In the Bleak Midwinter

He propped his sock-clad feet on a footstool. “First, you have to recreate the history of the crime. Who did it, when, where, all that. Then, it’s usually the history of the individuals involved that helps you to understand why. This guy was molested as a kid, so he, in turn, molests other kids once he’s grown.”

Clare made a face. “Like Darrell McWhorter, you mean? I don’t get it. I can see where knowing his history would help if he were in counseling. But what effect does it have on your ability to put him behind bars?”

“If you know a person’s history, you can use it to help predict what that person might do. A person’s history can be the key to understanding his motivation for committing a crime. For instance, in Katie’s murder.” Russ leaned forward, feet hitting the floor, elbows on his knees. “We know Ethan may be Cody’s father. But why would he kill Katie? Is there something in his past or in their history together that would make him likely to do it? What about McWhorter? Apparently, he’d be willing to kill Katie to cover up his molestation of her. But it looks damn sure that the baby isn’t his. What’s in his history that makes him a suspect?”

“A need to control his daughters?” she suggested. “Katie demonstrated her control of her own body by having another man’s child, so he killed her in a rage?”

“Maybe. But compare that to the Burnses’ history. A couple tries for years to get a baby, stressing their marriage and their financial resources in the meanwhile, and then a kid falls in their laps. But, the mother shows up and says it was all a mistake, she wants Cody back now. I think that’s damn good motive for murder.”

“Except for one thing.” Clare scooted to the edge of the loveseat and skewered the air with her finger. “If Katie had wanted Cody back, she could have just gone to DSS. She’s the birth mother, she doesn’t need to deal with the Burnses to get him back.”

“Okay, she doesn’t want him back. She wants money to stay away.”

“Now you’re ignoring history. Does that sound like the Katie McWhorter we’ve been hearing about? And anyway, the Burnses wouldn’t pay to get Cody. This morning they—”

The phone rang, cutting her off. “I gotta get this.” Russ vaulted out of his chair. “I’m expecting word on the blood test results and how Ethan’s interrogation went.” He glanced at his watch. “Geez, it’s almost ten o’clock! Where did the evening go?”

She rose and followed him into the kitchen. “I’ll take that as a compliment on my ability to be a distraction.”

He grinned. “You are that,” he said, picking up the receiver. “Hello?”

Clare went into the chilly mudroom to retrieve her boots and jacket. She looked glumly out the window. When had it started to snow? Please God, let the plows be out and the roads clear. She didn’t relish the idea of getting stuck between here and the town. She carried her things back into the kitchen. “Russ?” she asked.

He waved her off, still holding the phone. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ll be there. Half an hour, forty-five minutes at the most.” He hung up the phone and leaned on it, shaking his head.

“I was going to impose on you for a ride into town, since it’s really coming down out there. But I can see it’s a bad time . . .” She bit her lower lip, unsure if she should ask what was wrong or not.

He passed a hand over his face. “That was the night dispatch out of Glens Falls. A motorist called in what he thought was a deer beside the road. It was a body. Durkee and Flynn went to check it out. Wallet was in the guy’s pants.” He looked at her. “It’s Darrell McWhorter. He’s been shot to death.”

CHAPTER 15

If Katie McWhorter had resembled a frozen story-book princess in death, her father looked like roadkill. Russ tried to summon some basic human identity with the corpse, but the only emotion he could come up with was irritation that Darrell had died before Russ had had a chance to dig any more information out of him. That, and the conviction that the world—or at least his small corner of it—was a slightly cleaner place tonight.

He and Clare had been the last to arrive at the scene on the old Schuylerville Road. Durkee and Flynn had done a good job securing the area, with tape and flares and cones to redirect the infrequent traffic to the other side of the road. The state crime scene unit was already in place. Two technicians this time, since it wasn’t a matter of humping the equipment a half-mile into the woods. They were working as fast as they could, racing the snow that had already covered up tire tracks and footprints, turning Darrell into a blurred heap. Russ turned his collar up against the thick flakes melting along the back of his neck, and wished he had stopped to get his hat. The snow was wetting his unprotected glasses, turning the scene into a kaleidoscope of splashing red lights and a blur of white.