River Road(46)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

She pulled over to the side of the road. “But now you drive a stick shift because you like to drive a stick shift.”

Mason smiled. “I like to work with good tools.”

She stopped the engine and looked at him. “Like that gun you keep in the console safe?”

“Believe it or not, I hardly ever use a gun in my job. But on the rare occasions when I do need one, I take comfort knowing it’s a good gun.”

26

A couple of miles farther down the highway, Mason turned off onto Manzanita Road. Lucy remembered it well. When she was a girl, it made for an exciting thrill ride. The winding strip of crumbling blacktop was cut into the hillside. The pavement was so narrow there was barely enough room for two vehicles to squeeze past each other. Not that there was ever much in the way of traffic, Lucy thought. Manzanita Road had been abandoned years earlier when the highway to the coast had been built. But the old road remained a favorite of adventurous backcountry drivers, bicyclists and motorcycle enthusiasts.

What made the drive an adventure was the dramatic manner in which the hillside dropped steeply away from the ragged edge of the serpentine road.

Lucy shivered. “I see they still haven’t bothered to install a guardrail.”

“No,” Mason said. He glanced at the GPS readout. “We’re coming up on the curve where Sara’s car went over the edge. There’s nowhere to pull off the road, but there’s also no traffic. I’ll stop on a straight stretch and put on the flashers. We can walk back to the scene.”

A short time later, Lucy stood with Mason at the edge of the road. Together they surveyed the steep slope and the rough terrain below.

“It’s hard to believe people died here,” Lucy said quietly. “There’s no sign of the crash.”

“It’s been three months. Nature heals quickly.” Mason studied the tight curve. “It’s the ideal place to try to force a vehicle off this road.”

“The killer must have known that,” Lucy ventured.

“It could have been a murder of opportunity, but I’m with you. It’s more likely that it was the work of someone familiar with the road. Whoever did this could not have picked a more dangerous curve.”

“I suppose that doesn’t exclude the pot farmers.”

“No, but given what happened to Sara’s house last night, I’m leaning toward your theory.”

Mason went silent. She looked at him and saw that his attention was on the scene.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking that if I had gone to the trouble of setting up a car crash with the aim of killing two people, I would follow up.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’d make sure the plan had worked.”

“Oh.” A whisper of shock went through her. “Yes. I see what you mean. Oh, my God, do you think that the killer went down there with the idea of making sure they were dead?”

“There hasn’t been much rain this summer. Dry conditions are good for preserving evidence. I’m going to take a look.”

He got a pair of gloves and a small, lightweight backpack out of the trunk of the car. He walked to the edge of the road. After a couple of minutes’ contemplation, he started down the hillside at a steep angle, using the manzanita bushes and scrub for handholds.

When he reached the bottom, he walked slowly around the area, pausing now and again to take a closer look at something she could not see from her position on the road.

At one point he picked up what looked like a fist-sized rock and examined it closely. She watched him drop it into the pack. He put his arms through the pack straps and made his way back up the hillside.

“What is it?” she asked. But she had a horrible feeling that she knew what he had found.

He removed the pack and took out the rock. There was a dark, long-dried stain on the stone. She stared at it, dread seeping through her.

“Blood?” she whispered.

“Maybe. I think so, yes.”

“Dear heaven. You were right. The killer went down there to make sure.”

They got back into the car.

“It’s not proof of murder,” Mason warned. “There’s always a lot of blood at the scene of a bad crash.”

“One or both of them was still alive.” She clenched her hands together in her lap. “The bastard used that rock to crush their skulls and finish the job. You think that’s what happened, don’t you?”

He hesitated. “I think it’s a very likely possibility.”

“But why wouldn’t the authorities have noticed the injuries?”

“There’s always a lot of trauma at a crash site,” Mason said gently. “And no one had any reason to believe that it was a case of murder. You don’t find evidence unless you go looking for it.”

Neither of them spoke for a while.

27

A few miles later they crested the last hill and started down toward the coast highway. The sweeping view of the dazzling Pacific Ocean exploded into sight. The mostly empty shoreline stretched for miles, raw and wild.

They stopped in a tiny, weathered community that huddled on a small bay and found a restaurant on the wharf. They ate rich, creamy clam chowder served with generous portions of sourdough bread. They did not talk a lot, but Lucy did not find the silence uncomfortable. It was as if viewing the sight of the crash had cast a somber spell on both of them.

When the check came, she automatically reached for it. Mason deftly swiped it off the little plate and handed it back to the waiter along with his credit card. Lucy waited until they were alone.

“Thank you,” she said, somewhat stiffly. “But that wasn’t necessary. We’re here because of the investigation. I should be picking up expenses.”

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “Do you always do that when you’re on a date?”

She hesitated. “We’re not on a real date. But to answer your question, yes, I always pay my own way.”

He narrowed his eyes a little. “You do that to make certain that the guy knows that the balance of power is equal in the relationship.”

She tensed. “Most men appreciate it.”

“Probably because they don’t understand what’s really going on.”

She raised her brows “Do you always psychoanalyze your dates?”

“No.” He smiled. “Just the interesting ones.”

She blushed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”