Ice (A Chris Matheson Cold Case Mystery Book 1) Read online

  He found nothing. No wallet—no identification—not even a cell phone.

  Chris stood. “Two guesses of where you were staying here in town.” Careful to not leave any more tracks in the snow, he made his way back up the hillside.

  Focused on something across the field, Traveler stood at the bend where Chris had left him and Sterling. Realizing that he had not seen the dog for a while, Chris jogged to the horse and peered across the field.

  The sight prompted Chris to cry out.

  At first, he assumed someone had been hiding nearby and chose to attack and hang his German shepherd from a tree while he was busy with the body.

  Chris charged across the field to where Sterling was swinging from a branch high up above the ground. As he drew nearer, he saw Sterling’s hind legs kick up—causing him to sway from side to side and back and forth.

  He’s alive! There’s still a chance to save him. Chris extracted a hunting knife that he kept in a sheath on his belt and picked up his pace. Why didn’t he bark? Why didn’t he defend himself?

  Three feet from the ground, Sterling kicked his hind legs again, causing him to sway more. The German shepherd’s body jerked. He pawed the air as if to dog paddle.

  As he drew closer, Chris discovered that Sterling had jumped to capture the thin but sturdy branch in his teeth and swing high above the ground. When the ride slowed, he would kick and paddle to continue his fun.

  “Sterling?”

  The dog stopped. He rolled his eyeballs to peer with wide eyes at his master.

  “What are you doing?”

  Sterling opened his jaws and dropped to the ground. He shook to smooth his fur before jumping up to tag Chris in the chest.

  “You scared me to death, you goofball.” Chris was so happy to see that he was okay that he gave the dog a hug.

  “Did you call me out here to help you with this dead body or to watch you play with one of your dogs?” Helen Clarke called to him from across the field.

  After easing Sterling’s paws to the ground, Chris tucked the knife back into the sheath and ran to where she was petting Traveler. She had parked her SUV at the opposite end of the road and walked along the trail, past the body, to join them.

  Sterling ran up to Helen, tucked back his ears, and circled her to beg for a petting, which she gave him with enthusiasm.

  “If you aren’t a handsome fellow. What’s his name?” After Chris had given it to her, she asked about the healing sutures on his chest.

  “He got shot,” Chris said. “That’s why he’s retired.”

  “Poor thing.” She knelt to hug the German shepherd who welcomed her affection with a lick.

  “He’s luckier than his partner,” Chris said. “He was killed in the line of duty.”

  “All give some, some give all.” She stood. Her dark eyes were filled with sympathy. “I’d heard about your wife… getting killed in that terrorist attack—”

  “Thanks.” Uncomfortable with displays of sympathy, he brushed past her to lead her to the body. “Did you take a look at the victim yet? He’s covered in ice and snow, so he had to have been dumped here before the storm.”

  “Not yet. Why did you have your mother call me off the record? You know what to do. Call emergency or—”

  “Because I spent last evening in Rodney Bell’s office getting grilled and I don’t relish doing the same thing today,” Chris said.

  “What happened last night?”

  “Ethel Lipton got gunned down, and I was a witness to it.”

  “Ethel Lipton?” Helen cocked her head. “She’s got a long list of drunk and disorderlies, and DUIs. She must have said or done the wrong thing to the wrong people.”

  “One would think,” Chris said. “The shooters ended up being on the fringe of a drug gang that hangs out in Martinsburg. They run drugs from Mexico to Baltimore—”

  “Right through West Virginia,” Helen said. “Our vice squad is very familiar with them. Their leader is a silent partner at Loco Lucy’s. What does all this have to do with you? You were a witness. With your background, Rodney should have been thrilled you were there.”

  Chris kicked at a clump of snow at his feet.

  Silence stretched between them.

  “What are you not telling me?” she asked.

  “You were at WVU and your folks had retired and moved to Florida by then.” It took every ounce of courage for him to lift his head to look at her. “What do you know about Ethel Lipton’s past?”

  “Her son, Carson, is the head chef at the Stardust Casino’s five-star restaurant.” Helen smoothed a lock of unruly dark hair that blew into her eyes. “She’s a regular at the Eastern Regional Jail’s drunk tank. I’ve heard her name, but since I’ve come back I’ve been in charge of homicide. Unless she’s a murder victim or suspect, I have no reason to know anything about her. Chris, tell me what’s going on.”

  “Ethel Lipton’s daughter disappeared twenty-four years ago,” Chris said. “I was the prime suspect in her disappearance. The FBI cleared me, but most of the local folks believe Dad used his connections to cover up a murder.”

  “What motive would you have had to kill her?” Helen asked.

  “She was pregnant and claimed I was the father.” When he saw her mouth drop open, he grabbed her by both arms. “Helen, I never touched her! My lawyer had a warrant for a blood test as soon as the baby was born. That would have proven I wasn’t the father. But she disappeared before that could happen.”

  “Now everyone thinks you killed her and the baby because you were the father.”

  “Please tell me that you believe I would never have done anything like that.”

  Her eyes searched his. She reached out to touch his face. The warmth of her hand on his cheek made his heart race like it had so many years before. The passage of time had not dulled the electricity he felt when he looked into her eyes.

  He wanted to lean in to kiss her, but if she rejected him, it would have broken his heart.

  Abruptly, she jerked her hand away and went over to look at the body resting at the bottom of the gully. “So, for some reason, Rodney suspected you of having this girl’s mother killed? But you didn’t. What does that have to do with this guy? I’m telling you right now that if you’ve asked me here to help you dispose of—”

  “I asked you here as a courtesy.” As the sound of multiple vehicle engines drew closer, Chris hurried around her to step into the main road. “I promise I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  “The loop?”

  She ran after him. Chris flagged down the lead SUV in a caravan of government vehicles. They followed Chris’s instructions to park along the side of the main road.

  Chris wanted the access road disturbed as little as possible. The killer or killers could have left behind foot or tire prints from their vehicle. If the crime scene investigators were successful in making impressions of that evidence, it could prove crucial in identifying and convicting them.

  Helen’s mouth dropped open when she saw that the people who spilled out of the vehicles wore coats with FBI emblazoned on the back. Most of them grabbed forensic equipment cases from the back of their vehicles. “You called in the feds! Chris, you have no right!”

  Chris turned to her. “The man at the bottom of that ravine was with the Krawford syndicate. Fraud, bribery, Ponzi schemes, insider trading, embezzlement, and identity theft. Cybercrime is a biggie.”

  He gestured for the agents to follow him down the access road to the body. “Tommy Bukowski was one of the architects for the dark web.”

  “And you know this how?” Helen became increasingly annoyed.

  “I met him when I was working undercover for the feds,” Chris said. “It was like almost twenty years ago. Tommy was working his way up the ladder for the Krawfords. I worked that case for a year and a half—saw Tommy all the time. His master
s was in business, but his love was computers. He had big dreams of taking the Krawfords to the next level of white collar crime by getting on the ground floor of cybercrime. He thought that would get him into their inner circle. When the justice department decided to arrest a group of the middle men to get them to turn on the upper level guys, I offered Tommy the chance to turn federal witness. He refused. As a matter of fact, he blew the whole operation.” He sighed. “He warned Eugene Krawford and his sons, who escaped out of the country. Krawford’s people almost killed me. Worse, they tracked down one of my sources inside the company and killed her.”

  “Were the feds able to pin the murder on the Krawford family?”

  “No.” Chris bit out his response. “The medical examiner ruled my witness’s death a suicide. None of our witnesses would testify against any of the Krawfords, and none of the evidence could connect them to the fraud and embezzlement—thanks to Tommy destroying everything that could. After things cooled off, the Krawfords came back into the country and picked up right where they’d left off. And Tommy Bukowski? Well, he got what he wanted. He got his place in the inner circle.”

  “Sounds like Tommy caused you a lot of trouble?”

  “It took me a long time to regain my reputation as an investigator after blowing it by inviting Tommy to turn federal witness. I trusted him and he played me. I never made that mistake again.”

  “And now Tommy is dead on your property.” Helen tilted her head in the direction of the embankment.

  After the forensics team collected what information they needed, they assured Helen that the agent in charge would be in touch with her as soon as she arrived from Washington.

  “I’m sure the agent in charge of the investigation will be showing up there to question me,” Chris told her while climbing up on Traveler. He invited her to meet him back at the farm.

  Sterling nuzzled her hand to urge her to accept the invitation. Chris held his breath.

  Helen hesitated. “Okay,” she finally said in a soft voice.

  “Great,” he grinned. “I’ll see you in the barn.”

  “The barn?” Her eyes grew wide.

  “I don’t want to talk about my years working undercover and a murder in front of the girls.”

  She let out her breath. “I understand.”

  Chris opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead, shook his head. He gave her the four-digit code for the security gate to drive up the lane. “Pull your SUV up to the barn and come inside.”

  Watching him gallop away across the field with his German shepherd racing beside him, Helen wondered what she was getting herself into.

  You’re making a big mistake, Clarke. You’re going to end up getting too close and falling in love with him all over again. Like you think he’s not going to ask you about what happened last time? When that happens, what are you going to say?

  Helen swallowed—hoping to push down the rising sense of panic. How do you tell the love of your life that he’s fallen in love with a fraud?

  Chapter Nine

  Chris had plowed and salted the paved lane before taking his family riding, but that did very little. Since the temperatures had refused to move above freezing, it was still a treacherous trip up the long driveway. Helen was afraid that even if she did succeed in making it to the barn, she’d end up sliding downhill when she left. She envisioned crashing through the gate, skating across the main road, and launching her state police cruiser into the Shenandoah River.

  Helen was holding her breath while creeping up the driveway when Sierra called on her vehicle’s hands-free phone. “Mom, where are you?”

  “At Ms. Matheson’s farm,” Helen said.

  Sierra uttered a girlish squeal. “Setting up riding lessons for me?”

  Helen wasn’t crazy about horseback riding—especially for her daughter. She still cringed when remembering the first and only time she had ridden a horse. Chris had taken her on a trail ride and she had suffered a serious fall—receiving a concussion even though she wore a riding helmet. Her parents never permitted her to ride again. That was one rule they had set that she never broke. In Helen’s book, horses were beautiful animals to admire, but not to ride.

  It was just Helen’s luck that Sierra had gone on a trail ride while at a summer camp. She had been itching for lessons and a horse of her own ever since. After six years, Helen had hoped she’d grow out of it. Not so. Sierra’s desire for a horse had only grown stronger, especially since she started working for Doris Matheson and hearing stories about their horses. Helen suspected her daughter had been putting money away from her job to buy a horse with the intention of boarding it at the Matheson farm.

  At the end of the lane, Helen turned the steering wheel to cross the barnyard to park next to the barn. “I have to talk to Chris for a case I’m working on,” she told Sierra.

  She cursed under her breath when the SUV refused to make the turn. Instead, like a stubborn animal deciding it’d had enough, the vehicle slid sideways and stopped.

  “Ask him about riding lessons,” Sierra said. “His mom said he’d give me lessons if you say it’s okay.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Plee-eeze,” Sierra begged as Helen pressed her foot on the accelerator.

  The engine roared but the SUV wouldn’t budge. It remained crossways at the top of the lane—blocking access for anyone entering or leaving the farm. Helen bounced in her seat, trying to scoot the SUV forward to no avail.

  Helen sighed, “Okay.” She put the SUV in park before she realized to what she’d accidentally agreed.

  “Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you, Mom!”

  “Wait!”

  “I have to call Danielle and tell her that I’m taking riding lessons!” Sierra disconnected the call.

  “Wait!” Helen yelled at the communication device in her SUV.

  “Wait what?” Chris asked through the closed passenger window.

  Helen slumped in her seat.

  “I know it’s been a while,” Chris said, “but the barn is up there.” He pointed at the large red building with a silo. “That’s where we keep the horses.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the farmhouse. “That’s a house. That’s where we keep the humans.”

  “Still a smartass, huh, Matheson?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tow you out.” In spite of her effort not to join in his laughter, she was smiling when he opened her driver’s door. He held out his hand. “It’s really slick.”

  “No kidding.”

  She grasped his arm to keep from falling when she climbed out of the car. Like a couple of figure skaters, they wrapped their arms around each other’s waist to make their way up the hill to the barn.

  “Helen!” Doris called from the back door of the house. “Are you staying for dinner?”

  “I’m just going to talk to Chris for a bit,” Helen replied from over her shoulder. “I need to get home to Sierra.”

  “You’re finally going to ask him about riding lessons,” Doris said. “That’s good. Christopher, I suggest you teach Sierra on Chewbacca. She’s gentle but has enough spirit to give her a good ride.”

  “Riding lessons?” Chris asked Helen.

  With a growl, she hurried ahead without him to get inside the barn where she’d have a more secure footing.

  Chris turned around to where his mother was on the side porch. Twitching their snouts to test the temperature, Sadie and Mocha flanked her. “What’s this about riding lessons?”

  “Sierra wants riding lessons.” With a shiver, Doris folded her arms across her chest. “I told you that.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did. Remember? You said you’d do it if it was okay with her mom.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember now,” Chris said with a heavy dose of sarcasm in his tone. “That was the same conversation where you tol
d me that Sierra’s mom was Helen.”

  “Yes, exactly. Now you remember.”

  “That conversation never happened!” Chris said. “I didn’t find out Helen was back until I saw her last night.”

  “I told you Sierra’s mom was Helen.”

  “You told me her name was Helen but—”

  “So you admit it.”

  “But you didn’t tell me that Sierra’s Helen was my Helen!”

  With a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hands, Doris and her canine entourage trotted into the house and closed the door.

  “Women!” Chris spun around and almost tripped over Sterling, who was sitting at his feet. He had a red rubber ball, filthy with mud and bits of straw, clutched in his jaws. Chris recognized it as a toy that he and Winston used to play fetch with until the ball disappeared.

  “Where did you find that?” He took the ball from the German shepherd who stood up and wagged his tail in anticipation of a round of fetch. When he tossed the ball up high into the air, Sterling leapt to catch it—with all four feet leaving the ground. A wave of bittersweet nostalgia washed over Chris. Winston used to catch the same ball in the same way.

  Something old is new again.

  “You’ve got company,” Helen yelled from the barn to interrupt his thoughts. “Your security monitor in here shows a white SUV at the gate. There’s a woman driving it.”

  With Sterling following in hopes of another throw, Chris went into the barn to a converted tool room where he had two security monitors displaying feeds from multiple security cameras. Upon moving back home the summer before, he had set up a security system, which included motion detected cameras positioned around the farm. He zoomed in on the woman sitting behind the wheel of the SUV waiting at the gate.

  “Matheson,” she said into the mic located next to the keypad, “it’s me, Patterson.” She uttered a sigh. “We gotta talk about that body you found.”

  “Sounds like she knows you,” Helen said.

  “She does.” Chris punched the button to open the gate. “She used to be my boss.” He ran back outside to direct the white SUV to park behind Helen’s cruiser and help her up to the barn.