CHAPTER TEN
Selena stood beside the evidence board with one arm folded across her middle and the other hand near her chin.
Three desks, two filing cabinets, a long table, and a whiteboard took up too much space.
Printed crime scene photos had been taped up with more care than skill.
Red string waited in a box on the table, unused for now.
The photographs did the real work.
Warren Holt at the hunting lodge.
Victor Schmidt in his armchair.
Two men. Two bullets. A blank letter left. No weapon at Victor’s house. No forced entry. No sign that the dead man had known death was standing close enough to touch him.
Connor stood in front of the board with a paper cup in his hand, staring at Victor’s photograph. He had not moved in several minutes. The cup sagged where his fingers pressed into it. His hat sat on the table behind him.
Arnold was at the rear desk, phone tucked against his ear, one hand pressed over the other side to block out noise that did not exist. His voice stayed low, almost tender. That told Selena he was not speaking with another deputy.
Connor kept looking at Victor.
Selena watched him instead.
The Sheriff's shoulders were squared, but too rigid.
His jaw worked once, then stopped. That worried her more than tears would have.
Men like Connor often made the mistake of treating grief as something they could discipline.
In a homicide case, grief had teeth. It made people skip steps and hear guilt in the wrong voice.
But Selena knew Connor. In the fifteen years since their marriage ended, he may have been able to create the facade of change, but that dangerous edge to him was still in there.
It had been obscured by the badge and his desire to throw himself into duty.
But nonetheless, it was still there. And the death of his friends was bringing it to the fore.
He had a look in his eyes. A look no one else would have seen but her.
A look she saw many times when they were high school sweethearts and then a married couple.
A look that meant he was just one push away from losing it.
If Connor became a liability, she would have to say so.
She might even have to force him back from the case.
The Bureau had not sent her to Harlan County to protect his feelings.
Two men were dead. If the same person had killed both, there would likely be more unless they moved fast and stayed careful.
Still, the idea of putting that line between them made something tighten under her ribs.
Victor’s dead face looked out from the board. Warren’s hand rested near the blank page.
The killer was not finished speaking. She could feel that much.
Connor’s coffee cup creaked.
Selena said, “You know that coffee must be cold by now.”
Connor blinked, then looked down as if surprised to find the cup in his hand. He lifted it, took a sip, and winced before turning half toward her.
“Do you always have to be right?” he whispered.
The words came out sharper than the volume suggested.
Selena did not take the bait. The old version of her might have. Fifteen years ago, she would have sent something back twice as fast. Now she only held his gaze and waited.
Connor’s expression changed almost at once.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” He crossed to the table and put the cup down.
A small breath left him. Not a laugh. Not quite. “I just can’t believe what’s happened.”
Selena glanced toward Victor’s picture. “I know.”
Connor rubbed both hands over his face, then lowered them and stood there with his fingers curled against his palms. “Warren was bad enough. Now Vic.”
Arnold turned from the desk, phone still at his ear. “Sheriff?”
Connor looked over.
Arnold covered the mouthpiece. “I’ve got Victor’s wife on the line.”
The room changed. It did not grow quieter. It was already quiet. But everything in it seemed to narrow toward the phone in Arnold’s hand.
Selena stepped closer. “Put it on speaker.”
“I’d rather take the call…” Connor said, sincerity in his voice.
“I know,” she said calmly. “But I think we should be all in it. Okay?”
Arnold tapped the screen and placed the phone on the table.
A faint hiss came through the small speaker.
Connor leaned over the table. “Marlene?”
A breath hitched at the other end. “Connor?”
The voice was thin, strained, and so small through the speaker that Selena pictured the woman in some borrowed kitchen hundreds of miles away, holding herself together where her children could not see her fall apart.
“I’m here,” Connor said. “I’m so sorry, Marlene.”
A pause followed. Someone muffled a sob. Another relative nearby, perhaps.
Connor lowered his head. “Victor was a great guy. One of the best.”
“I don’t understand,” Marlene said. “I don’t understand how this can be real.”
“I wish I knew what to say, Marlene. I can’t tell you how much I’ll miss him.”
“He was fine when we left. He was laughing. He told the kids he’d have the yard cut before we got home.” Her voice wavered. “He never cut the yard when he said he would. I was going to tease him about it.”
Connor closed his eyes for a second.
Selena watched his hands. One had braced flat on the table. The other had balled into a fist beside the phone.
She then drew a shaky breath. “Do you have any idea who did it?”
Nobody spoke.
The silence stretched too long.
Connor opened his eyes. “Not yet. But we’re working on it.”
Selena moved closer. “Marlene, my name is Selena Raven. I’m with the FBI. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“It was one of your agents who told us today,” she answered.
“Marlene,” Selena began, “were you in Lexington all night?”
“Yes,” she said with a sob.
Connor gave a frustrated look toward Selena.
“I’ve worked cases like this before, Marlene. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?”
“Right now?”
“I know this is a terrible time. Anything you can give us may help.”
“It will help,” Connor repeated.
A low sound came from Marlene. She was crying, but trying to hold it back. “If you say it will, Connor.”
“Thank you,” Selena said. “When did you leave town?”
“Two days ago. Me and the kids drove up to Lexington to visit my mother.”
“Did Victor plan to join you?”
“No. He was supposed to come later if he could get away. Maybe the weekend. He had too much work this week.”
“What kind of work?”
“The co-op. Contracts. Deliveries. I don’t know all the details. Victor tried not to bring it home when he could help it.”
Selena glanced toward the board. “Was anything out of the ordinary with him before you left? Anything he might have done that seemed strange?”
"No," Marlene answered too quickly. "No, not really."
There it was. A door shutting before anyone had tried to open it.
Selena softened her tone. “Marlene, I’m not asking whether Victor did anything wrong. I’m asking whether something changed. Mood. Routine. Calls he didn’t want to take. Arguments. Anything that made you think he was carrying pressure.”
A pause.
“He was stressed,” she said.
Connor lifted his head. “About what?”
“The grain co-op. Carl Higgins.”
Arnold’s eyes moved to Connor.
Selena caught the name and wrote it in her notebook. “Who’s Carl Higgins?”
“Runs another grain outfit across the county line,” Marlene said. “He’s been trying to push into Harlan for years because he lives here. Victor beat him out on a distribution contract back in the spring. Big one.”
“Under disputed circumstances?” Selena asked.
Marlene sniffed. “That’s what Carl said.”
“What did Victor say?”
“That Carl couldn’t stand losing. Victor said everything was above board. The contract went to the better offer.”
Connor said, “How heated did it get, Marlene?”
For a moment, only her breathing answered.
“He came to the house,” Marlene said at last. “A few weeks ago.”
Connor straightened. “Carl did?”
“Yes. It got very heated.”
“Why didn’t Victor tell me?” Connor’s expression looked pained.
“Because Victor didn’t want trouble. You know how he was. He’d complain for two hours over a bad ref at the kids’ soccer game, but when something mattered, he’d say he could handle it.”
A flicker of pain crossed Connor’s face. “What happened at the house?”
“I was in the kitchen. The kids were upstairs. Someone knocked hard enough to rattle the door, and Victor went out onto the porch. I heard voices. Carl was angry. Very angry.”
Selena wrote down porch confrontation, kids upstairs, wife present.
“What did you hear him say?” Selena asked.
Marlene’s voice shrank further. “I heard him tell Victor he’d get what was coming to him.”
Connor looked at Selena.
Selena held his gaze, then looked back to the phone. “Those exact words?”
“I think so. Yes. He said Victor had made a fool out of him, and people who made fools out of him paid for it. Then he said Victor would get what was coming to him.”
“Did he threaten violence?”
Marlene sniffed down the phone. “Not directly. I thought it sounded like that, but Victor said it was just Carl being Carl.”
“Did Victor call anyone after that? A lawyer, an employee, a friend?”
“I don’t think so. He told me Carl liked to blow smoke, and I should forget it.”
Connor’s mouth tightened. “Marlene, I wish he’d told me.”
“So do I.” Anger entered her voice, cutting through the grief in one clean line. “I told him to. He laughed it off. He always laughed things off when he didn’t want me scared.”
Selena let a few seconds pass.
“Is there anything else you can think of that was out of the ordinary?” Selena asked. “Anything about Victor’s routine? Anyone else upset with him? Any strange calls?”
“No.” Marlene began to cry harder, breath catching between words. “No. Victor was always so upbeat. Everybody liked him. He was loud and stubborn and he forgot anniversaries unless I wrote them on the fridge, but he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t a bad man. He was good… Why would anybody do this!?”
Connor cleared his throat.
The sound was rough enough that Selena looked at him.
He leaned closer to the phone. “We’ll speak with Carl Higgins.”