The Hunt

CHAPTER 5

Qui

“You didn’t give me a lot of details on the phone last week,” he said to Nick. “The Douglas girl was abducted on Friday night?”

“Her roommate called it in about one Saturday morning. She hadn’t come back to the dorm after her shift at the Pizza Shack, the one right off the interstate. The responding officer found her car in the lot, her keys on the passenger seat.”

“Her purse?”

“Missing.”

Few personal effects of the young women had ever been recovered, which made Qui

“We bypassed the standard missing persons wait time because I knew, in my gut, it was the Butcher.”

“Was her car disabled?”

“No.”

“That’s a change.” Qui

When Pe

Three years later, when Miranda’s car was found by the side of the road halfway between Gallatin Gateway and her father’s lodge near Big Sky, the Sheriff’s Department quickly co

Qui

“Some people insisted it wasn’t the Butcher, but-”

“Your instincts were right on the money.”

“Unfortunately.”

“We have two distinct advantages,” Qui

“I thought of that angle, but all of the interviews so far have yielded squat.”

“I’d like to go through your notes.”

“Whatever you need.” Nick paused. “What’s the other advantage?”

“We found her body so quickly. It doesn’t help that it rained last night, but maybe the coroner can find something to tie back to a suspect, a hair, a thread from his clothes, something.” After viewing the body earlier, Qui

“If we can find the shack where he kept her captive there’s a much better chance any evidence would still be helpful,” Nick said.

“Good point.” Even when they’d found the dilapidated structures where the Butcher had restrained his victims before releasing the women in the wilderness, any evidence had been tainted or destroyed. The dampness, mold, and rot of the shacks destroyed most biological samples. They had no DNA, no fingerprints except for a partial that came up blank in the AFIS database, and no suspects.

The profile Qui

Qui

The Butcher had waited three years after that before abducting two other girls, but no bodies had ever been recovered. Few serial killers had the patience to wait so long between attacks, but there were no like crimes reported in the rest of the country.

The lack of continuity, the sporadic nature of the assailant, gave police next to nothing to go on.

Qui

Nick didn’t say anything as he turned onto a gravel road under an arch that read Parker Ranch .

Qui

Richard Parker had never been a suspect. Qui

The Parker residence reminded Qui

“Sheriff,” Richard Parker said as he opened the large door. Parker had aged well, Qui

Parker turned to Qui

Qui

Parker smiled weakly. “It’s Judge Parker now, but don’t mind the formalities. Call me Richard.”

Judge. Qui

“Thank you.”

They followed Parker through the wide, dark-paneled foyer into the large living room, bright from east- and south-facing windows and two long, narrow skylights.

Everything was immaculate and perfectly placed, as if the Parkers were expecting a camera crew from House Beautiful . Hunting trophies and framed prints of outdoor scenes decorated the light-colored walls; oversized, heavy pine furniture was simple and functional. A hint of femininity showed in the floral throw pillows complementing the dark fabric couches and chairs. A gun cabinet was prominently displayed along one wall, above it a huge fish with a plaque that read White Sturgeon, 71 pounds, Kootenai River, June 10, 1991 .

“I sent the boys to the barn to tend to the horses,” Parker said. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, soda? Probably too early for Scotch.” He motioned for them to sit.

“We can’t stay, Richard,” Nick said. “I’ve called in all my deputies, and we have a group of volunteers to work the area. It’s going to be a long day.”

“I understand. The boys were pretty shaken up. You’ll go easy on them?”

“Of course,” Nick said.

“Do you need horses? I can have Jed bring over six or seven. And I’ll give the hands the afternoon off if you need them.”

“Much obliged, Richard,” Nick said. “We’ll need to search on foot to avoid contaminating possible evidence.”

Parker nodded. “Yes, yes. Of course.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I thought-I guess I thought that it was over.”

I didn’t , Qui

“But it’s been three years.”

Qui

“What’s the FBI’s interest this time?” Parker raised his eyebrow. “You weren’t here when the twins were found.”

“Actually,” Nick corrected him, “Special Agent Thorne was here after the Croft sisters were abducted, and again when Cori

Qui

“In the barn.” Parker motioned for Qui

“No need. I think they’ll be more comfortable if they’re doing something with their hands. Grooming horses sounds like a good task.”

“I’ll take you,” Parker said.

Nick held Qui

The stable stood several hundred feet behind the house and Qui

“Ryan! Sheriff Thomas is here to talk to you.”

Ryan Parker was almost eleven, the image of his father with blond hair and brown eyes. Unusually handsome for a young boy, he seemed older, almost worldly, compared to the McClain brothers.

“Ryan,” Nick began, “this is Special Agent Quincy Peterson. He’s with the FBI.”

Ryan’s eyes widened with excitement. “The FBI? Really? Can I see your badge?”

“Ryan,” his father said sternly.

Qui

Ryan didn’t touch, but looked with interest. “Do you have to go to a special school to be a special agent?”

“After four years of college, I spent sixteen weeks at a special training camp called Quantico. I also took an extra year to get a master’s degree in criminology.”

“Is it hard?”

“Parts of it. You want to be a federal agent?”

Ryan glanced at his father, and Qui