”

“You think a saneperson did this?” Avery sounded incredulous.

“I didn’t saysane. Rational. Could be some upstanding-member-of-the-community type who passes for normal. But whoever it is, they’re definitely a half-bubble off plumb. Probably fantasizes about going down in history as the ‘Rabbit Face Killer’ or some such nonsense.” She turned to Colly. “Don’t you reckon?”

“I’m not sure. I get the feeling there’s some ideology behind this—I just can’t figure out what it is.”

Colly sighed, staring eastward through curling tendrils of cigarette smoke. Low in the sky, the moon, two days from the full, hung above the bluffs, where a long line of wind turbines turned slowly in the cold gray light.

Chapter 27

It was almost nine o’clock when everyone left the farmhouse. Colly packed pajamas, a toothbrush, and a change of clothes for Satchel and headed for town, her mind in turmoil. She’d always been able to reason her way to decisive action. But since the moment she’d seen the vacant red eyes staring up at her from Satchel’s open suitcase, her brains had felt scrambled, and a heavy sense of dread and uncertainty had settled in her gut.

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