Page 8 of The Elementalist
Minutes passed, and soon an hour, then another. I saw no sign of a big cat—or any more bodies on the winding trail. Nothing moved in the dense forest around me, which probably should have been eerie as hell, but wasn’t. In fact, the woods seemed to give off the strangest feeling of security. It almost felt as though the plants and trees themselves telepathically said,we got your back, bro.
Okay, where did that come from?
Anyway, I spent the bulk of my time trying not to trip over exposed tree roots or jagged rocks. The trail varied from well-maintained to hardly visible. Luckily, I had my Rocky Mountain Trail App on my smartphone to keep me pointed in the right direction. And I had the memories of a teenage boy who had thoroughly partied in these woods, once upon a time. So many beers, and so many girls kissed.
Shortly before noon, I heard what I’d been waiting to hear: falling water.
The closer I got, the more thunderous the sound became. Yes, I knew I had a job to do, and yes, I knew that more thanlikely, a killer stalked these woods—even if said killer turned out to be a big cat—but once I heard the rush of falling water, the familiar draw pulled me onward. Indeed, I’d always been drawn to running water, beautiful, mysterious, and relaxing. I had been known to sit next to rivers or streams, watching the water for hours.
Then again, I also didn’t have much of a life, either.
Once again, I was single. Sheriff Waters had decided she wanted something other than me for a man. In fact, a twenty-eight-year-old private detective who barely got by—and who lived in a one-bedroom apartment above his rundown office—probably wasn’t whatanygirl truly pined for. I adored the freelance job and freelance lifestyle. Although it hurt like hell, I didn’t blame her for bailing on me. Our dates at McDonald’s, followed by Netflix at her place on her bigger TV, were marginal at best. I knew she’d felt consistently underwhelmed. Truth was, I had tried... hard. I liked that control-freak sheriff more than she realized. Loved? Who knows, maybe.
With a sigh, I stepped off the trail and headed over a leafy area that would lead to a breathtaking observation point. The closer I moved to the ledge, the more the leaves ahead of me thinned, revealing the magnificent waterfall. My heart thudded in my chest. I was, as always, transfixed by the sight of the rushing water falling through the air majestically. I stepped closer to the edge, a straight drop down a hundred feet or so to a churning pool below. Spray flew up into rainbows wherever the sunlight caught it, enchanting me all over again.
I took in a lot of air and closed my eyes, reveling in the sound of water, which seemed to emanate from the Earth itself. It smelled so damn good here. Clean, fresh, damp, perfect. I opened my eyes and watched the water falling and the drops of spray sparkling for many minutes.
So much power. So beautiful. Soright.
Did everyone feel this way about water, or had I finally cracked? I didn’t know, but as relaxing as I found this place, I still had a job to do. I reluctantly tore my gaze away from what amateur and professional photographers alike hiked hours to snap, what lovers idealized as the perfect romantic setting, and, apparently, where one killer stalked its prey, beast or otherwise.
Of course a beast, I thought. You saw the claw marks, the bloodied footpads. The forensics reports.
Yup, and something was still off. And I think Sheriff Waters knew it. I picked up on the way she wouldn’t look me in the eye. She knew more than she let on, and didn’t want to talk about it.
Or maybe she still kinda liked me.
Doubtful... but a guy could hope.
Chapter Four
A Little Out of the Way
I began a detailed inspection of the area.
Step by step, I looked up, down, and around, seeking anything that looked out of place in this verdant, clean forest. It took me ten minutes of searching, but I finally found a scrap of yellow police caution tape still tied to the branch of a bush, where it fluttered in the breeze like a dead butterfly’s wing. The stark yellow movement hit me like a slap that knocked me from my profound admiration of this ethereal place and landed me right in the reality of the crime scene.
However, animal attacks didn’t technically count as crime scenes. No one drags a cougar to trial for killing someone… unless we’re talking about a fifty plus woman who still thinks she’s thirty.
I stood back and took in the area, the rocky path cleaned, undoubtedly by the park service. Here, in this lovely place, two people had been killed. An uncountable number of innocent teens came here to party, to have their first kiss—and sometimes do more than that. I had some fond memories of this area, too. Kate O’Connor, in particular. My first kiss.
The fluttering yellow police tape once again dragged me out of my nostalgia. Sheriff Justine’s people had left it behind after they’d collected all their evidence.
Speaking of evidence…
There had to be something they missed. What had the police, in their haste to wrap this case up, overlooked—either on purpose or by accident? The deaths happened about a week ago and this area saw a steady stream of hikers due to its popularity. However, itdidtake an ass-busting walk to get out here, so it didn’t havesomany visitors that the site would have been trampled.
A half dozen bouquets of flowers sat in a cluster nearby, but in the wrong place. Comparing the scene with the mental image I had of the photographs in the police report, I wandered around until recognizing the actual spot where the bodies had been discovered.
Whether or not a big cat had killed them, two people had lost their lives either here or near here. And Crystal had heard it all. For the next ten minutes, I made my way around that area, taking note of a dark spot in the dirt that could’ve been blood. The area had plenty of footprints, but one half-print stood out from the rest. Dress shoes… or at leastnothiking boots. I fished out my cell phone and snapped a photo of it from several angles. No one in their right mind would come out here without hiking shoes—except for those vegan barefooter hippie types, but I did sayrightmind. I couldn’t locate any other examples of a smooth-soled shoe. It could’ve been anything from a penny loafer to some thousand-dollar obscenity someone from the Founding Families would own. If it had any tread at all, a week’s passing eroded it.
Even Dana and Luke, who’d been here for a party, had been wearing shoes appropriate for the deep woods. I pondered tracking down a list of attendees and asking them if anyone remembered seeing someone at the event wearing dress shoes. Some of the Founding Family crowd had their eccentricities, so I wouldn’t put it past possible for an idiot to have come out here in a suit that cost more than my truck.
I searched in an outward-expanding spiral for any more signs of the mysterious shoeprints around the rocky clearing, noting many other footprints and scuff marks.
Some looked fresh, others not so much. Police and investigators, along with medical examiners, would have been swarming the area. Undoubtedly, they had tried not to contaminate the crime scene. Afterward, the place would havehosted numerous hikers and campers, many to come pay their respects. No telling how many had tromped through... certainly quite a few based on the amount of flowers.
The sun was hot on my neck. And yeah, I did regret wearing that jacket. Mosquitoes buzzed. In the background, the waterfall surged. The wind felt good on my face. I squatted often and sifted the dirt between my fingers, which always felt oddly comforting.
