Page 88 of Longest Ride

“Copy.”

Turcotte Ranch. South of Coyote Creek.

Billy picked the lock and entered Dave Turcotte’s ranch house through the front door. The smell of cigar smoke filled the air as he walked through the house looking for anything that might prove to be evidence or even a clue to the murders.

Nothing much to find. Dave was a neat person and his house smelled of pine cleaner under the cloud of cigar smoke.

Billy took a couple of items for DNA testing now that a baby was involved in the case. Billy thought Big Dave was a hothead, but not a murderer.

Cut Bank Hospital.

Travis enquired at the nurses’ station outside the intensive care unit and asked to see Olivia Best.

“She’s not awake, Sheriff, but you can see her for five minutes.”

“Thanks. I’ll just sit with her.”

“It must have been a terrible car accident,” said the nurse. “The doctor doesn’t think Miss Best will recover.”

The breath left Travis’s body as he walked through the glass doors into the unit. He sat down next to Olivia’s bed before he collapsed onto the floor with the weight of the guilt pressing down on him.

There were only three patients in the unit. The rest of the beds were empty. Small hospital in a sparsely populated area of Montana.

Olivia’s eyes were closed. Her beautiful face had turned shades of purple and dark blue. Black around both of her eyes. All of that damage from the airbag. Travis had no idea what the emergency surgery was for, and no one was forthcoming with information.

As Sheriff, he might be able to use his position to get moreinformation from the doctor. He intended to leave a message at the nurses’ station on the way out.

During Travis’s five-minute vigil, Olivia didn’t move and didn’t wake up. Travis leaned down and whispered, “I’ll be back. Wait for me.”

Thompson Residence. Cut Bank.

Travis parked the squad in front of Wyatt Thompson’s house on a quiet back street in Cut Bank. Two-story brick with a six-foot hedge on three sides of the large property.

A fancy home for a guy who claimed to be barely making ends meet running the local newspaper. Where was the money coming from?

Using the paved pathway, Travis walked down the side of the house to the back gate. He passed through the landscaped yard and let himself in the back door.

The silent house had a creepy feel to it. Travis could almost taste death in the house. Someone had died there recently. He was sure of it.

Was it Paula Fleming, and Wyatt had taken her home to Valier and placed her in her own bed?

He began his search in Wyatt’s home office. Looking for notes on the desk, address books in the desk drawers—anything to hint at Wyatt’s life and his recent activities.

Staring at the computer for a minute, Travis wondered if it would hold a clue. He didn’t know much about computer technology, but he figured he could turn it on and see what happened.

After he pushed theonbutton, he expected to be asked for a password and that’s where he’d be stuck, but this one didn’t seem to need a password.

The first screen that came up was filled with kiddie porn.

Travis could barely look, and he didn’t. He turned the laptop off, unplugged it and closed it up to take it with him.

After he finished the office and didn’t find anything else worth bagging, he moved on and did a meticulous search of every other room in the house.

Nothing else incriminating, but Travis gathered up a hairbrush and a toothbrush and bagged them both for DNA testing. He took the laptop and left.

He placed the laptop on the passenger seat of the squad thinking Harlan could find out what Wyatt the Weasel was doing with those disgusting pictures.

Wyatt is turning from a weasel into a goddamned pervert right before my eyes.

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