Ranger's Justice

He shook himself free of the memory and continued. “I was so nervous around her that if it had been up to me, I’d probably still be searching for the courage to ask her on that first date. Fortunately, Ashley was braver than I was, and she took matters into her own hands. She asked me to dinner, and I said yes. Four years later, we got married a week after graduation.”

“Were you happy together?” Rebecca’s voice was quiet and unobtrusive, the question a gentle conversational nudge to steer him in the desired direction. He knew where they were headed, and he swallowed hard.

“She was my everything,” he said, his throat tight. “Ashley was unique. She was insatiably curious, so full of life. Being around her was like holding lightning in your hands—she had so much energy and spark. Her personality was magnetic, and it was impossible not to be drawn in, to want to get close to her. When she looked at me, I felt like I was her whole world.” Quinn paused and shook his head. “She certainly was mine.”

“What did she look like?”

Ashley’s face popped into his head, the image crystal clear even though he hadn’t seen her in two years. “A little like you, actually,” he said, glancing over Rebecca’s features. “Red hair, pale skin, full lips. She had the most beautiful smile...” He trailed off, unable to continue. Not a day passed that he didn’t think about her and the life they should have had together. Knowing he would never see her again was a special kind of torture, and Quinn often wondered if he’d ever be able to think about Ashley without pain. He knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer like this. Their time together and the year and a half they’d spent married had been so full of happiness, it seemed wrong to have it overshadowed by his grief. But he’d learned the hard way he couldn’t control his emotions, no matter how he tried.

“She sounds very special,” Rebecca said quietly.

Quinn nodded. “She was,” he agreed.

“I know this is difficult for you, but will you tell me how she died?”

He’d known the question was coming, but it still hit him like a punch to the gut. His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly, determined not to shed tears in front of a stranger. Just because she looked like Ashley didn’t mean she was Ashley, and he couldn’t let Rebecca’s appearance distract him now.

“Ashley loved to go hiking. It was something we both enjoyed, and we took a lot of camping trips together. She was so happy when I got assigned to Yosemite as my first ranger job—she always said it was her favorite national park.” He smiled briefly at the memory.

“One of her friends had come out for a weekend visit. They had planned a hike on one of the more advanced trails, but since they were both experienced hikers, I didn’t worry about them. Ashley and Naomi knew what they were doing, and they weren’t the kind to take unnecessary risks with their safety. I had planned to go with them, but I was unexpectedly called in to work. I dropped them off at the trailhead and said I’d try to meet up with them later.”

Rebecca nodded. She probably knew these details already—it was the same thing he’d told the police at the time. He knew it was her job to make him tell the story again, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Quinn took a deep breath. Might as well get on with it. Drawing it out would only make him feel worse.

“After a few hours, my boss told me I wasn’t needed anymore and I could go. I called Ashley and got her coordinates, and told her I’d meet her at one of the waterfalls that was a landmark along the trail. I knew a shortcut and set off. But when I got to the meeting point, they weren’t there. I waited around a few minutes, thinking maybe they’d stopped for pictures or a water break. But when they still didn’t show, I grew worried. I called Ashley’s phone again, and that’s when I heard it.”

“Heard what?”

“Ashley’s phone. I could hear it ringing. The sound came from somewhere below the trail.” His gut twisted at the memory, and he heard the echo of her cheerful ringtone in his mind.

“I... I walked to the edge of the trail and saw...” He trailed off, unable to continue.

“They had fallen?” Rebecca asked softly.

Quinn nodded. His throat tightened up, and he didn’t think he’d be able to go on. He forced out the words, and they scraped against his tongue as he spoke. “They were too far down for me to get to them. I yelled to them, but neither one responded. I called for a medical evacuation right away.” The wait for the rescue crew had been the longest stretch of his life. He’d stared down at Ashley’s still form, unable to look away, straining to see any small movement, any twitch that would indicate she was still alive.

“The police questioned you after your wife and her friend were recovered?”

“Yes.” Quinn turned his thoughts away from that horrible discovery and focused instead on the aftermath. The small interrogation room, not unlike this one, where he’d sat, talking to the detectives.

“Why were you considered a suspect?” She sounded genuinely curious, even though she had to have read his file before walking into the room. Quinn thought about asking her the same question, but decided to humor her with a reply.

“Ashley and Naomi were experienced hikers, and the trail was in good condition,” he said again. “It was determined they had most likely slipped over the edge, probably after getting too close for a photo. But I guess the police had to consider foul play, and since I was the last person to talk to Ashley, that made me a potential suspect.”

“But they never arrested you.”

“There was no evidence,” he said simply. “I told you before, I didn’t kill my wife or her friend. No matter how hard the police looked, they weren’t going to find any evidence to the contrary.”

Rebecca was silent a moment, considering his words. “When did you ask to be transferred?”

“About a week later. I couldn’t continue to work at Yosemite—it was too hard.”

“So you were assigned to Big Bend National Park about two years ago.”

Quinn nodded. “It was a good change. Ashley would have loved it here, too, but it’s easier to go to work knowing I’m not going to be ambushed by a sudden memory of us hiking this trail or camping in that spot.”

Rebecca smiled. “I can imagine.” She leaned back in her chair, her head tilted to the side. “I take it you enjoy your job?”

“I do. Very much.”

“And you’re feeling comfortable here? Like it’s home?”

“Yes.” Where is she going with this? Quinn wondered.

“Let’s talk about the women you found.”

The images flashed across his mind and he winced. “I don’t know how much I can tell you,” he said. “Like I told the police, when I found each woman, I called it in right away.”

“I’m sure you did,” Rebecca said soothingly. “I just want to know what you think about the situation.”

Quinn frowned. “What I think?” he asked. “I think it’s terrible what happened to those women.”

Rebecca nodded. “I agree with you. I also think it’s quite interesting that a man who was considered a suspect in his wife’s death was the one to discover these two victims.”

Quinn’s blood ran cold as Rebecca continued. “Another thing that fascinates me is the fact that your wife had red hair. Do you remember the hair color of the women you discovered?”

“Red,” he whispered, his mouth dry as the desert.

“That’s right.” She nodded, looking like a proud teacher pleased with her student’s progress. “Red. Kind of a striking feature, wouldn’t you say?” She leaned forward, as if she wanted to impart a secret. “See, in my line of work, we call that a pattern. It’s quite common for killers to target people who share a set of characteristics—in this case, hair color.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Never said you did,” Rebecca replied smoothly. “I’m just laying out the facts here. It’s one thing to stumble across one dead body. But to find two in two weeks? That’s some exceptional luck.”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Quinn muttered.

“Neither would I,” she said, her tone suddenly harsh. “What is it about you, Quinn Gallagher? Don’t you find it odd that you’ve come across three...no, four dead women in the last two years?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he spluttered. For the first time, a kernel of fear took root in his chest. Was he really going to be blamed for the deaths of these women? There wasn’t any evidence linking him to the crimes, but the way Rebecca was talking made him second-guess his actions.

“Well, I have,” she responded. “And let me tell you, it’s one hell of a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” he said.

“Well, what do you know?” She leaned back and smiled broadly. “Neither do I.”

* * *

“What do you think?”

Rebecca rolled her head to the side, stretching out her neck. It had been a long few hours in the interrogation room, and she was ready for a fresh cup of coffee.

She turned to the detective who’d asked the question. Morris, that’s his name, she recalled.

“He’s not a killer.”

Detective Morris snorted and shook his head. “Just like that? You talked to him for what, two hours, and suddenly you know he’s innocent?”

Rebecca gave him a level stare. “I know he didn’t kill those women. He was on patrol with a partner when the medical examiner estimates both women were killed, which makes for a pretty good alibi, don’t you think? Not to mention, he’s not at all interested in the details of the deaths—he shut down hard when I started talking about it. That’s not consistent with the behavior of a killer. They tend to enjoy hearing about their crimes. Gives them a chance to relive the excitement.”

Morris nodded. “I’ve heard that.”

“He’s not the killer,” Rebecca repeated. “But that doesn’t necessarily make him innocent.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s a possibility he’s working with the killer. Pointing out potential victims, then ‘discovering’ them later so the killer can get his five minutes of fame.”

“Like a wingman?”

Rebecca shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Why would a person want to do something like that?”

She sighed, suddenly exhausted. “There are any number of reasons. But I just don’t know if Quinn Gallagher is the type of man who would do such a thing.” She glanced back at the door to the interrogation room, replaying their conversation in her mind. Nothing he’d said had triggered any alarm bells, but it would probably take several interviews for her to pick up on more subtle cues.

“Anything from forensics yet?”

Morris shrugged. “Not really. Fibers and fingerprints are still being processed. They did say the first scene was fairly pristine, while the second was more compromised.”

“So he probably found the first body soon after she’d been dumped, while the second one sat there longer, giving animals and the elements time to degrade evidence.” Rebecca’s tone was thoughtful as she incorporated this piece of information into her mental file on Quinn Gallagher. She made a note to look at the report on his wife’s death, see if there were any similarities across the sites. It was a long shot, but perhaps there were some commonalities. Her gut told her he wasn’t the killer, but she’d been wrong before...

“That’s what the evidence techs said,” Morris confirmed. He jerked his head in the direction of the interrogation room. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

“Cut him loose.” Rebecca stood and caught a glimpse of Morris’s surprised expression. “You don’t have any evidence against him. There’s no reason to hold him.”

“You really think it’s a good idea to let him back out there?”

“Why not? Either the man is innocent, in which case it’s wrong to detain him. Or he’s working with the killer, in which case he’ll make contact with our perp. Just keep an eye on him.”

“We don’t have that kind of manpower,” Morris protested. “We can’t follow him all the time.”

Her phone buzzed at her hip, signaling an incoming email. Rebecca glanced at the screen and shook her head. “Then I guess it’s a good thing your boss requested my services for the next few weeks.” She pocketed the device and smiled wryly. “I’ll stay close to him while I’m here. In the meantime, I need to change my hotel reservations. It seems I’m going to be here for the foreseeable future.”

Chapter 2

It wasn’t a bad room, as far as hotels went. The bed was small and lumpy, the air conditioner louder than a jet engine. But the air was cool and there was a desk in the corner where she could spread out her files. She’d slept in worse places before.

Rebecca sat in the lone chair in the room, twirling up forkfuls of lo mein as she worked through her emails. Her boss, Franklin Jessup, had told her to stay in Alpine for the next week at least to provide assistance to the local police in their investigation. Normally, two dead women in two weeks wasn’t the kind of thing that would register at the national level, but since she’d already been in El Paso for a forensic psychology conference, the request from Alpine PD had been easy to accommodate.

This one sounds right up your alley, Frank had written. He was right; Rebecca had made somewhat of a name for herself focusing on crimes against women. It was one area where she felt she could really make a tangible difference in people’s lives. Women were so often the target of violence—any time she helped put a killer behind bars, she knew she was saving lives of his future victims.

She had to admit she was intrigued by these cases—two red-haired women found in a national park in the space of two weeks. It was a hell of a pace, even for a serial killer. The local police had already dubbed the suspect “the Yoga Killer,” thanks to the characteristic arrangement of the bodies: hands over hearts, legs bent with the soles of their feet touching. She pulled up the crime-scene photos for another look, noting how each woman had been placed in exactly the same pose, even down to the sprawl of hair across their faces.

“So he doesn’t want to look at you,” she murmured, clicking through the images. That was interesting. It seemed the killer had no problem taking a life, but he didn’t want to be confronted by the empty, accusing stares of his victims. Postmortem guilt, perhaps? Maybe he got caught up in the moment when he was hurting these women, only to be filled with remorse after the fact. The possibility suggested he had poor impulse control, but the situation was more complicated than that. Both scenes had been devoid of any obvious evidence, and the crime-scene techs had reported it looked like the killer had taken pains to sweep away his footprints. Initial analysis of the bodies had revealed no fingerprints or DNA, which meant whoever was doing this was careful and methodical. Still, Rebecca knew there was no such thing as the perfect murder. They’d find the clue that would bring this killer to justice, no matter how improbable it seemed now.

She just hoped they caught a break sooner rather than later.

A quick search of the FBI’s national database revealed no other similar cases, either in active investigation or resolved. That meant the killer was just starting out, or his previous victims hadn’t been discovered yet. It was possible the man had been working quietly for years, perfecting his approach. The fact that he hadn’t left behind any visible clues suggested a seasoned professional, but it was also possible he was just a smart guy who had watched a lot of CSI. A search of the database for missing persons turned up a disturbing number of young women with red hair, but there didn’t appear to be any clusters that might indicate the Yoga Killer had been practicing elsewhere before moving to the Big Bend area. Still, she downloaded the report and emailed it to one of the interns at the Bureau with instructions to search through the files and categorize any cases that might be connected. Serial killers didn’t just sprout from the ether; this guy had a history. All she had to do was find it.

She picked at her dinner, the noodles now cold and congealing into an unappetizing glob. Her thoughts drifted toward the park ranger she’d interrogated today. Quinn Gallagher. The man had been forthright and seemingly honest in his responses to her questions, and her instincts told her he wasn’t a killer. But she couldn’t shake the feeling he’d held something back during their conversation, as if there were things he’d wanted to say but hadn’t. His subtle reticence didn’t make him a bad guy, but it did make her want to know more. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why, but she knew in her bones that Quinn was the key to this investigation. The question was, did he know that as well? Was he truly innocent as he claimed, or was he keeping information from her out of a sense of fear or guilt?

Only one way to find out.

“You and me, buddy,” she muttered. Quinn might not know it now, but he’d just acquired a new sidekick. Rebecca was going to stick to him like glue during the course of this investigation, and sooner or later, she’d find out what he was hiding.

Bulldog Becca, on the case. Brandon’s voice drifted through her mind, making her smile even as she felt the old familiar pang in her heart. She and Brandon had both worked for the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and over time their relationship had blossomed from being coworkers to friends to lovers. The day he’d proposed had been one of the happiest of her life, and she’d poured her free time into planning their wedding and honeymoon, daydreaming about their life together and the future they would build.

For a short time, her life had been perfect. She had a job she loved, a man she was crazy about and a future of endless possibilities to enjoy. But it all came crashing down one spring afternoon two years ago.

Brandon had been working in a Virginia prison, and he was interviewing a man on death row who had been convicted of the murders of several children. A few cold cases matched his pattern, but he had never confessed. Brandon was trying to coax more information out of the prisoner in the hopes of bringing closure to the families of the missing kids. It was draining, thankless work, but Brandon was good at his job and seemed to have a knack for getting people to talk to him.

They were about halfway through the interview when a riot broke out in one of the common areas of the prison. The complex was locked down, and the guard who normally stayed in the room during interviews moved to the door, turning his back on Brandon and the convict.

The killer saw his chance and took it. In a matter of seconds, he’d overpowered the guard and grabbed the baton. Then he turned on Brandon, who had been helpless to defend himself against the brutal beating.

Rebecca’s throat tightened as the facts of the murder ran through her head. She hadn’t been able to look at the photos from the scene, and Brandon’s body had been cremated, so she hadn’t had to see the evidence of his violent death. But that didn’t stop her imagination from trying to fill in the details.

Losing Brandon had shattered her heart, and she’d nearly quit her job. Coming to work every day, passing by his office on the way to her own—it had been too much for her battered psyche to bear. Frank had seen how close to the brink she was, and insisted she take a break.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he’d said. “But you need time to heal.”

Rebecca had initially resisted. Rattling around alone in the apartment she and Brandon had shared did nothing to help her grief. So she’d packed a bag and headed to Austin to visit her parents. They’d welcomed her with open arms and instructions to stay as long as she wanted.

The first few days, Rebecca did little more than sleep. In her dreams, Brandon was still alive, still with her. The horror of his death couldn’t find her while she slept, and unconsciousness became her refuge. Her rational, clinical mind recognized she was sinking deeper into depression, but she felt powerless to stop the descent. The disease sank its teeth into her soul, gripping her tightly in a destructive embrace as it pulled her farther away from her family, her friends. Her life.

If not for the actions of her mother, Rebecca didn’t know if she would be where she was today. Cherice recognized what was happening to her daughter and pushed her to see a therapist. Rebecca initially refused, but her mom kept insisting, applying a potent combination of begging, cajoling and tough love until Rebecca agreed to an initial session.

“This isn’t something you can simply will away,” Dr. Varton said during their first visit. “And with your education and experience, you know that better than anyone.”

Slowly, Rebecca began to confide in the man. She told him about Brandon, about her overwhelming grief. And how the depression was making her question her capabilities as a psychologist. If she couldn’t trust her own mind, was she really qualified to work for the FBI?

It had taken time, but with the help of Dr. Varton and medication, she’d grown to accept that the depression was not her fault and it didn’t invalidate her professional abilities or make her less of a person. Four months after Brandon’s death, she returned to the FBI, ready to get back to work. She had a few rough days in the beginning, but as the months had passed, she found she was able to think about Brandon without feeling like she was standing at the edge of a fathomless black hole, playing chicken with the monster that lived in the depths.

Now, a year and a half later, the memory of his voice brought more comfort than sorrow. There would always be a part of her heart that wouldn’t heal, a raw spot where Brandon had lived. But she was getting better about walling it off, protecting it from the slings and arrows of daily life. Still, it was times like now when she wished she could talk to him again, to pick his brain and discuss the case with him. He’d been the perfect sounding board, always helping her to see the pattern or challenging her to look at things from a different angle.

With a sigh, she closed the laptop and tossed the remains of her dinner in the trash. It was getting late and she needed to sleep—she’d already called Quinn’s superiors and confirmed he was expected at work at seven thirty in the morning. She wasn’t quite sure what a park ranger’s job entailed, but tomorrow she was going to find out.

* * *

Quinn arrived at park headquarters the next morning, feeling far older than his thirty years. He hadn’t slept well the night before. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the two women he’d found in the park, and the memories haunted him. Finding the first had been bad enough. When he’d found the second a week later, he’d needed time off to cope. His boss had insisted he talk to a counselor, but it hadn’t helped much. The shrink had suggested some meditation techniques and visualization exercises, but it seemed no matter what Quinn tried to think about, his brain always circled back to the women and, eventually, Ashley.

The distraction of work was his only refuge, but even that had its limits. He was desperate to get outside, to move his body and let his mind take a break. But he was also more than a little afraid of what he might find while patrolling the park.

On the advice of the Alpine Police Department, the rangers had posted notices throughout the area, advising hikers and campers of the recent deaths. The signs were carefully worded so as not to cause panic, but anyone who paid attention to the news would know about the gruesome discoveries in the park. The press hadn’t affected tourism...yet. New campers arrived every day, their packs bulging and their spirits high. Quinn could only hope that the killer had moved on; he didn’t think he could handle finding another body.

“Quinn.” He turned at the sound of his name to find his boss, Gary Thompson, standing in the doorway to his small office. Gary beckoned Quinn over and gestured for him to take a seat across from his desk.

“How you holding up?” The older man’s gray eyes were filled with genuine concern, and Quinn felt something in his belly loosen. He propped his hat on his knee and shrugged.