Murder In Black Canyon. Cindi Myers
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He looked even more forlorn. “We weren’t having any luck, though.”
“Why were you hunting with bows and arrows?” Simon asked. “Why not guns?”
“The Prophet doesn’t allow firearms,” Zach said.
“We’re a nonviolent people.” Metwater spoke for the first time since they had left camp. “Guns only cause trouble.”
“They certainly caused trouble for this man.” Dylan looked at Metwater. “You said you checked his identification?”
“The wallet is inside his jacket,” Metwater said. “Front left side.”
Dylan knelt, out of Kayla’s view. When he stood again, he held a slim brown wallet. He read from the ID. “Special Agent Frank Asher, FBI.” He fixed Metwater with an icy glare. “What was the FBI doing snooping around your camp, Mr. Metwater? And what did he do that got him killed?”
* * *
AS EXPECTED, THE Family’s Prophet claimed to have no knowledge of Agent Frank Asher or what had happened to him. None of the three men had heard any gunshots or vehicles or seen anything unusual in the hour leading up to the discovery of the body. They were like the three bronze monkeys Dylan’s dad had on a shelf in his home office—see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Dylan and Simon would bring them all in for questioning, but he doubted the interviews would yield anything useful.
With no cell phone coverage in the area, Dylan was forced to leave Simon with the body and the Family members while he drove to an area with coverage.
“I’m coming with you,” Kayla said, falling into step beside him as he strode back toward the camp.
He’d been so intent on his job that for a while he had forgotten about her. She was one more complication he didn’t need right now. “Why didn’t you stay in the car like I told you?” he asked.
“This place gives me the creeps. I’m not staying anywhere alone around these people.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Do you think one of them killed that FBI agent?”
“I don’t know what to think. I need the medical examiner’s report on when he died, and what kind of weapon killed him.” He glanced toward the motley collection of RVs and tents. “I’m not buying that all of these people are unarmed.”
“The agent will have a vehicle around here someplace close,” Kayla said. “Those boots he was wearing weren’t worn enough for him to have walked very far, and I didn’t see a pack anywhere near him.”
Dylan stopped and considered her more closely. She had regained her color and no longer looked fragile and shaken. “I’ll get someone to look for the car right away. Maybe something in there will tell us why he was out here. That was a good observation,” he added. “Did you see anything else?”
“I think the two kids are telling the truth.” She glanced back in the direction they had come. “When they said that about not wanting to leave him for the buzzards—I believed them.”
“Maybe.” He had learned not to trust anyone when it came to crime, but his instincts made him want to focus on Metwater more than the two kids. “Them moving the body makes our investigation tougher. They may have destroyed a lot of evidence.”
“For a man who sees himself as a leader, Metwater is a cold fish,” she said. “He seemed more annoyed by the inconvenience than anything else.”
“He’s going to be a lot more inconvenienced before this is over. I’m going to get a warrant to take this camp apart. If the murder weapon is here, we’ll find it.”
“If it was ever here, they had plenty of time to get rid of it before we got here,” she said. “It could be stashed in a cave or buried in an old mine or broken into a million pieces on the rocks.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But we might find something else incriminating.”
They walked through the camp, which was as empty and silent as a ghost town, but he sensed people watching him from the windows of trailers and open flaps of tents. “Who did you come here to see?” he asked Kayla. “I know you said a client’s daughter, but who?”
“I don’t see how that relates to your case.” The frost was back in her voice.
“You’re the one who reported the body. You were the only non-Family member present when it was discovered. Some people might think that was an interesting coincidence.”
She turned on him, cheeks flushed. “You don’t think I killed that man!”
“My job is to rule out everyone. Do you own a gun?”
“I have a Smith & Wesson 40 back at my office. I have a permit for it.”
“But you didn’t have it with you today? Why not?”
“I don’t like to carry a gun. I didn’t think this was a particularly dangerous situation.”
“Who did you come to see?” he asked again. “I can subpoena your files to find out. Save us both some hassle and just tell me.”
She hesitated, a deep crease between her brows as she weighed her options. “I came to see Andi Matheson. She calls herself Asteria now. But she doesn’t have anything to do with your case.”
“You said her father hired you. Who is he?”
She glared at him.
“I’ll bet I can find the answer in five minutes or less online.”
She continued to glare at him, and the intensity of her gaze sent a thrill of awareness through him. Oh, he liked her, all right. Maybe a little too much, considering her involvement in this case.
“Her father is Senator Peter Matheson,” she said. “I imagine you’ve heard of him.”
Dylan had heard of the senator, all right. Until recently, he had been in the news primarily for his campaign to disband the Ranger Brigade. He had claimed the task force of federal agents was intrusive, expensive and ineffective. He had succeeded in having the group defunded, only to wind up looking like a fool when the Rangers had brought down a major terrorist group that had been operating in the area. Congress had responded by expanding the group, and Matheson had mostly kept a low profile ever since.
And now the senator was mixed up with Metwater and his bunch of wanderers. Dylan scanned the silent camp. “How did you track her down here? You said her father didn’t know where she was.”
“I talked to her friends. Her best friend told me she and Andi had attended a presentation given by Daniel Metwater and Andi had been very attracted to him, and to the ideas he preached. I did some more digging and verified that she had indeed joined up with Metwater and his group.”
Dylan nodded. Textbook solid detective work. “Let’s have a word with Ms. Matheson. Maybe she knows something she’s not telling about all this.”
“I really don’t think—” Kayla began.
But Dylan had already moved to the nearest camper, a battered aqua-and-silver trailer wedged beneath a clump of stunted evergreens. He pounded on the door, shaking the whole structure. “Police! Open up!” he called.
A woman with a deeply tanned face and bleached hair eased open the door and peered out at them. “I’m looking for Andi Matheson,” Dylan said.
The woman shook her head. “I don’t know anyone by that name,” she said, and started to close the door.
“What about Asteria?” Kayla asked. “Where does she live?”
“Over there.” The woman pointed to a large white tent next to the Prophet’s trailer.
The tent was the kind used by hunting outfitters as a mess tent or gathering area, with a tall frame and roll-up canvas sides. One of the sides was open to let in the hot breeze. Dylan moved around