Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

paused among those trees to strap on the snowshoes. And then she kept running
.
    Jane tried to picture the scenario that would explain these prints. Her initial theory was that whoever had killed Martineau hadthen taken the deputy’s weapon and forced Maura into the woods with him. But these tracks didn’t fit the theory. Staring down at the snow, Jane spotted a boot impression that overlaid the snowshoe track. Which meant that Maura had been trailing
behind
her presumed captor, not pushed in front of him. Jane stood mulling over this puzzle, trying to match what she saw here with what made sense. Why would Maura willingly follow a cop-killer into the woods? Why did she make that phone call in the first place? Had she been forced to lure a deputy into this trap?
    “They’ve picked up fingerprints everywhere,” said Gabriel.
    She turned to her husband, who’d just come out of the house.
    “Where?”
    “On the broken window, the kitchen cabinets. The phone.”
    “Where she made the call.”
    Gabriel nodded. “The cord was wrenched out of the wall. Obviously someone wanted to cut off the conversation.” He nodded at the slain deputy’s vehicle. “They lifted prints off the car door as well. There’s a good chance we’ll know who we’re dealing with.”
    “She sure as hell didn’t act like a hostage,” a voice insisted. “I’m telling you, she ran for those trees. No one was dragging her.”
    Jane turned to watch the conversation between the Wyoming DCI detective and Montgomery Loftus, who had reported the slaying. The old rancher’s voice had risen in agitation, drawing everyone’s attention.
    “I saw them here, bending over his body like two vultures. Man and a woman. The man, he picks up the gun and turns toward me. I figure he’s gonna try to blast my truck, so I got off a shot.”
    “More than one shot, it looks like to me,” said the detective.
    “Yeah. Well, might’ve been three or four.” Loftus eyed the SUV’s shattered window. “Afraid that there’s my fault. But what the hell’d you expect me to do? Not defend myself? Soon as I got off the first few shots, they both took off for the woods.”
    “Independently? Or was the woman forced?”
    “Forced?” Loftus snorted. “She ran after him. No one was making her do it.”
    No one except a pissed-off old rancher shooting at her
. Jane did not like the way this story was being spun, as if Maura was one half of Bonnie and Clyde. Yet she couldn’t contradict what the footprints in the snow were telling her. Maura hadn’t been dragged into the woods; she had fled.
    Sansone said, “How is it you happened to be on this property, Mr. Loftus?” Everyone turned to look at him. He had been silent up till then, an unapproachable figure who had drawn curious glances from DCI personnel, but no one had dared to challenge his presence at the crime scene.
    Though Sansone’s question had been asked in a respectful tone, Loftus bristled. “You implying something, mister?”
    “This seems like a rather out-of-the-way place to just show up. I wondered why you happened to be here.”
    “Because Bobby called me.”
    “Deputy Martineau?”
    “He said he was up on Doyle Mountain, and he thought he might have a problem. I live just east of here, so I offered to come by in case he needed a hand.”
    “Is this normal procedure, for a law enforcement officer to call a civilian when he needs assistance?”
    “I don’t know what it’s like in Boston, mister. But out here, when someone gets in a jam, folks are quick to step in and help. Especially when it’s a lawman.”
    Sheriff Fahey added, “I’m sure Mr. Loftus was just trying to be a good citizen, Mr. Sansone. We’ve got a big county to cover, a lot of territory. When your closest backup is twenty miles away, we’re lucky to have folks like him to call on.”
    “I didn’t mean to question Mr. Loftus’s motives.”
    “But that’s what you were doing,” said Loftus. “Hell, I know where this is going. Next you’ll ask if I’m the one who killed Bobby.”He strode over to his pickup and pulled out his rifle. “Here, Detective Pasternak!” He handed the weapon to the DCI detective. “Feel free to confiscate it. Run it though your fancy lab.”
    “Come on, Monty.” Fahey sighed. “No one thinks you killed Bobby.”
    “These folks from Boston don’t believe me.”
    Jane stepped into the conversation. “Mr. Loftus, it’s not like that at all. We’re just trying to