did she look like?”
Ashley’s face popped into his head, the image crystal clear even though he hadn’t seen her in two years. “A little like you, actually,” he said, glancing over Rebecca’s features. “Red hair, pale skin, full lips. She had the most beautiful smile...” He trailed off, unable to continue. Not a day passed that he didn’t think about her and the life they should have had together. Knowing he would never see her again was a special kind of torture, and Quinn often wondered if he’d ever be able to think about Ashley without pain. He knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to suffer like this. Their time together and the year and a half they’d spent married had been so full of happiness, it seemed wrong to have it overshadowed by his grief. But he’d learned the hard way he couldn’t control his emotions, no matter how he tried.
“She sounds very special,” Rebecca said quietly.
Quinn nodded. “She was,” he agreed.
“I know this is difficult for you, but will you tell me how she died?”
He’d known the question was coming, but it still hit him like a punch to the gut. His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly, determined not to shed tears in front of a stranger. Just because she looked like Ashley didn’t mean she was Ashley, and he couldn’t let Rebecca’s appearance distract him now.
“Ashley loved to go hiking. It was something we both enjoyed, and we took a lot of camping trips together. She was so happy when I got assigned to Yosemite as my first ranger job—she always said it was her favorite national park.” He smiled briefly at the memory.
“One of her friends had come out for a weekend visit. They had planned a hike on one of the more advanced trails, but since they were both experienced hikers, I didn’t worry about them. Ashley and Naomi knew what they were doing, and they weren’t the kind to take unnecessary risks with their safety. I had planned to go with them, but I was unexpectedly called in to work. I dropped them off at the trailhead and said I’d try to meet up with them later.”
Rebecca nodded. She probably knew these details already—it was the same thing he’d told the police at the time. He knew it was her job to make him tell the story again, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Quinn took a deep breath. Might as well get on with it. Drawing it out would only make him feel worse.
“After a few hours, my boss told me I wasn’t needed anymore and I could go. I called Ashley and got her coordinates, and told her I’d meet her at one of the waterfalls that was a landmark along the trail. I knew a shortcut and set off. But when I got to the meeting point, they weren’t there. I waited around a few minutes, thinking maybe they’d stopped for pictures or a water break. But when they still didn’t show, I grew worried. I called Ashley’s phone again, and that’s when I heard it.”
“Heard what?”
“Ashley’s phone. I could hear it ringing. The sound came from somewhere below the trail.” His gut twisted at the memory, and he heard the echo of her cheerful ringtone in his mind.
“I... I walked to the edge of the trail and saw...” He trailed off, unable to continue.
“They had fallen?” Rebecca asked softly.
Quinn nodded. His throat tightened up, and he didn’t think he’d be able to go on. He forced out the words, and they scraped against his tongue as he spoke. “They were too far down for me to get to them. I yelled to them, but neither one responded. I called for a medical evacuation right away.” The wait for the rescue crew had been the longest stretch of his life. He’d stared down at Ashley’s still form, unable to look away, straining to see any small movement, any twitch that would indicate she was still alive.
“The police questioned you after your wife and her friend were recovered?”
“Yes.” Quinn turned his thoughts away from that horrible discovery and focused instead on the aftermath. The small interrogation room, not unlike this one, where he’d sat, talking to the detectives.
“Why were you considered a suspect?” She sounded genuinely curious, even though she had to have read his file before walking into the room. Quinn thought about asking her the same question, but decided to humor her with a reply.
“Ashley and Naomi were experienced hikers, and the trail was in good condition,” he said again. “It was determined they had most likely slipped over the edge, probably after getting too close for a photo. But I guess the police had to consider foul play, and since I was the last person to talk to Ashley, that made me a potential suspect.”
“But they never arrested you.”
“There was no evidence,” he said simply. “I told you before, I didn’t kill my wife or her friend. No matter how hard the police looked, they weren’t going to find any evidence to the contrary.”
Rebecca was silent a moment, considering his words. “When did you ask to be transferred?”
“About a week later. I couldn’t continue to work at Yosemite—it was too hard.”
“So you were assigned to Big Bend National Park about two years ago.”
Quinn nodded. “It was a good change. Ashley would have loved it here, too, but it’s easier to go to work knowing I’m not going to be ambushed by a sudden memory of us hiking this trail or camping in that spot.”
Rebecca smiled. “I can imagine.” She leaned back in her chair, her head tilted to the side. “I take it you enjoy your job?”
“I do. Very much.”
“And you’re feeling comfortable here? Like it’s home?”
“Yes.” Where is she going with this? Quinn wondered.
“Let’s talk about the women you found.”
The images flashed across his mind and he winced. “I don’t know how much I can tell you,” he said. “Like I told the police, when I found each woman, I called it in right away.”
“I’m sure you did,” Rebecca said soothingly. “I just want to know what you think about the situation.”
Quinn frowned. “What I think?” he asked. “I think it’s terrible what happened to those women.”
Rebecca nodded. “I agree with you. I also think it’s quite interesting that a man who was considered a suspect in his wife’s death was the one to discover these two victims.”
Quinn’s blood ran cold as Rebecca continued. “Another thing that fascinates me is the fact that your wife had red hair. Do you remember the hair color of the women you discovered?”
“Red,” he whispered, his mouth dry as the desert.
“That’s right.” She nodded, looking like a proud teacher pleased with her student’s progress. “Red. Kind of a striking feature, wouldn’t you say?” She leaned forward, as if she wanted to impart a secret. “See, in my line of work, we call that a pattern. It’s quite common for killers to target people who share a set of characteristics—in this case, hair color.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Never
