Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) by Anthony Strong (ebooks that read to you .TXT) 📕

“Then where’s his friend?” Barnes asked.

Decker circled the body, careful not to disturb anything a forensic team might want to examine later. “Good question. Maybe he came up here alone.”

“Or maybe he didn’t. Either way, judging by those wounds, he ran into the same creature that tried to kill us last night. Body’s been here a while, but not too long. I’d say less than twenty-four hours, although the ME will be able to give us a better estimate. Question is, what was he doing here?”

“We need to search the area.” Decker stepped away from the body. “See if he was alone. I would also like to know what he found so interesting about this particular spot.”

“I’ll take the truck,” Fowler said, pulling a pair of blue nitril gloves from his pocket and putting them on.

“Here.” Barnes offered a pair of gloves to Decker.

“Thanks.” He took them and looked past the FBI agent at the two Las Vegas PD officers. “One of you should call this in, get a team up here. Secure the scene.”

“I’ll handle that,” Glendale said, turning back toward the helicopter.

“Officer Parsons, you can help search. If this guy’s friend is around here, we need to know.”

“Sure thing,” Parsons replied.

“We’ll fan out from the body. Each person in a different direction. If you find anything, call out. And expect the unexpected. This isn’t a regular crime scene. Ready?”

“Ready.” Barnes nodded.

They set off in different directions. Fowler headed toward the truck. Parsons followed his colleague back toward the helicopter. Moving past it, he started to search up the trail. Barnes made his way toward the Rocky outcrop. Decker headed down the trail in the other direction. He could see the tire marks left by the truck, but no footprints, which meant it was unlikely the truck’s occupants had ventured this way. It turned out he was right. He was only a few minutes into the search when Barnes let out a loud holler.

“Over here. I’ve found another one.”

Decker turned and hurried back toward the scene, and at first, he couldn’t tell where Barnes was. But then he saw the FBI agent’s head and shoulders above a tangle of bushes. He was in the cleft formed by the Rocky outcrop, standing near a jagged escarpment.

The Vegas police officers were heading back. Agent Fowler was already pushing his way through the bushes, cursing as branches caught on his bare arms and scratched him.

Decker quickened his pace, reaching the narrow crevice at a jog and following the FBI agent along the narrow path between the rocks. He pushed the bushes aside and emerged into a wider area surrounded by large boulders. At one end was a gaping hole in the earth, the interior nothing but an inky black void. Broken and rotten timbers lay scattered about. A crowbar sat discarded in the dirt near the entrance. Nearby, a few feet from the dark mine entrance, lay a second body.

“I guess we know what these two jokers were doing up here,” Barnes said, glancing toward the hole in the rocks. “After we chased them away from the mine, they came looking for another way in.”

Decker looked down at the ruined body, desecrated in the same manner as Sasha Martin and the two campers. “And in the process, they released something they weren’t expecting.”

“Looks that way.” Barnes kneeled beside the body. With his nitrile gloves on, he patted the man down. “Under normal circumstances, I’d wait for forensics to process the scene before searching a victim, but time is ticking.”

“Forensics aren’t going to be much good to us anyway,” Decker said. He moved close to Barnes and kneeled next to him. “We’ve already met our killer, and it’s not one of the usual suspects.”

“I agree.” Barnes had found something in the dead man’s back pocket. A wallet. He opened it and studied the driver’s license contained within, then glanced between Decker and Fowler. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Wagner Mitchell, owner of that truck parked yonder, and the man we’ve been trying to find since yesterday.”

“Looks like he’s beyond giving an interview at this point,” Fowler observed.

“Which is a shame, because I’d really like to know what business he had in that mine.” Decker glanced back toward the other body. “I’d also love to know who his friend is.”

“Let’s find out,” Fowler said. He turned and pushed his way back through the bushes toward the second corpse. He bent down—careful not to step in the pool of congealed blood—and rummaged through the man’s clothing until he came up with a second wallet. He flipped it open, then closed it again as Decker and Barnes approached. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I know this guy.”

“What?” Decker glanced down at the corpse. “Who is he?”

“Name’s Harlan Biggs. Owns a casino off the Strip. A real dive, although he’s been renovating it. He’s a smalltime hustler who thinks he’s a big shot.”

“Harlan Biggs. Why do I know that name?” Barnes asked.

“Probably because we’ve had a file open on his family and their associates for decades. His father used to launder money for a local mobster named Oscar Rossi. The Bureau tried to turn his old man years ago, even tried to have his gaming license revoked to force his hand, but he’d never squeal. That was before my time, of course. Harlan isn’t like that. Never had the stomach for it, although there’s talk that he got himself mixed up with Rossi all over again. Probably how he came up with the dough for the casino renovation.”

“Guess he won’t be paying the loan back now,” Barnes said.

“Not unless Rossi has some contacts on the other side.” Fowler dropped the wallet into an evidence bag handed to him by the Vegas cop, Glendale, and sealed it. “I think it’s time we find out what these two jokers were up to before they got themselves killed.”

“Best place to start would be their home premises.”

“It’s