In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(2)

“Couple days ago.”

Now we’re getting somewhere, Buzz thought. “Who’s her boyfriend?”

“Tommy Moore,” élan said.

“You know him?”

“Went to school with him, but he wasn’t her boyfriend then. I introduced them after.”

“When was that?”

“Two years ago.”

“They’ve been dating for two years?”

“No,” Nettie said, emphatic.

“No, I was in high school two years ago,” élan said.

“élan didn’t graduate,” Nettie said.

Buzz got a strong sense that Earl and Nettie had not approved of their daughter’s relationship. “How long did Kimi and Tommy Moore date?” Buzz asked.

Nettie gave a dismissive wave. “It wasn’t serious. I told you, Kimi is going to college.”

Buzz looked to élan. “Six months,” he said. “They started dating end of last year.”

Buzz put a star next to the name “Tommy Moore” in his notepad. “Do you know where he lives?”

élan gestured toward the trees. “Husum.”

Buzz would call it in and get an address. “What does he do?”

“He’s a mechanic. And he boxes. He’s a Golden Gloves champ.”

“Why’d they break up?”

élan shook his head and hunched his shoulders against the cold. “Don’t know.”

“Did your sister ever tell you they were having problems?”

“We don’t talk.”

That caused Buzz to make another mental note. “You and your sister don’t talk?”

“No. Tommy said things weren’t all that great. Kimi can be a bitch.”

“élan,” Earl said, clearly upset.

“Hang on,” Buzz said. “Did Tommy say why things weren’t great?”

“Just that Kimi got kind of full of herself.”

Earl intervened. “It wasn’t serious.”

élan rolled his eyes and turned away.

Before Buzz could ask another question, Earl and Nettie looked past him, and he turned and saw a procession of headlights through the trees.

“Could this be her?” he asked.

“No. These are people I called to come and help.”

Three vehicles came around the bend into the dirt yard. They parked beside Buzz’s patrol car. Men and women emerged, doors slamming shut. The women went to Nettie, consoling her. The men looked to Earl, who turned to his son. “Go with them.”

Buzz raised a hand. “Hang on, Earl. Who are all these people?”

“Friends,” Earl said. “They’re going to look for Kimi.”

“Okay,” Buzz said, “but I want everyone to just hold on a second.”

“Something has happened to her,” Earl said. “Go,” he said to élan.

élan grabbed a pair of boots from the steps and followed the men to their cars, which quickly departed.

“Why do you think something could have happened to her?” Buzz asked.

“Because of the protests.”

“The protests at the football games?”

The Stoneridge Sentinel and the more widely circulated Oregonian had covered the Yakama tribes’ protests against Stoneridge High School’s use of the name “Red Raiders” and its mascot—a white student wearing war paint and a feathered headdress, riding onto the field on a painted horse and burying a spear in the turf.

“Has somebody threatened you?” Buzz asked. “Or her?”

“It has been a source of unrest in the community. Kimi is my daughter. As an elder, I am a symbol of the protest.”

Buzz rubbed at the stubble of his chin. “I’m going to need a recent photograph and a physical description of Kimi, as well as a list of her closest friends.”

Earl nodded to the women, who went quickly into the double-wide. “My wife will provide you names and start calling Kimi’s friends.”

“You know the path your daughter walks home?” Buzz asked.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go back over it before the snow starts falling.”

They hurried to his patrol car and slid inside. Sensing Earl’s unease and thinking of his own children, Buzz said, “We’re going to find your daughter, Mr. Kanasket.”

Earl didn’t respond; he just stared out the windshield, into the darkness.





CHAPTER 1


Thursday, October 27, 2016

Seattle, Washington

Tracy Crosswhite had just emptied the bullets that remained in her Glock .40’s magazine, six shots at fifteen yards in less than ten seconds, when her cell phone buzzed. She holstered her weapon, slid off her ear protection, and checked caller ID. Her three students stared slack-jawed at the target. Each shot had been a center-mass hit within the target’s smallest-diameter circle.

“I have to take this,” she said, stepping away and speaking into the phone. “Tell me you’re calling because you miss me.”

“You must be a magnet for murders,” her sergeant, Billy Williams, said.

Lately it’d felt that way. Seemed every time Tracy and her partner, Kinsington Rowe, were the homicide team on call, someone got killed.