Expecting to Die

Mountain Reporter.
She was just closing her computer screen when Alvarez poked her head into
the room and said, “Preliminary autopsy’s in on the Montclaire girl.”
“That was quick. Good.”
“I guess when Sheriff Blackwater speaks . . .”
“Mountains are moved in the morgue.”
“Seems so. As I said, just a preliminary, not complete. Toxicology won’t be
for a while. You’ve got a copy. Email.” She pointed to Pescoli’s computer.
“Definitely homicide.”
“I just turned it off,” she said, switching on the monitor again. “Cause of
death?”
“Asphyxiation.” Alvarez’s face was grim, her eyes dark as ebony. “She was
strangled. Pressure so hard her neck snapped.”
“Ugh.”
“Takes a helluva lot of strength,” Alvarez said. “Super-human.”
“What about time of death?”

---

“With the water and decomposition, it was impossible to pin down, but she’d
been in the creek a while. The coroner’s saying a week, and I’m guessing she
was killed the same night she went missing, or soon thereafter, so a week ago
Friday, but who knows? Could have been Saturday or possibly even Sunday.”
“We need alibis for the weekend.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s start with Friday night, work our way into Saturday. I’ve
already asked Zoller to double-check all the people who knew the victim, those
we won’t get to today.”
“Good.”
“And there’s something else that came up.”
“Yeah?”
“She was pregnant. About two months along.”
Pescoli let out a low whistle, unconsciously touching her abdomen and
thinking of the baby soon to be born. “So that makes it a double homicide.”
“Yes.” Alvarez was grim.
“If Donny Justison’s the father, the mayor’s son just moved up on the suspect
list.”
She nodded slowly.
“He could have known about it; she could have told him.” Pescoli didn’t like
the turn of her thoughts. “Could be our motive.”
“Or, it could be the killer didn’t know.”
“This just keeps getting worse.”
“That it does.”
“Do the Montclaires know?”
She nodded. “I thought they should be the first to find out.”
“You talked to them?”
“Mmm. Just a second ago, on the phone. Actually spoke with Glenn. At first
he denied it could be possible, but then he turned right around and said that
Donald Justison Junior was the . . . let’s see, ‘son of a damned bitch’ who was
responsible and that I should just go out and arrest him before something
happened to him.”
“Glenn threatened to do something to Justison?”
Alvarez tipped her hand back and forth in a “maybe, maybe not” gesture.
“Worth watching.”
“Crap.”
Alvarez glanced at the clock. “You ready to go?”
“More than ready. God save me from more paperwork.”
“I told the Montclaires we’d be over, to go through their daughter’s room,
double-check for the missing phone, and grab her laptop. Then, I want to talk to

---

Bianca, but now, in light of this recent development, I want to check in with
Donny Justison.”
Pescoli slipped her cell phone into her bag. “I thought the mayor wanted us to
stay away from her kid.”
Alvarez’s lips twisted into a cold smile. “All the more reason to talk to him
ASAP, don’t you think?”
“Didn’t Carolina call Blackwater and tell him to back off or something?”
“She sure did.”
“And what did he say?”
Alvarez’s smile became icier. “ ‘Put him at the top of the list.’”
“Good.” That was a surprise, she thought as she found her sidearm. Maybe
Blackwater was more of a cop and less of an ass-kisser than she’d originally
imagined.
“Justison may have been the last person to contact Destiny,” Alvarez said.
“I’m still waiting for her phone records. The cell carrier promised them today.”
“We haven’t located her cell phone?”
“Not yet. The parents had a GPS tracker installed, but somehow it was
disabled.”
Pescoli clicked off the desk fan. “Destiny was probably a hell of a lot more
technologically savvy than her folks. She could have turned it off herself.
There’s an app for everything these days.”
“Glenn Montclaire even went so far as to call the phone and walk around his
house and property, hoping to hear it, but no answer. Our guys did the same
thing in the area where the body was found. Nothing. Either it’s turned off or lost
or . . .”
“With the killer,” Pescoli said before snagging her bag and following Alvarez
out of the building to a blast of August heat. Though shadows were lengthening
from the trees planted at the edges of the parking lot, the asphalt was sunbaked,
the street shimmering with heat waves.
With a click of a remote, Alvarez unlocked her Subaru, an SUV she’d
purchased recently. She’d parked the Outback nose-in, the front bumper nearly
touching the brick wall of the backside of the station. Black and gleaming, the
car soaked up the rays from the afternoon sun.
As they slipped into the sweltering interior, Alvarez said, “Did I forget to
mention that Donny Justison was on the wrestling team in high school? He made
allstate.”
“So strong as an ox.”
“Maybe superhuman,” Alvarez agreed as she twisted her key into the ignition.
Was Alvarez buying into the whole “Big Foot in the woods” theory? No way.

---

Not down-to-earth, stick-to-the-facts Selena Alvarez. “Don’t even go there,”
Pescoli growled as she yanked her door shut.
“Don’t go where?”
“To the far-fetched. Okay?” Sweat was beading on her brow and between her
shoulder blades. “Bianca’s already mentioning monsters chasing her, and Lex
Farnsby is talking Sasquatch. You know, like there’s a Big Foot running around
the foothills. Holy crap, it’s boiling in here. How about some air?”
“Just give it a sec.” Alvarez fiddled with the temperature controls. “I’m not
talking about Big Foot. What do you take me for? I’m thinking maybe our guy, a
big, strong guy, is hyped up on drugs. I knew a guy in high school who snapped
a guy’s forearm during a wrestling match and he wasn’t trying to do his
opponent harm, not really, just wanted the pin.” She adjusted her sunglasses
before backing out. “And you always hear about in times of great stress like
during an accident, with adrenaline pumping through his body, a guy’s able to
lift a car off a kid or rip a door from its hinges. Superhuman strength.” She shot
Pescoli a look. “So, let’s just say, we’ve got a guy who’s intent on murder, and
he’s already fired up anticipating the crime.”
“Maybe someone who doesn’t want a baby screwing up his plans?”
She twisted her neck to look out the rear of the vehicle, rammed the gearshift
into reverse, and began backing out. “So, now he’s pumped up, right, in a rage?
Adrenaline flowing through his bloodstream, maybe steroids or whatever’s
amping him up adding to the mix, and good old testosterone driving the show.
Just how tough would it be for a big guy, a trained fighter, to snap a small
woman’s neck?” She hit the brakes and put the Outback into drive. “Piece of
cake.”
A bad taste filled Pescoli’s throat as she wrestled into her seat belt and flipped
down her visor. At least a waft of cool air had begun to filter through the vents.
As Alvarez eased on the gas and pulled out of the lot, Pescoli’s cell phone
buzzed. Plucking it from her bag, she glanced at the screen and inwardly
groaned. Her ex-husband.
Great. Just what she needed. A chat with Lucky.
Because of Bianca’s recent trip to the hospital, she took the call. “This will
just take a sec,” she told Alvarez, then answered: “What’s up?” No need for
pleasantries.
“I was checking on Bianca.”
“She’s at home. You could call her.”
“I did.”
“And?” She slid on a pair of sunglasses and stared out the window. Despite
the heat, the sidewalks of the upper level of Grizzly Falls were crowded with

---

pedestrians and skateboarders, women with strollers, joggers, and a few people
walking dogs. Strip malls and restaurants lined the street, where traffic moved
smoothly. This part of town, sprawling toward the foothills, was the newer area
of Grizzly Falls. The older, original section of town lay upon the banks of the
Grizzly River, just below the falls for which the town was named.
“I wanted your take on things,” Lucky said.
That was a surprise. In their few years of a tumultuous marriage, he’d rarely
wanted to hear what she had to say. A truck driver who was handsome,
charming, and as slippery as an eel, he had been a big believer in asking
forgiveness rather than permission. In Pescoli’s opinion, it hadn’t been a
question of permission or forgiveness, but rather what should have been a
discussion. Instead of a meeting of the minds, she and Luke had been forever
butting heads. Still were. And she didn’t trust him.
“She’ll survive. Despite what she says, she won’t be scarred for life.”
“Physically, ya mean.”
“Right. I think she’ll put everything else in perspective, though. It’ll take
time.”
“Pretty tough.”
She thought about the first time she’d seen a body. It had been her grandfather
in a casket, and even that had been creepy for an eleven-year-old. “Real tough.
And, she thinks she may have known the victim.”
“The victim? Oh, the dead girl? Yeah . . . yeah, of course.” He cleared his
throat. “Real hard.”
Something was off here. “What did you think I was talking about?”
“Come on, Regan. Bianca was chased through the woods with a Sasquatch
bearing down on her. Has to be traumatic.”
“Oh my God, you too?” She nearly clapped her hand to her forehead in
exasperation.
“They’ve been spotted all around here,” he said defensively.
“But no one has pictures or bones or even any spoor.”
“Not yet.”
“Please.”
“They’re real, Regan.”
“Says who?” She caught herself being sucked into an argument. Again.
“Never mind. Look, I’m working. I’ll check on Bianca. Alvarez needs to talk to
her.”
“You mean like, interview her?”
“Yes.” Was he being even more dense than ever?
“Because of the dead girl.”

---

Two for two.
“Shouldn’t I be there? She’s underage. Needs a parent.”
“I’m her parent,” she reminded shortly.
“You’re a cop.”
She let that settle in for a few beats. Didn’t immediately rise to the bait.
“I’m on my way,” Lucky told her.
“Not necessary. Really.” The last thing she needed was Lucky all of a sudden
playing daddy.
“She needs an advocate. A real parent.”
“One who believes in Big Foot?”
“Face it, Regan, you’re a cop first and a parent second,” he said tightly.
“What?” she nearly shouted. She thought of all the years that she’d raised the
kids alone while holding down a full-time, more-than-demanding job as a
homicide detective. The carpools, the shuttling kids, the school meetings, the
sports or dance performances, the tears and laughter. How she’d dealt with
Jeremy and his girlfriend and his once-upon-a-time affiliation with alcohol and
marijuana. How she’d worried over Bianca’s self-esteem and the boys who were
forever sniffing around her.
And where had Lucky been?
Living his life. Free and easy. Married to a woman barely older than his
stepson, a life-sized Barbie doll who spent hours getting “mani-pedis” and
facials and spent her days tanning or reading online celebrity blogs.
“I am Bianca’s advocate,” she asserted, stressing every word. Out of the
corner of her eye, Alvarez slid her a questioning look. “I’ll handle this, Lucky.”
She didn’t bother saying good-bye, just hung up. “All of a sudden, that
deadbeat’s worried about Bianca.”
“She is hurt.”
“I know, but she’s been hurt before and he’s always thought a quick phone call
and an even quicker ‘Love ya, princess’ were the extent of his fatherly duties.
And he acts like this Big Foot thing is real.”
Pescoli shook her head in frustration. Damn Lucky. He always knew how to
complicate everything. And if he played into Bianca’s fears with this Sasquatch
stuff .. . it would make her want to rip her hair out.