Three minutes ago, in order to avoid drawing attention to himself, Alexei had parked the cruiser at a pull-off a few hundred yards down the road from the entrance to the Pine Shadow Sawmill, then he’d disappeared into the woods so that he could approach the property undetected.
Now, he neared the edge of the lumberyard. In a moment he would emerge, grab a sled, and be gone. Once he hit the trails that led to the national forest there was no way they’d be able to track him, not with this snowstorm covering his snowmobile tracks.
My thoughts scampered forward, backward, studying the case from a myriad of angles.
The shooter at the house used one of Donnie’s rifles. Removed the spent cartridges.
I could feel my heartbeat quicken.
Timing. Location.
The lights in the study were off when the officers arrived.
Web pages had been accessed.
But the rest of the residence’s lights were on.
All of them were on.
I put an immediate call through to Natasha and asked her to check for prints on the light switch in the study. “He may have unconsciously turned off the lights when he left the room.” If I was right, the prints wouldn’t match Alexei’s but would match the real killer’s.
I heard a siren close on the road and figured it was Ellory.
Hurried to the road.
Alexei peered between two thickly bristled white pine trees. A man stood about fifty yards away near one of the log piles in the lumberyard, but he appeared to be watching the road rather than observing the sleds.
After a quick review of the snowmobiles, Alexei decided on a sled, a newer-model Yamaha with the key still in the ignition, left the forest, and headed toward it.
Ellory swung to a stop at the entrance to the sawmill not far from me and leapt out of his cruiser.
“He’s close,” he hollered. “I found Wayland’s cruiser just down the road. Wayland was…” Ellory’s voice trailed off. “His hands. I don’t know, this whack job Chekov. He attacked him.”
“Where?”
“His hands, like I-”
“Where is the car!”
He pointed south. “About a quarter mile down the road.”
I considered the typical flight patterns of suspects fleeing on foot.
No, not on foot. Not in this weather.
My eyes landed on the line of snowmobiles.
A man was striding toward them. Jeans, a dark blue parka, a black stocking cap and gloves. I ran through the clothing of the men I’d seen at the sawmill, didn’t recognize him as any of the employees I’d seen so far. Caucasian. Stocky frame. Six feet tall. Gait and posture indicated early to mid-forties.
“Hey,” I yelled to him. “Hang on.”
Alexei heard the man near the road call to him.
Time to go.
He snagged the helmet that was hanging by its strap on the back of the snowmobile, put it on, took a seat, squeezed the throttle, and hit the trail.
“Stop!” I ran toward him, but he disappeared across the road.
By the time I’d made it to the line of snowmobiles, Ellory had already found one and was firing it up. “That’s him. Fits the description of our suspect!” Sean was on his way toward the sleds as well. Ellory took off.
“Stay here,” I called to Sean, hopping onto his snowmobile. I gave him the files, grabbed his helmet rather than Amber’s, and tossed him my phone. “Call for backup.”
I envisioned the labyrinth of snowmobile trails that I’d memorized last night. Analyzed them. Played them out in my mind.
“What are these?” He was staring at the manila folders.
I didn’t have time to explain. “Hang on to them and don’t read ’em. I’ll get them from you later.”
He pointed at the sled. “I know how to handle a sled at high speeds. I know these trails.”
“So do I.”
I tugged on the helmet, cranked the ignition, and headed into the storm.