the house, then out into the backyard, through the dog door Jamie’s father had installed years before. Three laps around the yard, noses to the ground, then they were back inside, lined up in formation in front of the treat cabinet. “Treat!” Donna proclaimed and took out the bag that held the beloved bacon snacks. She carefully doled out one to each dog, pronouncing “Good dog!” as each treat was devoured.
The next hour passed in a blur of lunch, changing clothes and hustling Donna two houses down to Mrs. Simmons, who met them at the door, a worried expression on her face. “There’s some cookies for you on the table,” Mrs. Simmons said to Donna. “You go get them while I talk to Jamie.”
When Donna had left them, Mrs. Simmons said, keeping her voice low. “I heard they found another woman’s body.”
“Yes.” There was no sense denying it. Half the town listened to the emergency scanner, the way some people listened to music on the radio. “I don’t know anything to tell you,” she added quickly, before Mrs. Simmons could press her for more information.
“I never thought I’d see the day when I didn’t feel safe around here,” Mrs. Simmons said.
Jamie wanted to reassure the woman that she would be fine—that there was nothing to worry about. But with six women dead and the department no closer to finding the killer, the words would be empty and meaningless. “I have to go,” she said. “I’m not sure how late I’ll be. If it will be later than nine, I’ll call you.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Mrs. Simmons said. “Donna is welcome to spend the night if she needs to. She’s good company.”
Ten minutes later, Jamie parked her SUV in the lot behind the sheriff’s department. She stowed her purse in her locker and made her way down the hall to the conference room. Dwight and Travis’s brother, Deputy Gage Walker, were already there, along with Ryder Stewart from Colorado State Patrol, and US Marshal Cody Rankin, his arm in a sling.
“How’s the arm?” Jamie asked as she took a seat at the table across from Cody.
“The arm’s fine. The shoulder hurts where they took the bullet out, but I’ll live.” He had been shot by an ex-con who had been pursuing him and the woman who was catering Travis’s upcoming wedding. “I’m not officially on duty,” Cody added. “But Travis asked me to sit in and contribute what I could.”
The sheriff entered and everyone moved to seats around the table. Though newspaper reports almost always included at least one reference to the sheriff’s “boyish good looks,” today he looked much older, like a combat veteran who has seen too many battles. He walked to the bulletin board in the center of the wall facing the conference table and pinned up an eight-by-ten glossy photo of a smiling, dark-haired woman. The image joined five others of similarly smiling, pretty females. The victims of the Ice Cold Killer.
“Her name is Michaela Underwood,” Travis said. “Twenty-two years old, she moved to Eagle Mountain to live near her parents. She recently started a new job at the bank.” He turned to face them. “These killings have got to stop,” he said. “And they have to stop now.”
The meeting at the sheriff’s department had already begun when Nate arrived. He slipped into the empty seat next to Jamie. She glanced at him, her expression unreadable, then turned her attention back to the sheriff, who was speaking.
“We’re putting every resource we’ve got behind this case,” Travis said. “We’re going to look at every bit of evidence again. We’re going to reinterview everyone even remotely connected with the women who died, everyone in the areas where they were killed—anyone who might have possibly seen or heard anything.”
“What about suspects?” Nate asked. He indicated a board on the far left side of the room, where photos of several men were pinned.
“Where we can, we’ll talk to them again.” Travis said. “We’ve ruled them out as the murderers, but they may know something.” He rested his pointer on photos of a pair of young men at the top of the chart. “Alex Woodruff and Tim Dawson drew our attention because they were at the Walking W Ranch the day the third victim, Fiona Winslow, was killed. They didn’t have an alibi for the previous two murders, of Kelly Farrow and Christy O’Brien. Once the road reopened, they disappeared. I’m still trying to confirm that they returned to Fort Collins, where they’re supposedly attending Colorado State University.”
He shifted the pointer to a photo of a handsome, dark-haired man. “Ken Rutledge came to our attention because he lived next door to Kelly Farrow and had dated her business partner, Darcy Marsh. When he attacked Darcy several times and eventually kidnapped her, we thought we had found our killer. But since his arrest, there have been three more murders.”
Quickly, Travis summarized the case against the remaining suspects—three high school students who had been seen the night Christy O’Brien was murdered, and a veterinarian who resented Kelly Farrow and Darcy Marsh setting up a competing veterinary practice. “They all have solid alibis for most of the murders, so we had to rule them out,” he concluded.
He moved back to the head of the conference table. “We’re putting together profiles of all the victims, to see if we can find any common ground, and we’re constructing a detailed timeline. If you’re not out on a call, then I want you studying the evidence, looking for clues and trying to anticipate this killer’s next move.”
They all murmured agreement.
“Some of this we’ve already done,” Travis said. “But we’re going to do it again. The person who did this left clues that tell us who he is. It’s up to us to find them. Colorado Bureau of Investigation has agreed to send an investigator to work with us when the road opens again, but we don’t know when that will be. Until then, we’re on our own. I want to start by considering some questions.”
He picked up a marker and wrote on a whiteboard to the left of the women’s pictures, speaking as he wrote. “Why is this killer—or killers—here?”
“Because he lives here,” Gage said.
“Because he was visiting here and got caught by the snow,” Dwight added.
“Because he came here to kill someone specific and found out he liked it,” Jamie said. She flushed as the others turned to look at her. “It would be one way to confuse authorities about one specific murder,” she said. “By committing a bunch of unrelated ones.”
Travis nodded and added this to their list of reasons.
“Are we talking about one man working alone, or two men working together?” Ryder asked.
“That was my next question.” Travis wrote it on the whiteboard.
“I think it has to be two,” Gage said. “The timing of some of the killings—Christy O’Brien, Fiona Winslow and Anita Allbritton, in particular—required everything to be carried out very quickly. The woman had to be subdued, bound, killed and put into her vehicle. One man would have a hard time doing that.”
“Maybe he’s a really big guy,” Cody said. “Really powerful—powerful enough to overwhelm and subdue the women.”
“I agree with Gage that I think we’re probably looking at two men,” Travis said. “But that should make it easier to catch them. And if we find one, that will probably lead us to the second one.” He turned to write on the board again. “What do we know for certain about these murders?”
“The victims are all women,” Dwight said. “Young women—all of them under forty, most under thirty.”
“They’re all killed out of doors,” Nate said. “Away from other people.”
“Except for Fiona,” Jamie said. “There were a lot of people around when she was killed.”
“They