Page 39 of Outlaw Ridge: Hayes

And the woman might already be dead.

Which led Hayes to another round of theories.

“Cordelia might have killed her own son if he was threatening to expose her for the cop killings,” Hayes said aloud.

But he immediately shook his head. Yes, that was possible, but if so, Cordelia was a lot more of a cold-blooded person than he’d assumed. After all, murdering a dying woman so you could marry her husband was one thing, but murdering her own son was on a whole different level.

And that left him with Duane.

“Duane could have murdered Brooks,” Hayes threw out there.

“His possible motive?” Jemma asked.

“Maybe Brooks has been working with Duane. Or Duane and he could have had some kind of falling out, perhaps linked to Cordelia and Duane’s affair, if that’s true. Or…” Now, he paused a long time.

“You think my father could have been the one to kill Brooks,” she stated.

“Yeah. What would the Rattler do if he found out that Brooks was the one who gave his dying wife that lethal dose of morphine?” he pressed.

Jemma drew in a long breath. “My father might kill him. He especially could do that if he’d thought I might take the law into my own hands and murder Brooks for it.”

Bingo. Hayes was going with door number two on this. By eliminating Brooks, Stefano would protect his child and get justice for his late wife. Added to that, Brooks’ death could get lumped in with all the others, and no one might take a closer look at Stefano for this.

“I’ll deal with my father later,” Jemma told him. “I need to ask him about Cordelia’s affair with Duane anyway.” She paused. “And I’ll need to find out if he’s done something to Cordelia. Because if my father discovered that Cordelia had murdered my mom, then…you’re right—Cordelia might be dead now, too.”

He could hear the dread in her voice at the thought of having to arrest her father. Hayes was dreading it as well. He wasn’t a fan of vigilante justice, but as someone who’d lost a mother and a woman who would have soon been his wife, he could totally understand the need to punish whoever had harmed them.

Yeah, he got that.

His mom’s killer had died in a shootout with her, and his fiancée’s murderer had been shanked in a prison fight. Still, that didn’t seem enough since Hayes hadn’t had a part in doling out that final punishment.

He had to force himself to quit dredging up those old memories as Jemma pulled into the park. Since it wasn’t the main entrance, it wasn’t very big, just enough room for about six vehicles, and there were already four. A red Porche that he was betting belonged to Brooks. There was also two Strike Force vans, and judging from the stark white head-to-toe outfits that two of the people were wearing, they were the private CSIs that Owen had hired. The other vehicle was one for the private medical examiner.

And she was someone that Hayes recognized.

Dr. Viv Logan.

Jemma’s attention had already gone to the fifty-something-year-old woman who was leaning against one of the vans while eating an apple. She, too, was wearing one of the disposable crime scene suits, but strands of her frizzy red hair poked out from the heading covering.

“You know her?” Jemma asked.

“I’ve worked with her a couple of times. She’s good but a little eccentric. Oh, and if she offers a guess, it’s as good as gospel.”

Maybe Dr. Logan would be able to give them some quick answers so they could find this asshole killer.

Pulling on the helmet, Hayes stepped from the cruiser. “Dr. Logan, you and the CSIs should be wearing the bullet-resistant gear,” he told them as Jemma and Aiden got out as well.

Aiden took out three vests and three helmets from his vehicle, and the two CSIs took them and immediately started putting them on. The ME didn’t. She continued to eat her apple.

“Deputy Jemma Salvetti, this is Dr. Viv Logan,” Hayes said, making the introductions.

“Pleased to meet you,” Jemma replied.

Dr. Logan grumbled something that was indecipherable because of the mouthful of apple she had, and she tossed the apple core into the van.

“This isn’t pretty,” the ME warned them, and she settled her attention on Jemma. “I’ve IDed him from his license plate and DMV photo so I know he’s your stepbrother, Brooks Winslow. Are you going to puke when you see his head blown off and bits of his brains in various parts of that car?” she asked Jemma.

“No,” Jemma assured her. “I’m not a puker.” But she did look as if her stomach might be unsettled.

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