Ranger's Justice. Lara Lacombe

be able to go on. He forced out the words, and they scraped against his tongue as he spoke. “They were too far down for me to get to them. I yelled to them, but neither one responded. I called for a medical evacuation right away.” The wait for the rescue crew had been the longest stretch of his life. He’d stared down at Ashley’s still form, unable to look away, straining to see any small movement, any twitch that would indicate she was still alive.

      “The police questioned you after your wife and her friend were recovered?”

      “Yes.” Quinn turned his thoughts away from that horrible discovery and focused instead on the aftermath. The small interrogation room, not unlike this one, where he’d sat, talking to the detectives.

      “Why were you considered a suspect?” She sounded genuinely curious, even though she had to have read his file before walking into the room. Quinn thought about asking her the same question, but decided to humor her with a reply.

      “Ashley and Naomi were experienced hikers, and the trail was in good condition,” he said again. “It was determined they had most likely slipped over the edge, probably after getting too close for a photo. But I guess the police had to consider foul play, and since I was the last person to talk to Ashley, that made me a potential suspect.”

      “But they never arrested you.”

      “There was no evidence,” he said simply. “I told you before, I didn’t kill my wife or her friend. No matter how hard the police looked, they weren’t going to find any evidence to the contrary.”

      Rebecca was silent a moment, considering his words. “When did you ask to be transferred?”

      “About a week later. I couldn’t continue to work at Yosemite—it was too hard.”

      “So you were assigned to Big Bend National Park about two years ago.”

      Quinn nodded. “It was a good change. Ashley would have loved it here, too, but it’s easier to go to work knowing I’m not going to be ambushed by a sudden memory of us hiking this trail or camping in that spot.”

      Rebecca smiled. “I can imagine.” She leaned back in her chair, her head tilted to the side. “I take it you enjoy your job?”

      “I do. Very much.”

      “And you’re feeling comfortable here? Like it’s home?”

      “Yes.” Where is she going with this? Quinn wondered.

      “Let’s talk about the women you found.”

      The images flashed across his mind and he winced. “I don’t know how much I can tell you,” he said. “Like I told the police, when I found each woman, I called it in right away.”

      “I’m sure you did,” Rebecca said soothingly. “I just want to know what you think about the situation.”

      Quinn frowned. “What I think?” he asked. “I think it’s terrible what happened to those women.”

      Rebecca nodded. “I agree with you. I also think it’s quite interesting that a man who was considered a suspect in his wife’s death was the one to discover these two victims.”

      Quinn’s blood ran cold as Rebecca continued. “Another thing that fascinates me is the fact that your wife had red hair. Do you remember the hair color of the women you discovered?”

      “Red,” he whispered, his mouth dry as the desert.

      “That’s right.” She nodded, looking like a proud teacher pleased with her student’s progress. “Red. Kind of a striking feature, wouldn’t you say?” She leaned forward, as if she wanted to impart a secret. “See, in my line of work, we call that a pattern. It’s quite common for killers to target people who share a set of characteristics—in this case, hair color.”

      “I didn’t kill anyone.”

      “Never said you did,” Rebecca replied smoothly. “I’m just laying out the facts here. It’s one thing to stumble across one dead body. But to find two in two weeks? That’s some exceptional luck.”

      “I wouldn’t call it that,” Quinn muttered.

      “Neither would I,” she said, her tone suddenly harsh. “What is it about you, Quinn Gallagher? Don’t you find it odd that you’ve come across three...no, four dead women in the last two years?”

      “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he spluttered. For the first time, a kernel of fear took root in his chest. Was he really going to be blamed for the deaths of these women? There wasn’t any evidence linking him to the crimes, but the way Rebecca was talking made him second-guess his actions.

      “Well, I have,” she responded. “And let me tell you, it’s one hell of a coincidence.”

      “I don’t believe in coincidence,” he said.

      “Well, what do you know?” She leaned back and smiled broadly. “Neither do I.”

      * * *

      “What do you think?”

      Rebecca rolled her head to the side, stretching out her neck. It had been a long few hours in the interrogation room, and she was ready for a fresh cup of coffee.

      She turned to the detective who’d asked the question. Morris, that’s his name, she recalled.

      “He’s not a killer.”

      Detective Morris snorted and shook his head. “Just like that? You talked to him for what, two hours, and suddenly you know he’s innocent?”

      Rebecca gave him a level stare. “I know he didn’t kill those women. He was on patrol with a partner when the medical examiner estimates both women were killed, which makes for a pretty good alibi, don’t you think? Not to mention, he’s not at all interested in the details of the deaths—he shut down hard when I started talking about it. That’s not consistent with the behavior of a killer. They tend to enjoy hearing about their crimes. Gives them a chance to relive the excitement.”

      Morris nodded. “I’ve heard that.”

      “He’s not the killer,” Rebecca repeated. “But that doesn’t necessarily make him innocent.”

      The man’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

      “I mean there’s a possibility he’s working with the killer. Pointing out potential victims, then ‘discovering’ them later so the killer can get his five minutes of fame.”

      “Like a wingman?”

      Rebecca shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

      “Why would a person want to do something like that?”

      She sighed, suddenly exhausted. “There are any number of reasons. But I just don’t know if Quinn Gallagher is the type of man who would do such a thing.” She glanced back at the door to the interrogation room, replaying their conversation in her mind. Nothing he’d said had triggered any alarm bells, but it would probably take several interviews for her to pick up on more subtle cues.

      “Anything from forensics yet?”

      Morris shrugged. “Not really. Fibers and fingerprints are still being processed. They did say the first scene was fairly pristine, while the second was more compromised.”

      “So he probably found the first body soon after she’d been dumped, while the second one sat there longer, giving animals and the elements time to degrade evidence.” Rebecca’s tone was thoughtful as she incorporated this piece of information into her mental file on Quinn Gallagher. She made a note to look at the report on his wife’s death, see if there were any similarities across the sites. It was a long shot, but perhaps there were some commonalities. Her gut told her he wasn’t the killer, but she’d been wrong before...

      “That’s what the evidence techs said,” Morris confirmed. He jerked