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  “If somebody was a blacksmith and made their own branding tool or it was purchased at an antique shop or flea market, there’s the chance that we’d never find out what the brand symbolizes or what state it originated from.”

  “That’s correct, Agent DeLeon.”

  “Okay, we don’t want to tie up your afternoon. We’ll go through the brands ourselves if you can get us the names of the cattle buyers and sellers. We’ll meet up with you tomorrow, and hopefully, every auction house will have sent you their records.”

  “Deal.”

  I gave Jeff my card, and we thanked him and left with the website address and links to all the brand images.

  “Let’s have a late lunch, find a hotel, and get started. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” Renz said.

  Chapter 28

  “Just say the word, and I’ll make that nosy bitch disappear, Boss.”

  “You’re sure she saw your face?”

  “As clear as day for a second or two. She was only a few feet from me, but I think she was so stunned she might not remember what she saw. The problem is, I don’t know if that blow to the head killed Cassie or not. It wasn’t like I could stick around and check for a pulse or give her another whack. I had to get the hell out of there.”

  Bart swallowed the shot of whiskey he’d poured. “Not the best-case scenario, you know.”

  “I realize that, sir, but who would have thought some bitch would be strolling through the woods right when I discovered Cassie? What are the odds of that happening?”

  “Obviously one hundred percent in your case, Donny.” Bart jerked his chin at his ranch hand. “Let me see that picture you took of their car again.”

  Donny slid his phone across the table then gulped his own shot. “I’ve already pulled the DMV records for that VIN. The car belongs to a Byron Philips out of Bozeman.”

  “And you have the address?”

  “Sure do.”

  Bart rattled his fingertips on the table. “Do you know the exact location where you found Cassie? Could you find it again?”

  “Yeah, but no matter if she’s dead or still hanging on, it isn’t like those people were going to leave her out there. I’m sure they called 911, and when the cops showed up, they probably had plenty of questions for that woman. If I called the hospital to ask if Cassie was admitted, it would definitely raise suspicion. Since she doesn’t have any identification on her, they’d ask who I was and how I knew she was there. I’m just hoping that couple didn’t get a good enough look at my truck to describe it to the cops.”

  “Right, but there’s the brand too. If she’s been hospitalized, they’ve seen it by now.”

  “Yet there wasn’t any mention of a brand in the Whitehall news article about Jeremy. I’m thinking law enforcement doesn’t want that information leaked to the public.”

  Bart groaned. “Maybe not, but between the hospital, the cops, and the ME, they’re likely to share that information with each other.” He tipped his wrist. “You have a couple of hours before dark. Drive to Bozeman and sit on that house. Don’t leave until you see their car. I want to know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s where that woman lives. Meanwhile, I’ll come up with a plan to keep her quiet. The last thing we need is for law enforcement to find out who we are, where we live, and what I’ve been up to for two decades. We’ve never found Malcolm’s body either, and I’m sure his wallet with his ID inside is in his pocket. His remains are just one more thing deputies might stumble over if they start snooping around out there, and that’s a problem I don’t want to deal with.”

  “You got it, Boss, and I’ll let you know as soon as I have a positive ID on that woman or the car.”

  Bart looked out the window at the kids cleaning the cattle pens. He poured another shot of whiskey and gulped it. “I wonder if I should cut my losses and get rid of every one of them now in case the law does come calling.”

  Chapter 29

  “This is a daunting task, Renz. I would have never known there were this many styles of brands let alone animals to put them on. It’s unbelievable.”

  “And we aren’t finding what we’re looking for either.” Renz leaned back, stretched, and checked the time. “We’ve been at this for two hours and just reached the thirty-second county.”

  I huffed. “And if we intend to look at the antique brands, we’ll be doing this for days.” I stood, checked the mini fridge for drinks, then closed the door.

  “Nothing to your liking?”

  “Sure, but I’d rather have a drink at a real bar and get my money’s worth.”

  Renz laughed. “Our daily stipend is paying for it, not us.”

  I nodded. “I know, but honestly, I just need a break. I don’t think we’re going to find anything looking through brands. Say we find the right one and it’s an antique from some other state from the eighteen hundreds. How in the hell would that help us now?”

  “It wouldn’t.”

  “Exactly. I guess I was hoping for the right brand to lead us to the right person who’s the killer.” I plopped down in my chair and stared out the window at the distant mountains.

  “How many cases do you recall that were easy?”

  I stuck out my lower lip. “None. I’ll admit, the way the killer disposes of the bodies is genius. He’s mobile and cunning, and that makes him even more slippery. All we need to do is find that damn ranch. If only—”

  “Wait! You forgot to check your emails from Dr. Kingston, the Kansas ME.”

  “That’s right. I was so focused on the damn brands, I haven’t looked to see if he emailed us the order of decomp. From the killer’s starting point in Montana, it’ll tell us his route and maybe the day-to-day cattle auctions he hit.” I clicked on my emails, and a message from the doctor had come in. I opened it and read it aloud. Basically, the route was nothing like we’d thought. The killer had gone from Montana to Nebraska then to Missouri, Kansas, Utah, and we’d assumed back to Montana.

  “So we pictured counterclockwise because that’s the way we went, but he went absolutely the opposite way.” I highlighted his route on the interactive map and stared at it. “I don’t want to create more work than we need to by checking every auction and dates in those other states. We need something easy.”

  “So think like the killer?”

  “Or just follow the map through his last victim’s dump site. We know he started in Montana, so logically, he’d return to Montana when his run was over. Green River, Utah, was his last dump site, then he’d go north from there. So what is the most direct route north?”

  Renz looked at the map. “I-15 to Butte and Whitehall is where the first body was discovered. Do you think he lives in that area?”

  “Not sure, but I bet wherever he lives, it isn’t far from there.”

  “Humph.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “I’m just remembering what Jeff said.”

  “Which part?”

  “The part about most of the cattle ranches being closer to the central part of the state. We also saw that cluster of auction houses and stockyards east of Butte.”

  “True enough. We’ll have to give the central area a closer look.” A new thought popped into my mind. “It isn’t physically possible to have an entire trailer filled with cattle to take to auction and still be able to offload dead bodies throughout the drive. Either the trailer is retrofitted with a hidden compartment separate from where the cattle are or—”

  “Or what?”

  “Or he’s a buyer, dumps the bodies along the outbound route, and doesn’t hit the auction houses until his drive home.”

  “Not a bad theory, Jade, but it still doesn’t give us the area where he lives. There’s a lot of open country in this state.”

  We studied the map even more intensely. I pointed at the spot where US 41 veered off I-15 in a northeasterly direction. “Highway 41 runs with Highway 56 into Montana, and look where it ends up.” I tapped Whitehall on the screen. “Maybe dumping the fir
st body outside Whitehall was just a diversion.”

  “Possibly.”

  With his finger, Renz traced Interstate 90 east of Whitehall and, after giving that route a closer look, said there were three highways that went north off I-90, and all ended in wide-open areas where ranching would likely be popular. From Livingston, going north on US 89 would take us to White Sulphur Springs. From Big Timber, the northern route on US 191 would take us to Harlowton, and from Billings, the route heading north would end in Roundup, all towns on US 12.

  “Each northbound highway off I-90 ends up in a town on US 12 that also runs parallel to I-90. Those roads are just routes that skirt around mountain ranges, and that’s something to keep in mind. We might be focusing too much on the interstate areas because the auction houses are near them, but there are plenty of US highways that make traveling to the central parts of the state easy,” I said.

  Renz noted that US 12 ran right out of Helena and traveled east. “Maybe after we talk to Jeff again in the morning, we can take a drive east and have a look at the area. He’d probably know where most of the wide-open spaces are and where ranching is popular.”

  I agreed that was a great idea, and from what the map showed us, most of the flat land was east of White Sulphur Springs. “Wow. I just noticed the most logical route the killer would have taken to Nebraska.”

  Renz shook his head. “Yep, go figure. We’re familiar with those roads. That’s for damn sure.”

  From Billings, Montana, the killer would likely go through Gillette, Wyoming, and Rapid City, South Dakota, two cities we’d been through several times when trying to capture Leon Brady and Gary Rhodes, the criminals who snatched teenaged girls to sell to traffickers. Leon ended up dead, and eventually, we caught up with Gary and apprehended him in Colorado.

  “Now that we have a plan for tomorrow, what about the orphanages and adoption agencies from years gone by? Are we checking into that, or is the team taking care of it?”

  Renz said that Maureen and the other agents had already begun the process, so we would leave it at that. She knew the right contacts and could cut through the red tape to find out exactly what she needed. She said she would keep us posted.

  “Can we stop looking at brands? At least for tonight? My eyes are going blurry.”

  Renz laughed. “Yeah, sure. The names we get from Jeff might be more useful anyway, and there’s the possibility of getting that same information from auction houses in the other states the killer passed through. That way, we can look for repetition of any names of customers at auction houses in Utah, Kansas, Missouri, and Nebraska if we have to.”

  “That’s a great idea. Now, as long as we’re done for the night, let’s go have that drink.”

  Chapter 30

  “What did you find out, Donny?” Bart had been sitting by the phone for hours, willing it to ring, and at seven thirty, it finally did. Nobody other than his ranch hands had his number, so he knew it had to be Donny.

  “They live in a sparsely populated area, so I’d stand out like a sore thumb if I sat on their house. I waited down the street and watched the house for two hours until I finally saw the vehicle drive by and pull into the garage. The man and woman were both in it.”

  “Good. Torch the place tonight while they’re sleeping. May as well get rid of the husband, too, since the wife likely told him everything she remembered about the incident. It won’t look like she was targeted either if they both end up dead. Call it bad wiring. Who knows and who cares as long as they’re both dead.”

  “It’s a two-story house, Boss. It’s going to take a bit for the fire to reach the second floor.”

  “As long as there isn’t a way to escape, meaning you need to make sure all exits are fully engulfed in flames. If they live out in the country like you say, it’ll take a few minutes for the fire department to arrive anyway. Spend your time picking up gas cans but not there in Bozeman. Go to Butte so you can cover your tracks. Buy one gas can at one store and another somewhere else. Get your lighters from a service station’s quick mart. Don’t buy more than one thing at one place.”

  “Got it. I have plenty of time to kill before they meet their maker.” Donny laughed at his pun.

  “Okay, no screwups. Get rid of them both, make sure they can’t escape, and make sure you aren’t seen. Look for cameras and avoid each and every one. Call me after the deed is done. I don’t care what time it is. Get a big hat while you’re out to hide your appearance.”

  “Will do. Talk to you later.” Donny hung up, turned around on the road, and headed west on I-90.

  That woman has to die before the sheriff hauls her in to work with a sketch artist. The last thing I need is to see my face plastered across every TV screen in Montana.

  It was nine o’clock by the time Donny reached the nearest twenty-four-hour big-box store in Butte. He picked up a five-gallon gas can and a black ball cap without a logo or design on it. He checked out, drove a mile to another all-night store, and purchased a second gas can and left. Before he reached the interstate to head east, he pulled into the pump at a gas station, filled both cans, and went inside to pay.

  The clerk nodded hello. “That’ll be twenty-seven dollars and thirty-eight cents, sir.”

  Donny tipped his chin at the lighters—two for three bucks. “I’ll take two of those lighters too.”

  “You bet. Would you like them in a bag?”

  “Nope, my pocket will work just fine.” Donny passed two twenties across the counter, retrieved his change, and left. It would take an hour and a half to get to Bozeman, then he would wait until late at night to complete the act. He couldn’t risk having anyone in the neighborhood witness what he intended to do.

  After scanning the radio stations that came in and out during his drive, Donny stopped on the one that came in the clearest. He needed some good country music to listen to for the next ninety minutes. A newsbreak interrupted one of his favorite songs.

  “Damn it.”

  Donny reached for the knob to change the station but pulled back when the newscaster spoke of two mutilated bodies discovered that afternoon by hikers in the Helena-Lewis and Clark National Forest.

  Both bodies—one belonging to a man and another to a mountain lion—appeared to have fallen over the mountain’s edge and been gnawed on by opportunistic wild animals. The sheriff’s office, EMTs, and the National Park Service had arrived on scene and closed off the trails until the bodies were removed.

  “Son of a bitch! That has to be Malcolm.”

  Donny screeched to a stop on the shoulder, pulled his phone from his hip pocket, and dialed Bart’s number. After setting the phone to Speaker, Donny placed it in the cup holder and pulled back out onto the highway.

  “What’s up? Did you buy everything you need?”

  “Yep, and I’m heading back to Bozeman.”

  “Then why are you calling?”

  “Boss, we have a problem.”

  Donny explained what he’d heard over the radio then listened as Bart cursed.

  “I was afraid someone might find his sorry ass sooner or later, but I was hoping to skate by on that one,” Bart said.

  “No such luck.”

  Bart groaned into the phone. “You know what that means.”

  “I do. His remains will bring law enforcement one step closer to us.”

  “Damn it! If only those hikers hadn’t been out there, the weather and animals could have made him completely disappear within a few weeks.”

  “Sorry, Boss, but on the bright side, there wasn’t any mention of his name on the radio, but if they do identify him—”

  Bart cursed again. “Don’t ever use that phrase again. There isn’t a bright side to this mess. The only thing that might save our asses is that Malcolm’s driver’s license shows his name and the post office box number on it, nothing more.”

  “But wouldn’t law enforcement ask the post office who the box belongs to?”

  “Maybe, but it would take a warrant and a lot of r
ed tape to ever get that information. With the box being rented in a company name and that company being a subsidiary of an offshore corporation, finding information and a location of the ranch is nearly impossible. But carrying his ID with him was reckless on his part. I’ve told him a dozen times to leave it in the truck or at the ranch, but no, it was always in his wallet.”

  “So now what?”

  “Now the sheriff’s office will tie it to you. They’ll think you’re responsible for both Malcolm’s death and Cassie’s crack to the head. The media will say there’s a madman roaming the national forest system.”

  “Maybe that’s a good distraction, then.”

  “Not if that woman got a good look at you. Make sure she dies tonight, or your face may show up on the local news tomorrow.”

  “It’ll get done.”

  After hanging up, Donny continued on. He still had another hour to go.

  By the time Donny reached the neighborhood where the couple lived, it was ten thirty. He slammed on his brakes before he even turned onto their street. Through the open yards, he saw something that didn’t sit right with him. Parked along the curb at the home he was supposed to burn to the ground that night were two squad cars from the Bozeman sheriff’s office.

  Donny pounded the dash. It was his turn to curse. “What the hell? The cops are already assuming there’s a connection. There’s no way I’m waiting out here exposed like this. I’d be spotted as soon as the deputies pull out.”

  Donny turned around and quickly left the neighborhood. He had to find another way to deal with the couple, but that night, they would skate by unharmed. Calling Bart to report what he’d just seen wasn’t something Donny wanted to do. Bart would be furious, and Donny would have to face his hair-trigger temper as soon as he got to the ranch.

  Chapter 31

  I looked forward to the next day. We would have not only the results from Jeff’s outreach to the auction houses but also the names of any adoption agencies in the area that had been shut down due to criminal activity.