Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Grace caught a brief glimpse of her only potential suspect zipping past the front windows of the police station on his motorcycle. If it was up to her, he’d still be sitting at the end of the conference table answering her questions. Instead, she was reorganizing her documentation and stowing it back in her satchel as the police chief stood on the other side of the table, still holding the folder he’d brought with him when he’d come back into the conference room.
“I’d like an explanation,” she said. “You let my suspect go and didn’t even have the courtesy to speak to me about it first.”
He arched a brow. “You’re right. I should have spoken to you first. However, I felt I owed it to Mr. O’Brien to release him immediately.” He pulled out his phone and swiped his thumb across the screen before handing it to her.
She stared at the picture, stunned. “Where did you get this?”
“I had another one of my officers, Fletcher, canvassing the people at the festival who were near the hill when the arrow was shot. When I was telling Collier to package up the evidence for the FBI lab, I called Fletcher to see how her canvassing was going. She told me that one of the families she’d spoken to had been taking pictures on that hill not too far from where O’Brien was sitting. They texted her that picture you’re looking at.”
“They caught the arrow in flight, going right past O’Brien’s shoulder.”
Dawson nodded. “Unfortunately, the person who shot that arrow is in the shadows of the trees and can’t be seen. But this is proof positive that O’Brien isn’t the shooter at the festival.”
She handed him back the phone. “Agreed. He’s not today’s shooter. But that doesn’t mean he’s not the Crossbow Killer. He uses bows and arrows to hunt. And he’s a convicted murderer in a town where an anonymous tipster said I’d find my killer. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look deeper to either rule him out in my investigation, or keep him on my list.”
“You have a list of suspects?”
“Officially, no. But we have a handful of persons of interest other agents are checking out in other locations. For now, I’m only looking at Mystic Lake. And O’Brien’s my only suspect at this point. But after that festival incident, and seeing those white feathers with a red line painted down the center, it sure looks like either my killer is here, or there’s a copycat. He’s either just as deadly, or someone having fun, playing with the police.”
Dawson groaned. “I sure hope we don’t have a copycat. Someone toying with us though, that wouldn’t really surprise me. Some of the teenagers around here like to have fun adding to the town’s reputation for unusual or unexplained events. I can just see one of them doing this, not really trying to hurt anyone, but trying to cause a stir around town. I’ll start looking into the usual culprits, see what I can find out.”
“Tourism is the main industry here, isn’t it?” she asked.
“During summer and fall, yes. Leaf peepers and those wanting to boat or kayak or even camp near the larger part of the lake outside of town. But most of the people around here either commute to a job in Chattanooga every day or work remotely online. Why?”
“I’m wondering about your local economy. A lot of places that rely heavily on tourism have suffered from things like the pandemic and ups and downs in the economy since then. Could someone other than the teens you mentioned be trying to put the town more on the map, generate media and tourist interest by making it look like the Crossbow Killer is operating here?”
He grimaced. “I prefer the juvenile delinquent angle than to think an adult would be that reckless. But, point taken. We’ll explore every possibility, not just focusing on our problem kids around here. As for you talking more to O’Brien, I can place another call to his parole officer to have her arrange another chat. He doesn’t really have a choice, given the conditions of his parole. However, I’ve found that the more background I have on a suspect, the more prepared I am to get something worthwhile out of an interrogation. That’s another reason I let him go earlier. I wanted you to be able to read through this first.”
He finally set down the folder he’d been holding.
“What is it?” she asked as she slid her last stack of pictures into her satchel.
“Aidan O’Brien’s arrest record and background on the crime for which he was convicted. It’s a copy of the folder his parole officer gave me when O’Brien relocated here. I’m sure you can get the full investigative file if you want it. I never had a reason to dig deeper and request more information.”
After quickly flipping through the contents, she frowned. “I don’t see a trial transcript.”
“There wasn’t a trial. He pled guilty.”
“What about his sentencing hearing?”
“Like I said, I didn’t dig deeper. You’ll have to make a records request if you want a transcript of that. Collier made that folder for you. You can keep it.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She slid it into her satchel and strapped it over her shoulder. “I’ll call my office from my car, arrange for a courier to pick up your evidence. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours to get someone here.”
“We’ll be ready.” He held the conference room door open for her.
At the front door, she stopped. “One more thing. If the evidence is authenticated, if the Bureau confirms it’s consistent with the evidence we already have, be prepared for a few more agents heading this way to help with my investigation.”
“Trust me,” he said, “if there’s a serial killer in my town, I’m grateful for any help you can provide. There won’t be any jurisdictional fights or egos getting in the way. We’ll take this guy down, together, whoever he is.”
She smiled. “That’s wonderful to hear. It will make everything easier, and faster.”
He handed her a business card. “My office and mobile are on there. When you’re ready to set up another meeting with O’Brien, just shout.” He pointed toward a two-story whitewashed cottage on the other side of the lake. “That’s Stella’s Bed and Breakfast. Locals use it to house family and friends that come to visit. And once tourists start bombarding us in a few weeks, the place fills up fast. But there are probably a few vacancies right now. Stella’s main source of income is actually the restaurant downstairs. It’s open seven days a week and is the best place in town for a hot meal. I highly recommend it.”
She smiled her thanks. “I’ll head there now and see if you’re right about vacancies. I’d assumed I’d have to stay in Chattanooga and drive in each day that I’m here. Stella’s would be much more convenient.”
After shaking his hand, she headed down the brick sidewalk toward the parking lot at the end of Main Street. Although the only parking she saw on the other side of the lake was parallel street parking, she couldn’t imagine the B and B and its large, attached restaurant not having parking for the customers. There must be a lot behind it or maybe farther down the street on that side of the lake. She figured she’d head over there and find out. If she was wrong, she’d just park back at the large lot at the end of Main Street and walk around the lake to Stella’s.
As she’d hoped, there was indeed a good-sized lot behind the B and B. She just had to go a block down and loop back behind the row of shops to get to it. The bumpy gravel and incline that led up to Stella’s lot had her grateful she’d insisted on a four-wheel drive vehicle when she’d rented the SUV. It would be handy when she checked out the marina and campground she’d researched, too. Both were about a mile out of town where the lake widened and deepened and attracted boaters and fisherman. There were even some class two and three rapids where the river flowed down from the mountains and fed the lake.
Having learned to pack light over the years, all she had to bring inside the B and B was a small rolling suitcase and her satchel that contained her laptop, her investigative files and notes. The check-in desk downstairs doubled both for the inn and the surprisingly busy restaurant. It seemed that half the town must be either at the bar or sitting at the tables and booths drinking or eating. No doubt with the festival canceled, they were finding another way to have the fun they’d been denied.
The owner herself, Stella Holman, checked Grace in, reserving a room for her plus two more at Grace’s request in case more agents were needed in the next few days. After Stella took Grace upstairs to her room and was about to head downstairs again, Grace stopped her.
“Ms. Holman?”
The petite, white-haired lady smiled. “It’s Mrs., but we don’t stand on formality around here. Call me Stella. How can I help you, dear?”
“I need to go see someone up in the mountains a little later. I have the address, but it’s not showing up on my GPS.”
Stella laughed. “If you go by those fancy GPS things around here you’ll get lost every time, or drive off a cliff. Half the time phones don’t even work in these mountains. What’s the address?”
“It’s on Niall’s Circle.”
The other woman’s smile faltered. “I see. Well, that won’t be on your GPS because it’s not the official name of any road. It’s basically a driveway. A very long one, but technically a driveway. Head out of town and take the first right up Harper Road. You’ll find the turnoff to Niall’s Circle at the top of the mountain, where Harper ends. I can draw it out if you need me to.”
“No, no. Those directions sound easy to follow. Thanks so much.”
Stella patted Grace’s shoulder. “I hope you enjoy our little town, maybe take a boat out on the lake. It’s gorgeous this time of year. If you’re hungry, come downstairs for lunch before you go sightseeing. With the festival canceled, there’s a party going on. There’s a game room, too, with tables set up for cards, some pool tables and even a dartboard. I’m sure you’d have fun. And the food’s not bad either. I hear that Mr. Holman is an excellent chef.” She winked and headed downstairs.
Grace briefly debated going downstairs right now. Not to party or eat, but to mingle with the townspeople to try to get information that might help her investigation. But as loud as it had been when she’d passed the opening to the restaurant before coming upstairs, it was doubtful that conversations would be easy or fruitful. She’d have to make the rounds another time.
Talking to O’Brien was her number one priority anyway. And she had no intention of notifying his parole officer or having him return to the station at this point. Instead, she wanted to surprise him, catch him off guard at his own home, on Niall’s Circle. If he was comfortable, in his own element, it would be easier to build that rapport she’d need to get him to speak freely.
She put her things away, then sat down on the king-size bed she’d splurged the FBI’s money on and made a call to the office. Her favorite admin took down the information that Grace gave her, promising to email her the full investigative file on O’Brien, including a transcript of the sentencing hearing along with one from the parole hearing if she could get that released. Sometimes those weren’t shared. Well, most of the time they weren’t. But when the FBI asked for something, they usually got it. And this particular admin was a bulldog when it came to getting what the agents needed. If anyone could get it, she could.
Her next call was to her boss, Supervisory Special Agent Levi Perry. He wasn’t happy that she’d driven the three hours here and spent several more hours in town before checking in without calling. He was a stickler for knowing where his agents were at all times. Not because he was controlling or a micromanager, but because safety was his number one concern. Grace suffered through the usual lecture about being careful and checking in daily. Then she gave him an update on everything that had happened since her arrival, as well as her plan to interview O’Brien as soon as she read up on his background.
“Just follow all protocols and be on your guard the whole time,” he warned. “It doesn’t sound like this is our guy, given that someone else shot that arrow. But with his background, he could still be dangerous. And while I agree you’re more likely to get him to let his guard down and speak freely at his place, if any red flags go up while you’re there, end the interview immediately and have his parole officer order him to the police station for further questioning.”
“Of course. Absolutely. I’ll be careful.”
“I know you will or I wouldn’t have sent you there on your own.”
“You wouldn’t have sent me here at all if you thought there was really a chance our killer was here. But I still appreciate you finally cutting the strings and letting me do some investigating without a supervisor watching my every move.”
“Don’t thank me too soon. If the lab determines the arrows you have on the way are consistent and the paint matches the arrows we already have in evidence, you won’t be on your own anymore. That’s not a statement about your readiness to be a full-fledged agent. It’s a statement about how dangerous this killer is that we’re after. I don’t want to add one of my agents to his victim list.”
“Understood. I’ll keep you posted. And if the lab confirms our killer is here, I’ll stand down immediately and wait for backup to continue the investigation.”
“Regardless of what the lab determines, use all those skills you’ve been practicing under Special Agent Kingsley’s mentorship. Approach every assignment as if it’s the most important, and potentially dangerous one you’ve ever worked and you’ll always come out ahead. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep me updated.”
The call ended and Grace blew out a relieved breath. Someone on the outside looking in would think her boss was being extremely protective because she was a woman. But she knew better. He was this way with all his agents, particularly the ones like her who were finally out of training and no longer working under the guidance of another agent. While she appreciated that he wanted everyone working for him to be safe, it could be smothering at times.
Her final call was to the lab to make sure they had no questions about what needed to be done once the evidence arrived. They assured her they’d log it in and assign a technician to it immediately. Even so, unless the fingerprints were found to be a match to someone in the Bureau’s Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, IAFIS, then it would likely take several more days to get results on any DNA.
If the person who’d shot that arrow had been arrested for a felony in the past and the arresting agency had entered their DNA profile into the Combined DNA Index System, then CODIS would spit out the name of a potential suspect. A hit on either IAFIS or CODIS could make their investigation take off. But not if the arrows from Mystic Lake didn’t match the arrows already known to have come from the Crossbow Killer.
The absence of viable prints or DNA on the evidence was another very real possibility. Which meant she needed to stop counting on the lab’s potential results and start pounding the pavement to determine if the anonymous tip was right or not.
Her boss agreed with her decision to interview O’Brien even though he wasn’t the one who’d shot that arrow today. Because yet another theory they’d discussed was that if O’Brien was the actual Crossbow Killer, he could have realized someone suspected him and that they may have called in a tip. The best way to throw law enforcement off his trail would be to hire someone else to shoot that arrow during the festival where there’d be lots of witnesses. And having someone take a picture just as the arrow was being shot over O’Brien’s shoulder, well, that was either incredible luck or a well thought out plan. The person who took the picture could have been paid, too. She’d have to contact the police and get the name of the person who took the picture so she could interview them, as well.
But first, she needed to focus on O’Brien.
The biggest question in her mind right now was the identity of his victim all those years ago and the alleged motive behind the murder. Dawson hadn’t volunteered that information. And she’d planned on asking O’Brien about it at the station after first building some rapport with him. With the interview ending so unexpectedly, she’d never gotten the chance.
Even knowing that the man was a murderer, it was hard to believe. He was well-spoken, sounded well-educated, and money didn’t seem to be a problem for him to solve by killing someone for their assets. The motorcycle he’d ridden wasn’t exactly cheap. The chief had mentioned that O’Brien owned a truck, too. And O’Brien himself had talked about hunting on his own land. It didn’t sound as if he was hurting financially, so a financial motive seemed unlikely.
Other common motives for murder were love and revenge. Did one of those explain why he’d crossed that terrible line and taken the life of someone else years ago? Or was he a thrill killer, a sociopath who took the lives of people as a way of playing God and experiencing the high of total control over another person’s life?
Three pages into O’Brien’s folder, the identity of who he’d killed had her frozen in shock. The man she’d met couldn’t have done that, could he? But there it was in black-and-white as she read it again. The woman he’d murdered all those years ago was Elly O’Brien. His wife.