Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(10)

The sheriff motioned to Lance. “Kruger, you already know Todd Harvey.” Colgate gestured toward the other deputy, a wiry man in his late thirties. “This is Jim Rogers. Rogers is a hell of a hunter and tracker.”

“Glad to have you on board. I hear you know the boy.” Rogers extended a hand.

Lance shook it. “I do.”

The sheriff nodded at Harvey. “Todd’s in charge.”

Harvey pointed toward a satellite image of their general location displayed on the electronic tablet in his hand. Forest dominated the screen.

Lance glanced at the image. “What’s on the other side of those woods?”

“A couple of roads. More woods.” Harvey moved the image. “There’s an abandoned campground to the south, at Deer Lake. To the north are farms, individual homes, and a residential development. It’s three thirty. Evan could have as much as a three-hour lead on us. Is the boy familiar with the woods?” Harvey looked to Lance.

“He’s been out there a couple of times, and he’s damned fit. Unless he’s badly injured, he’s going to be able to move faster than the average person.” Lance believed in conditioning drills on top of conditioning drills. Hockey was an exhausting sport. Fit players made a better team—and tired teenagers got into less trouble.

“We’re coordinating with patrol vehicles from the state police and neighboring townships. Normally, I’d limit the search to a six-mile radius, but I’ll expand to nine. It’s easier to tighten the scope of the search than expand it later.”

“Seems you all know what to do,” Colgate said. “Keep me updated.” The sheriff walked away.

Rogers tapped the screen and shifted the map image. “I’m worried about the Deer River. It’s already high from the rains we had last week.”

A fat drop of water landed on Lance’s head. “Won’t take much to reach flood stage.”

More rain pattered on the pavement.

“We’d better get moving.” Harvey stowed the electronic tablet in the car and grabbed his own Go Bag. He led the way around the side of the house. The neighbor’s rear yard was not fenced, and they walked through it to reach the area behind the white vinyl fence that enclosed the Knoxes’ backyard. A fifty-feet-wide swath of tall weeds and grass separated the fence from the forest. A floodlight had been set up at the base of the fence, where the two clearest footprints had been found. Under a tarp strung up to protect the area from the rain, two crime scene techs were casting the prints. Closer to the woods, two deputies searched the weedy ground with high-powered flashlights.

Lance scanned the ground, tracking a line of smashed grass and weeds that led from the fence to the woods. Along the same path, three yellow evidence flags poked above the grass.

“Those flags mark partial shoe treads.” Harvey pointed. “All the tread marks look like they were made by Converse shoes, men’s size 13, which Mrs. Knox confirmed is Evan’s shoe size.”

“No second set of footprints?” Lance asked, thinking of the shooter.

“No. There are no additional tracks to suggest someone followed the boy.” Harvey walked toward the woods, parallel to Evan’s tracks.

Rogers hefted his AR-15 and gestured for Lance to go next. Rogers brought up the rear. They trudged through the wet, knee-high weeds and entered the forest. Once they were under the canopy, overhead branches provided some cover from the drizzle, but they all knew they had to move fast. The light rain falling now would soon become a downpour.

Thick, dense summer foliage also blocked some of the wind. The air became muggy, oppressive. Beneath his body armor, sweat broke out between Lance’s shoulder blades and dripped down his back. He continually scanned the surrounding forest, looking for signs that they weren’t alone and ignoring the swarms of gnats buzzing around his face. He listened for sounds of movement under the patter of rain on leaves.

Rogers bent to study the soft earth, eyeing the distance between tread marks. “He’s moving fast. Running through here at top speed. Not concerned with anything except putting distance between him and whatever he thinks is chasing him.”

Evan had run in a straight line for the woods during the initial stage of his flight.

Lance let Rogers and Harvey study the ground while he continued to watch the woods. The trees were dense, and the darkness pressed in on the men from all sides. Lance moved a few feet away from Harvey and Rogers. Instead of using his flashlight, which would show him only a small section of forest at a time, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the forest. In the split second of brightness, Lance scanned their surroundings. The woods were green from recent heavy rains. The lushness would provide plenty of cover for a shooter who had already proven himself capable of committing an execution-style murder.

Just because they hadn’t seen the killer’s tracks didn’t mean he hadn’t been there. Or hadn’t circled around in an attempt to intercept the teenager.

A person capable of executing an experienced cop might also be skilled enough not to leave a trail of footprints through the woods.

Rogers straightened, and they moved forward. It was impossible to move silently through the dense underbrush. Prickly plants snagged at Lance’s pants legs, and twigs snapped underfoot. For the first half mile, they were able to follow Evan’s flight by tracking freshly broken foliage and the occasional partial shoe tread in the earth.