Page 28 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

Aidan sighed. “The sun will set soon. Let’s search while you eat crow.”

Ortiz followed him up the incline. “I’m just saying there’s more to you than your past. Not that what you did was okay or anything. But I honestly believe people can change. And the man I’ve seen these past couple of days isn’t the man I always thought you were.”

Aidan stopped and pushed some small branches aside to peer underneath a bush.

“I’ll try to give you the benefit of the doubt from now on,” Ortiz said, stopping beside him. “And I’ll make an effort to not alwaysassume you’re behind every little bad thing that happens around here. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Aidan pointed beneath the bush. “Is that what I think it is?”

Ortiz leaned down to look at the plastic bag Aidan had found. “Well, I’ll be. Look at all these feathers. At least now we know where they came from. It isn’t his hunting prowess, unless you call going to a costume store hunting. I wonder if that shopping bag has a receipt in it. Or fingerprints.” He pulled some latex gloves out of his pocket and pulled them on. “No receipt, but I recognize the bag. Comes from a party store in town. Not Mystic Lake—Chattanooga. I take my daughter there to shop for Halloween every year.”

“The paint on the feathers looks fresh.” Aidan bent down to check for a discarded paint can or brush, but didn’t find any.

“Why would he leave the feathers behind after going to all that trouble?” Ortiz asked.

Aidan glanced back in the direction of the cliff that Ortiz had slid down. It wasn’t far, maybe twenty yards. He located shoe prints near the bush, then backtracked, following them to see where else the shooter had been.

When he and Ortiz reached the cliff’s edge, the officer’s face went pale.

“He was here,” Ortiz said. “He was standing right here, maybe trying to see where all the searchers were.”

Aidan nodded. “He must have heard us coming and ran and hid in those bushes. That bag crinkles, makes noise. Most likely he ditched it because he was worried we’d hear him. He must not have had his bow and arrows with him or he’d have shot at us.”

“Lord have mercy,” Ortiz said, his face still pale.

“He’s on the run. I doubt he’s gotten very far. This is the most treacherous terrain on my property. It’s slow going. There are only two ways out: the way we came, or off to the left over there, northeast.”

Ortiz pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll warn the others.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The sun was beginning to set before Fletcher and Grace completed most of the interviews that Grace felt were necessary for her investigation. There were a few more they’d do tomorrow. She just hoped the work she’d done today was sufficient for her boss to allow her to continue. Investigations took time and at least she was making progress. And, bonus, there hadn’t been another attempt on her life. So far.

The campground had been a bust: no new leads. But it covered several acres and it took a long time to thoroughly search the surrounding woods for signs that someone may have been staying there, hiding out. They didn’t even find a cigarette butt or a beer can to indicate anyone had been there. Then again, since the owner, Colby, was in the process of getting it ready for his first reservations of the season, he’d been cleaning daily. So there was no real way to know if he’d thrown away what could have been evidence.

He didn’t remember seeing anyone suspicious but admitted there were always a few hikers or walkers in the area and he didn’t pay them much attention. He maintained a network oftrails for his campers. The locals used them as well, which he appreciated because it kept the vegetation from taking over. But, no, he hadn’t seen any strangers, or at least, he didn’t remember any.

Although Grace and Fletcher had spoken to just about everyone Fletcher could think of who’d attended the festival, which was actually easy since so many of them were regulars at Stella’s restaurant, none of the people they’d spoken to remembered seeing any strangers.

As Fletcher’s Jeep bumped around the back roads on their return to the police station, she apologized that they hadn’t accomplished anything.

“Sure we did,” Grace said. “We spoke to almost everyone we needed to talk to. That’s progress.”

“I don’t see how. We didn’t learn anything.”

“We learned quite a bit. Think about it. Everyone we spoke to said the same thing, that they didn’t notice any strangers around. What does that tell you?”

Fletcher steered around a tree that was blocking half the gravel road they were heading down. “I’ll have to call that in, get someone up here to clear it. Um, let’s see. What does that tell me. I guess just that no one saw our guy. Maybe he’s a ghost, one of those poltergeists who can move things. It would fit in with other alleged spiritual sightings in the area.”

“Fletcher—”

“I know, I know. No one saw him even though we know he exists, poltergeists excluded. Like I said, we made no progress.”

“We know he’s around, has been for a few days at least. If no one saw astranger, then our shooter is…”

“I don’t know, he’s…wait. A local. That’s what you’re saying?”

“It’s a possibility.”

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