Pursuit of Justice Read Online Free PDF Page A

him. With his tenure at the bureau, he expected to be the lead. She considered explaining a little more, but why be defensive? She took a deep breath to rid herself of the animosity inching across the car seat. Nothing in her life had ever been easy, and nothing had led her to expect the road would be smooth now.
    The countryside sprawled out on both sides of them: rolling land with little vegetation, harsh and unforgiving. Like most of her memories. Mesquite trees with their featherlike leaves and live oaks dotted the land. Cacti bloomed in yellow, adding color to the bland countryside. Everything here was a postcard of a place she vowed never to revisit.
    She entered Runnels County on the north side, a little more rolling and flat. To the right of 83, fields had been plowed and irrigated. Memories, like haunting nightmares, swept over her. She needed this assignment for more reasons than she cared to list.
    Once through the small town of Ballinger, the county seat, she took 67 toward Coleman and Valera, according to the GPS recommendations on her phone. These were towns she remembered from school days. She had about another six miles to the High Butte Ranch, passing over Long Branch Creek, then Bearfoot, Butternut, Mustang, and Middle Mustang creeks. More time to think and plan, and Vic wasn’t a big talker. She couldn’t tell if he was sulking about not having the lead or simply quiet.
    Bella drove past a Dodge pickup caked with red dirt. The driver lifted a finger from the steering wheel. It reminded her of old neighbors—neighbors who smiled and went on with their lives, neighbors who thought Christianity meant minding their own business. Neighbors who thought they knew each other.
    As much as she didn’t want to relive her younger days, if something embedded in her mind led to finding Richardson or solving the case, she’d bring it to the surface.
    Opposite a cemetery, she turned right onto a narrow dirt road that was supposed to lead to the High Butte. She moaned. Railroad tracks, then a locked gate strung across the narrow road—not an unusual sight for this area, but she’d hoped for clear passage to the ranch. A sign read, 6187 Acres. No Hunting, No Fishing, No Firearms. Someone should have told the shooter. A solar panel to operate the gate was mounted high on a pole, and a call box was affixed about five feet from the ground.
    “I’ve got the number for the ranch and the sheriff,” Vic said, opening the car door. “I’ll get one of them to open the gate.”
    A few moments later, he shook his head and walked back to the car. “The call box doesn’t work. Imagine that.”
    Bella pulled her phone from her purse to call Sheriff Adams. Rats. No connectivity. She turned to Vic. “Can you call out?”
    He glanced at his BlackBerry. “Nope.”
    “We could walk, but I don’t want my rear filled with buckshot.” What a way to begin the investigation.
    “Neither do I want to carry our equipment or leave it behind.”
    Groaning, she backed onto the paved road and headed back the six miles to Ballinger. Once inside the city limits, she parked at a feed store and saw she had the ability to call out. Again she pressed in the sheriff’s number.
    “The gate’s locked on the 67 entrance,” she said after he answered.
    “I entered on the west side, where there isn’t a gate. Same entrance where the victims entered. I’ll get Carr to open the gate on 67.”
    “Thanks. We’re on our way.” Bella exchanged an exasperated look with Vic and drove back toward the High Butte’s gate. She drove slower this time, taking in what she could see of the ranch to the right of her. In the distance a butte rose up to meet a cloudless sky. Many of the ranches had wind power farms to generate electricity, and Sullivan’s property had them too. Frankly, she thought they were ugly.
    A sharp bang startled her. A blowout. Bella lifted her foot from the gas pedal and gripped the steering wheel while maneuvering the car to the