Trotsky. She was just a nobody, Doug couldn’t bring up any real emotion or regret.
No emotion except the bubbling anger he’d never understood.
He looked out the window, saw nothing and no one. Nothing at all. The damn wind was kicking up snow all over the place and it was loud. How could the wind make so much noise? He’d always thought snow was silent, but there was nothing quiet about this blizzard.
In the daylight, he had seen there were marked paths leading to the lodge through some sparse trees. He’d watched which way Aaron and the hot writer had gone. Other trees were marked as well. That would lead him back to his cabin—and his gun.
“Thanks for a great party, baby,” he said to the dead woman and left.
He’d give Aaron another chance, Doug thought as he hiked back to the cabin where he’d left his gun. But if Aaron fucked with him, Doug Chapman would invade the lodge and take over. He hated doing nothing.
And if anyone tried to stop him, he’d kill again to feed the angry monster inside.
Tyler and his men arrived at Nash’s house off South Centennial Road ten minutes after Tyler spoke to Jo. Agent Vigo immediately got on his cell phone. The Centennial Valley had virtually no cell phone service, however there were certain pockets that the locals called “phone booths,” several of which were in Lakeview.
Tyler talked to Nash, who drew him a map on how to get around the avalanche. The detour would add only fifteen minutes to their timetable.
As soon as Tyler and his deputies packed their supplies into the snowmobiles which Nash had already fueled, he motioned for Vigo to wrap up the conversation—they needed to get on the road. The wind had really whipped up the fresh powder and while there was no new snowfall, visibility was poor.
Vigo approached and said, “That was my contact in Seattle, Quinn Peterson. He spoke with Annie Erickson, one of Aaron Doherty’s temporary guardians.
“She confirmed everything in his file—Doherty was raised by friends and family his entire life, being uprooted by his mother when she felt like it. She also said that Ginger Doherty disappeared when the kid was sixteen. Left him with a great-aunt and went to work on a cruise ship. Never returned. Peterson is running down that lead.”
“You think bringing the mother here is going to help us catch him?” Tyler asked. “We don’t have the time.”
“Actually, I suspect she’s dead,” Hans said.
“Why?”
“Peterson ran her social and nothing popped since the year she disappeared. She received paychecks from King Cruises for three months after leaving Doherty with his eighty-two-year-old great-aunt Dorothy Miles. She died three years later, left everything to the kid. A house, some money.
“So I’m thinking if what Ms. Erickson says is true,” Vigo continued, “that Ginger Doherty hooked up with men right and left—that maybe one of them killed her.”
“Nothing in the files on her? No death certificate?”
“Nothing we can find, but Peterson already put out an alert to the locals. Maybe there’s a Jane Doe out there that matches her description.”
“How is this going to help us catch him?” Tyler asked, anxious to leave.
“We need all the information we can get,” Vigo said. “The more we know about Doherty’s background, the greater chance we can predict what he’ll do next.”
“I
know
what he’s going to do next,” said a frustrated Tyler. “He’s going to track down Jo if we don’t get to her first.”
Vigo glanced at Bianchi, then said, “Peterson has letters that Doherty attempted to send to Jo Sutton through Ms. Erickson. The first letter was mailed to her—Erickson didn’t see anything harmful, it was a simple fan letter. Jo wrote back, a generic response—something like
Thank you for writing, I’m glad you enjoyed my book.
Erickson intended to give it to Doherty, but after reading his second letter, she decided to keep it from him and
No emotion except the bubbling anger he’d never understood.
He looked out the window, saw nothing and no one. Nothing at all. The damn wind was kicking up snow all over the place and it was loud. How could the wind make so much noise? He’d always thought snow was silent, but there was nothing quiet about this blizzard.
In the daylight, he had seen there were marked paths leading to the lodge through some sparse trees. He’d watched which way Aaron and the hot writer had gone. Other trees were marked as well. That would lead him back to his cabin—and his gun.
“Thanks for a great party, baby,” he said to the dead woman and left.
He’d give Aaron another chance, Doug thought as he hiked back to the cabin where he’d left his gun. But if Aaron fucked with him, Doug Chapman would invade the lodge and take over. He hated doing nothing.
And if anyone tried to stop him, he’d kill again to feed the angry monster inside.
Tyler and his men arrived at Nash’s house off South Centennial Road ten minutes after Tyler spoke to Jo. Agent Vigo immediately got on his cell phone. The Centennial Valley had virtually no cell phone service, however there were certain pockets that the locals called “phone booths,” several of which were in Lakeview.
Tyler talked to Nash, who drew him a map on how to get around the avalanche. The detour would add only fifteen minutes to their timetable.
As soon as Tyler and his deputies packed their supplies into the snowmobiles which Nash had already fueled, he motioned for Vigo to wrap up the conversation—they needed to get on the road. The wind had really whipped up the fresh powder and while there was no new snowfall, visibility was poor.
Vigo approached and said, “That was my contact in Seattle, Quinn Peterson. He spoke with Annie Erickson, one of Aaron Doherty’s temporary guardians.
“She confirmed everything in his file—Doherty was raised by friends and family his entire life, being uprooted by his mother when she felt like it. She also said that Ginger Doherty disappeared when the kid was sixteen. Left him with a great-aunt and went to work on a cruise ship. Never returned. Peterson is running down that lead.”
“You think bringing the mother here is going to help us catch him?” Tyler asked. “We don’t have the time.”
“Actually, I suspect she’s dead,” Hans said.
“Why?”
“Peterson ran her social and nothing popped since the year she disappeared. She received paychecks from King Cruises for three months after leaving Doherty with his eighty-two-year-old great-aunt Dorothy Miles. She died three years later, left everything to the kid. A house, some money.
“So I’m thinking if what Ms. Erickson says is true,” Vigo continued, “that Ginger Doherty hooked up with men right and left—that maybe one of them killed her.”
“Nothing in the files on her? No death certificate?”
“Nothing we can find, but Peterson already put out an alert to the locals. Maybe there’s a Jane Doe out there that matches her description.”
“How is this going to help us catch him?” Tyler asked, anxious to leave.
“We need all the information we can get,” Vigo said. “The more we know about Doherty’s background, the greater chance we can predict what he’ll do next.”
“I
know
what he’s going to do next,” said a frustrated Tyler. “He’s going to track down Jo if we don’t get to her first.”
Vigo glanced at Bianchi, then said, “Peterson has letters that Doherty attempted to send to Jo Sutton through Ms. Erickson. The first letter was mailed to her—Erickson didn’t see anything harmful, it was a simple fan letter. Jo wrote back, a generic response—something like
Thank you for writing, I’m glad you enjoyed my book.
Erickson intended to give it to Doherty, but after reading his second letter, she decided to keep it from him and
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