Page 2 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

Once everyone was safe, she headed toward the dock, ready to offer medical assistance if needed. But it didn’t seem that anyone had been injured. Another officer appeared from around a group of people and motioned to one of the two by the boat. Together, he and that officer headed up the hill where the stranger and the chief had disappeared.

With everything under control now with the townspeople, Grace decided it was time to join the police. There was no such thing as too much backup.

She jogged up the hill but stopped when one of the officers stepped out from the trees carrying a crossbow and a quiver of arrows, each one bearing a long white feather on the end.

Grace’s breath caught when she noted the bloodred line painted down the center of each feather. She swallowed, hard, as the police chief emerged from the woods a few feet away leading a man in handcuffs. The fallen angel.

His tortured, angry gaze met hers and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was looking into the eyes of the man she’d come here to find.

The serial killer known as theCrossbow Killer.

CHAPTER TWO

Grace tugged on the door to the police station, relieved when it opened this time. A quick glance to her right reassured her that the suspect was sitting in the holding cell that she’d seen earlier when peeking through the window. He glanced at her, then quickly looked away.

“May I help you, ma’am?” The smiling young officer who’d been carrying the bow and arrows earlier had been sitting at one of the desks when she’d stepped inside. Now he was walking toward her, stopping a few feet away. “You were on the hill when we brought out Mr. O’Brien, right?”

“O’Brien? That’s the man who was handcuffed?”

His smile dimmed, as if he realized he’d shared information that he probably shouldn’t have. “I’m Officer Danny Ortiz. You don’t appear to be from around here. I know pretty much everyone in town by sight, if not by name. And the tourists haven’t invaded quite yet this fall.”

“You’re right. I’m not from around here.” She hesitated, preferring to introduce herself to his boss first. “I was hoping tospeak to the chief. On the front door it says his name is Beau Dawson.”

He nodded, his dark eyes showing curiosity. “He’s busy at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?” He motioned to the two other empty desks near his. “There are only three police officers, aside from the chief. We pretty much all do whatever’s needed, from investigations to throwing drunks in the tank. I’m sure I can help.”

She tightened her hand around the handle of the leather satchel she’d just retrieved from her car in the parking lot at the end of the street before returning to the station. “I really need to speak to your boss first.” When he continued to hesitate, she added, “It’s really important. My name is Grace Malone, but he won’t recognize that name.”

He motioned toward a folding chair beside his desk. “Have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here, Ms. Malone.”

“Thank you.”

He headed to the right door of two closed ones on the other side of the room. Gold lettering similar to outside listed the chief’s name. A second door bore the traditional male/female restroom symbols. And past that were snack and drink machines and a little table with a coffee maker and supplies. This was definitely a no-frills police station.

After Ortiz headed into the chief’s office, another officer came in through the front door carrying a large brown paper bag. The haft of an arrow stuck out from the top with a familiar-looking white feather with a red streak down the middle. He smiled at Grace and glanced around, noting the prisoner in the holding cell who was sitting on a cot watching them. Then he set the bag on top of one of the desks and offered his hand and a friendly smile to Grace.

“Hey, stranger. I’m Officer Chris Collier. May I help you?”

Grace shook his hand. “Grace Malone. Officer Ortiz is letting the chief know that I need to speak to him.” She motioned toward the bag. “Is that the arrow that was embedded in the boat at the festival?”

“Sure is. I had to cut a hole in the boat to get it out intact. Bobby was cursing a blue streak the whole time.”

“Bobby? The boat owner I presume?”

“Bobby Thompson, owner of the boat and the marina outside of town. He didn’t care that it’s evidence. Can’t say as I blame him for being angry, but there was already a hole from the arrow. He’d have had to make a repair either way. He’ll get over his mad once he figures that out. You want something to drink or a snack? We have vending machines, nothing fancy. Everything’s free, no charge.”

“No, thanks. I’m good for now. I don’t mean to take up your time. Go ahead and do whatever you need to do while I wait.”

“Not a lot to do around here right now aside from a few petty theft investigations we’re working. The festival is prematurely over and everyone’s either gone home or to the main restaurant and bar to drown their disappointment.” He frowned toward the holding cell. “Thanks to you, O’Brien. What were you thinking letting loose with that arrow so close to people? You could have hurt someone.”

In answer, the prisoner crossed his arms. He might not be talking, but he was clearly paying attention to their conversation.

Collier shook his head. “Dang hermit. No telling what was going through his head.”

“Hermit?” The word evoked an image of an old man with a long beard and torn, dirty clothes in Grace’s mind. The gorgeous well-groomed man behind bars was nothing like that. His neatly trimmed barely-there beard and mustache were complemented by the slightly shaggy hair. If she were to describe him she’dlabel him a sexy rebel. Not that it mattered. If he was the one responsible for the shooting today, or turned out to be a serial killer, she’d do everything in her power to bring him to justice.

Collier continued. “He keeps to himself up on the mountain and—”

“Officer Collier, don’t you have a report to type and evidence to log?” The police chief stepped out of his office with Ortiz following behind him.

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