In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(40)

“Small people can have big feet,” Wright said, “and the depth of a depression can vary with the type of soil, saturation, and other things. I looked instead for high signs.”

“High signs?” Kins asked.

“Large men walk and move differently than men who are short or have a slight build. Look at the bush where the person crouched. I found broken branches several feet off the ground that likely caught on the person’s clothing as he pushed through it to come down the trail quickly. This is someone moving with a purpose.”

Tracy thought of the roommate, Scott Barnes. She had not looked to see what type of shoe he wore when they took the dogs on a walk, but he wasn’t a big man. He was slight and not as tall as her. She estimated five foot nine at best, and guessed he weighed no more than 150 pounds. She thought also of Franklin Sprague and Brian Bibby. Sprague was a large man. Bibby was tall but not big. Plus, his bad back made it unlikely he could climb a slope, especially carrying a body.

And he had the dog.

“If the person lying in wait came down the slope and grabbed her, where did he take her?” Kins asked.

“Up the slope,” Wright said.

Wright went up the slope, where she’d planted additional flags in the dirt and brush. “The boot impressions are deeper and inconsistent, indicating the person stepped carefully and was working to maintain his balance while carrying something heavy up the slope.”

“That’s a pretty steep grade,” Kins said.

“Definitely challenging,” Wright agreed. “It’s another reason to conclude the person was not small and was in decent physical shape. And we can assume from the blood I located that perhaps the runner wasn’t conscious,” Wright said, meaning Cole would have been dead weight—much more difficult to balance and to carry.

“It would explain why no neighbor heard her,” Tracy said. “Did you find a rock or stone with blood or hair on it?”

“No. If she was hit with a rock, the person took it with him.” Wright looked up the slope. “The impressions lead to the backyards of those houses. That’s where I lose the trail, and I doubt I’m going to pick it up again. Someone mowed that yard within the past day or two . . . all of the yards actually.”

Tracy thought of the neighbor, Nancy Maxwell. She said Evan Sprague did odd jobs in the neighborhood, including mowing the lawns.

“The lawn is also mostly crabgrass, so the blades don’t depress or bruise as easily as regular lawn. The mower cut and mulched the grass. I’m going to have to do more work to see if I can find a trail, blood evidence, perhaps after the person stepped from the lawn.”

Tracy didn’t think that likely. “He wouldn’t carry the body past homes with windows, then be exposed on the street while he dumped the body into a car.”

“He or they could have waited until it got dark,” Kins said.

“Could have,” Tracy said. She gave that some thought. “If we make that assumption, then we have to assume Cole was either still alive, or the person wanted to draw attention away from this neighborhood to Ravenna, or possibly both,” Tracy said. “Which would indicate the perpetrator lives around here, wouldn’t it?”

“Possibly,” Kins said.

“If he didn’t live here, he would have just left the body, wouldn’t he? It’s too big a risk. He’d have to have a good reason to take that risk.”

“It’s also a lot of moving parts, isn’t it, for one man to undertake?” Kins said.

“Seems that way,” Tracy said. “Though it certainly could be done by one person.”

“Or three,” Kins said.

“We don’t have enough to get a search warrant,” Tracy said, knowing what Kins implied.

“No. But it’s another reason to talk to the brother who was sick. What was his name?”

“Evan.”

“And the other brother, while we’re at it.”

“Carrol.”

They packed up and made their way to the trailhead as the sun set. Wright intended to return and go over the site in greater detail. Tracy and Kins would seek permission to enter the backyards of the homes. They focused, for the moment, on what they had not found more than what they had found, leaving at least a slim hope that Stephanie Cole remained alive.





CHAPTER 18

Franklin Sprague drove through the small town of Cle Elum, which was quiet on an early Sunday afternoon. He proceeded north onto Summit View Road and continued into the foothills, then turned right onto the dirt road that descended into Curry Canyon. The few houses in this remote area could not be seen from the road, and all were nearly inaccessible in the winter, when the snow came. Not even four-wheel-drive vehicles were assured of reaching them when the heavy snow fell.

Franklin pulled up to a locked fence with rusted signs: NO TRESPASSING, PRIVATE PROPERTY, and TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

Their father had enforced his privacy since obtaining the land some forty years ago. He’d said he wanted land to hunt and fish, a place where he wouldn’t be bothered. He’d fixed up a dilapidated cabin and pump house, along with a barn—though they had no livestock and never did. Like the basement in Green Lake, the barn was a forbidden zone. Summers, their father came out to the property frequently, and often alone. When he brought the family, Franklin and his brothers knew better than to go near the barn or to ask about it, knowing they’d get a beating just for being curious.