A Cold Trail
PRAISE FOR ROBERT DUGONI’S TRACY CROSSWHITE SERIES
Praise for A Steep Price
“A beautiful narrative. What makes A Steep Price stand out is the authentic feel of how it feels to work as a police officer in a major city . . . another outstanding novel from one of the best crime writers in the business.”
—Associated Press
“A riveting suspense novel . . . A gripping story.”
—Crimespree Magazine
“Compelling and politically relevant, a perfect addition to this beloved series . . . Without a doubt one of the best books in the series . . .”
—Bookreporter
“Packed with suspense, drama, and raw emotion . . . A fine entry in a solid series.”
—Booklist
“Fully developed characters and a fast-moving plot that builds to a shocker of an ending distinguish this crime novel.”
—Publishers Weekly
Praise for Close to Home
“An immensely—almost compulsively—readable tale . . . A crackerjack mystery.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“In bestseller Dugoni’s nail-biting fifth Tracy Crosswhite mystery . . . [he] embellishes this clever procedural with well-developed characters and an interesting exploration of Navy criminal justice.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Close to Home [is] another thrilling addition to Dugoni’s Crosswhite series.”
—Associated Press
“Dugoni’s twisted tale is one of conspiracy and culpability . . . richly nuanced and entirely compelling.”
—Criminal Element
Praise for The Trapped Girl
“In Dugoni’s outstanding fourth Tracy Crosswhite mystery, the Seattle homicide detective investigates the death of Andrea Strickland, a young woman whose body a fisherman finds in a crab pot raised from the sea . . . In less deft hands this tale wouldn’t hold water, but Dugoni presents his victim’s life in discrete pieces, each revealing a bit more about Andrea and her struggle to find happiness. Tracy’s quest to uncover the truth leads her into life-altering peril in this exceptional installment.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Dugoni drills so deep into the troubled relationships among his characters that each new revelation shows them in a disturbing new light . . . an unholy tangle of crimes makes this his best book to date.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Dugoni has a gift for creating compelling characters and mysteries that seem straightforward, but his stories, like an onion, have many hidden layers. He also is able to capture the spirit and atmosphere of the Pacific Northwest, making the environment come alive. . . . another winner from Dugoni.”
—Associated Press
“All of Robert Dugoni’s talents are once again firmly on display in The Trapped Girl, a blisteringly effective crime thriller . . . structured along classical lines drawn years ago by the likes of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett. A fiendishly clever tale that colors its pages with crisp shades of postmodern noir.”
—Providence Journal
“Robert Dugoni, yet again, delivers an excellent read . . . With many twists, turns, and jumps in the road traveled by the detective and her cohorts, this absolutely superb plot becomes more than just a little entertaining. The problem remains the same: Readers must now once again wait impatiently for the next book by Robert Dugoni to arrive.”
—Suspense Magazine
Praise for In the Clearing
“Tracy displays ingenuity and bravery as she strives to figure out who killed Kimi.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Dugoni’s third ‘Tracy Crosswhite’ novel (after Her Final Breath) continues his series’s standard of excellence with superb plotting and skillful balancing of the two story lines.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“Dugoni has become one of the best crime novelists in the business, and his latest featuring Seattle homicide detective Tracy Crosswhite will only draw more accolades.”
—Romantic Times, Top Pick
“Robert Dugoni tops himself in the darkly brilliant and mesmerizing In the Clearing, an ironically apt title for a tale in which nothing at all is clear.”
—Providence Journal
Praise for Her Final Breath
“A stunningly suspenseful exercise in terror that hits every note at the perfect pitch.”
—Providence Journal
“Absorbing . . . Dugoni expertly ratchets up the suspense as Crosswhite becomes a target herself.”
—Seattle Times
“Dugoni does a masterful job with this entertaining novel, as he has done in all his prior works. If you are not already reading his books, you should be!”
—Bookreporter
“Takes the stock items and reinvents them with crafty plotting and high energy . . . The revelations come in a wild finale.”
—Booklist
“Another stellar story featuring homicide detective Tracy Crosswhite . . . Crosswhite is a sympathetic, well-drawn protagonist, and her next adventure can’t come fast enough.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
Praise for My Sister’s Grave
“One of the best books I’ll read this year.”
—Lisa Gardner, bestselling author of Touch & Go
“Dugoni does a superior job of positioning [the plot elements] for maximum impact, especially in a climactic scene set in an abandoned mine during a blizzard.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Yes, a conspiracy is revealed, but it’s an unexpected one, as moving as it is startling . . . The ending is violent, suspenseful, even touching. A nice surprise for thriller fans.”
—Booklist
“Combines the best of a police procedural with a legal thriller, and the end result is outstanding . . . Dugoni continues to deliver emotional and gut-wrenching, character-driven suspense stories that will resonate with any fan of the thriller genre.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“Well written, and its classic premise is sure to absorb legal-thriller fans . . . The characters are richly detailed and true to life, and the ending is sure to please fans.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“My Sister’s Grave is a chilling portrait shaded in neo-noir, as if someone had taken a knife to a Norman Rockwell painting by casting small-town America as the place where bad guys blend into the landscape, establishing Dugoni as a force to be reckoned with outside the courtroom as well as in.”
—Providence Journal
“What starts out as a sturdy police procedural morphs into a gripping legal thriller . . . Dugoni is a superb storyteller, and his courtroom drama shines . . . This ‘Grave’ is one to get lost in.”
—Boston Globe
ALSO BY ROBERT DUGONI
The Eighth Sister
The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell
The 7th Canon
Damage Control
The Tracy Crosswhite Series
My Sister’s Grave
Her Final Breath
In the Clearing
The Trapped Girl
Close to Home
A Steep Price
The Academy (a short story)
Third Watch (a short story)
The David Sloane Series
The Jury Master
Wrongful Death
Bodily Harm
Murder One
The Conviction
Nonfiction with Joseph Hilldorfer
The Cyanide Canary
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actu
al events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by La Mesa Fiction, LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542093224
ISBN-10: 1542093228
Cover design by Damon Freeman
For Detective Scott Alan Tompkins
King County Sheriff’s Office
November 25, 1969—September 9, 2018
A good friend. A great guy. A dedicated detective.
Always had a smile. Always willing to help.
I will miss him.
Gone but not forgotten.
Never forgotten.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
Cedar Grove, Washington
1993
Heather Johansen wiped her tears and the driving rain that blurred her vision and ran down her face. She walked the edge of the county road, with no street lamps or moonlight to guide her; the ink-black darkness rising from the asphalt beneath her feet to the heavy storm clouds gathered above the thick tree canopy in the North Cascades.
The tree limbs, leaden with water, let loose a shower spray with every gust of wind, and though she’d cinched tight the hood of her Gore-Tex jacket, the relentless rain continued to work its way through every seam and gap in her clothing. Her shirt collar and the cuffs of her long-sleeve shirt had become damp, and her blue jeans clung to her skin like leggings. Her boots, supposedly waterproof, were saturated. Worse, she could feel the temperature dropping, the rain progressing to sleet, and the ice clinging to her clothes. She could no longer feel the tips of her fingers, and her toes ached with each step.
She stopped and looked back in the direction she had walked. Again, she contemplated returning to Silver Spurs. But she’d become disoriented and could not deduce how far she’d walked—whether or not she’d passed the midpoint home to Cedar Grove. Besides, who could she call if she did turn back? She couldn’t call her parents. She’d told them she was sleeping less than a mile from home, at Kimberly Robinson’s house. She had no choice but to go forward.
She leaned into the wind and started walking again, each breath marking the darkness, each step filled with the same unanswered questions. What the hell was she going to tell her parents? What the hell was she going to do? Had she made the right decision, or was she just scared and being stupid? Was she just being stubborn?
Her stomach cramped from crying, and the pain caused her to double over. After a minute, when the pain lessened, she straightened and took deep breaths. The cramps eased, but not the weather. The howling wind caused the trees to sway and shimmer, and the sleet had now turned to snow.
From bad to worse.
She pushed on but got only a step or two farther before another thought stopped her. Where would she go when she got to Cedar Grove? She couldn’t go home. What would she tell her parents? And she couldn’t go to Kimberly’s. That would place her best friend in an awkward position. It was the reason she had not told Kimberly in the first place. The Robinsons were strict. They attended the same church as her parents. They would push Kimberly to tell them what was going on. Heather couldn’t do that to her best friend.
She thought of Sarah Crosswhite. They weren’t good friends, but they were in the same class. And the Crosswhites’ house was closer than her parents’. Maybe she could talk to Doc Crosswhite. He’d listen without judging her. He was a doctor. He’d know what to do.
A ghostly light flickered up ahead, a blue-gray radiance between the tree trunks—a car approaching the bend in the road. Heather felt a moment of relief. Then panic. She hesitated, uncertain whether to hide or to flag down the car. She couldn’t take the cold any longer. Without further thought, she stepped onto the edge of the pavement and raised a hand, waving it.
The headlights blinded her and she lowered her hand to block the glare.
She heard the squeal of brakes above the gusting wind. The car had stopped in the middle of the road. Heather stepped forward, parallel to the hood, out of the glare of the headlights.
The driver’s door opened.
“Heather? What the hell are you doing? You’re going to freeze to death out here.”
Her heart sank. Shit.
“Heather?”
She raised her voice to speak over the wind. “I need a ride to the Crosswhites’ house.”
“The Crosswhites?”
“Will you take me?”
“Why do you want to go to the Crosswhites’?”
“I just need to figure some things out. Please, will you take me?”
“What things?”
She started for the passenger’s door. “It doesn’t matter. It’s personal. Can you please just take me there?”
“You need to let this go, Heather. This was an accident. A mistake.”
The realization weighed on her, and she stopped moving.
“You need to think of the lives you’re ruining, including your own.”
“I am,” she said. “One life in particular.”
“No. You’re just being stubborn . . . and emotional. I’ll drive you to the hospital in Silver Spurs. We can all just move on.”
“No. I’m not going back there. I’m going to Doc Crosswhite’s house. If you won’t take me, I’ll walk.” She started past the car, hearing the voice behind her.
“Get in the car, Heather! You want to ruin your life that’s your business, but you have no right to ruin mine.”
Heather heard the car engine rev, then the squeal of tires struggling to gain traction on the wet pavement. She glanced over her shoulder. The car had turned around. Headlights approached in the wind-whipped snowflakes.
She stepped from the pavement as the car sped past. For an instant she thought it would keep going, back to Cedar Grove, but the brake lights flared, red illuminating the falling snow. The driver’s door flung open and the dome light flickered on, then off again when the door slammed shut.
“Just go!” Heather shouted as she walked quickly past the car. “Leave me alone!”
She heard a deep guttural sound—the noise her dog made when someone or something surprised them on the trail. She turned, uncertain, and looked into the headlights. She raised a hand to deflect the glare and saw a shadow in an aurora of color quickly approaching, something oblong raised high in the air.
It fell, like a logger’s ax, hitting her in the head. The
blow drove Heather to her knees. She pitched backward, her head striking the pavement.
Odd, she thought, looking up at the falling snow.
She no longer felt cold.
CHAPTER 1
Cedar Grove, Washington
Present Day
Tracy Crosswhite came down the stairs into the kitchen and put the bottle of freshly pumped breast milk in the refrigerator. Therese, the nanny she and Dan had hired on a trial basis, stood at the stainless steel sink, running her hand under the tap water, testing the temperature. Pop music emanated from speakers in the ceiling. On the granite counter beside the sink, Daniella lay in her rocker, stripped to her undershirt and diaper. Her belly protruded between the gap in her clothing, and the rocker shook each time Daniella batted the hanging toys—a blue elephant with red ears and a bright-yellow lion with an orange mane.
“Breast milk is in the fridge, Therese,” Tracy said, shutting the door. “Hopefully that should hold her until we get home. We won’t be late.”
Therese spoke over her shoulder, her Irish brogue lyrical. “We’ll be grand. You and Mr. O’Leary enjoy your night out. It’s the first since she was born, isn’t it? How long has it been?”
“Two months tomorrow,” Tracy said. “And yes, first night out.”
“Well then, you deserve it.”
Dan had hired Therese upon the recommendation of a mutual friend—and after Tracy rejected seven other applicants. He urged Tracy to give Therese a chance, and Tracy had agreed, though she’d told him she’d make her own decision on Therese’s competency. She had two months of maternity leave remaining before she had to return to the Seattle Police Department’s Violent Crimes Section—if she returned. She hadn’t yet made up her mind.
They’d moved to Cedar Grove while contractors demolished and remodeled their Redmond farmhouse. Dan had kept his parents’ house in Cedar Grove as a weekend retreat from the city. The house was important to Dan, but coming home to Cedar Grove remained difficult for Tracy, whose own recollections of the town were far from positive—including the memory of her sister’s disappearance. Each visit had been a little better, and Tracy did want Daniella to know where both her parents had been born and raised.
The timing of this trip had proved fortuitous. Dan had a motion to argue in Whatcom County Superior Court for Larry Kaufman, the owner of what had been Kaufman’s Mercantile Store on Market Street. The time together in Cedar Grove would also give Tracy a chance to get to know and evaluate Therese—what Dan had called “a trial run.” “Heck, the pound lets you try out a dog before you adopt it,” he’d said. “What did Keanu Reeves say in Parenthood? ‘You need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car. Hell, you even need a license to catch a fish!’”