She Who Watches by Patricia H. Rushford Page A

writing a case number and date on the outer bag. Then she placed it in her briefcase.
    With their work complete, the detectives started westward. The initial excitement of the call had long since worn off and turned to exhaustion.
    â€œYou think we ought to contact Scott Watson right away, let him know we think we found his wife?” Dana asked.
    â€œLet’s hold off until we can confirm the identity at the post tomorrow. We can at least give him one more night of rest before we make the call.”
    â€œI don’t think I’d be resting much if my spouse was missing. I think I’d like to know,” Dana countered.
    â€œI agree, but I think the best call is to confirm her identity though the M.E. and meet with the hubby tomorrow. If it turns out to be Sara, which I’m ninety-nine percent sure it is, then we’re going to have to be prepared for a comprehensive interview with her husband after making the notification. Who knows? This guy could be dirty.”
    â€œYour call, Mac. Don’t know if I agree with you, though. I just think the decent thing to do is let the guy know, that’s all.”
    The decent thing wouldn’t be to dump your wife in a shallow grave . Mac kept the thought to himself. More often than not, murder victims were killed by someone they knew, and female victims were most often preyed upon by a male counterpart. Dana knew that, so what was her problem?
    â€œI’d rather do it by the book, Dana. I’m sure that’s what Sarge would want us to do. Another half day won’t matter.”
    â€œLike I said, Mac, it’s your call.” Dana crossed her arms and stared out the window.
    Mac shook his head and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. He knew better than to argue with Dana when she was tired.
    Besides, if she was upset with him, it might be something he did hours or days ago that came to a head over a discussion on the death notification. Or she could simply be a little tired and grumpy, a danger for everyone in their line of work from time to time.
    He would cut her some slack and give her some space. Mac was a quick study if nothing else.

NINE
    C laire Montgomery couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t slept most of the night. The newscaster on the Channel 8 news had reported on a body find in central Oregon. There was little reason for Claire to think it might be Sara, but she couldn’t help but wonder. For the past five weeks, any mention of a body being discovered captured her attention and didn’t let go until the police made a positive identification. Although the police weren’t releasing information, a camper was describing the gruesome find to the local media after alerting authorities. The red numbers on the clock radio told her it was only 6:00 a.m. Saturday. She could have stayed in bed for at least another hour. Probably should have, but there might be new information. Being careful not to wake Allysa, with whom she shared the guest bedroom, Claire eased out of bed and dragged on her bathrobe.
    Downstairs, she plucked the Oregonian off the front porch and perused the headlines. The body, a woman, found near the Warm Springs Indian reservation, had not been identified. The medical examiner and police were not available for comment. That didn’t keep the reporters from speculating on the preliminary information from the man whose dog found the body. The reporter had listed several local women and reiterated the circumstances surrounding their disappearances. A college girl from Eugene, a middle-aged woman from The Dalles. And Sara. Tears blurred the page, and the familiar heartache settled into her chest.
    She brushed aside the tears and put on the coffee, then settled into a chair at the table in the breakfast nook, where the sun was already brightening the predawn sky. Soon she’d make breakfast for the four of them as she always did. During these past few weeks, they’d settled into a