Chapter 27
Max nodded at two county deputies as he made his way toward the conference room where he’d met with the task force that morning.
There was a hum and hustle in the department.
A lot of energy and manpower were being focused on the murders and the bomb.
Max looked through the conference room door’s window, where two more county detectives and several support staff worked on connecting the incidents.
Mercy was scowling at her laptop at the far end of the room but got to her feet as Max set down his bag.
“I’m going over Darby’s notes,” she said. “What she’s found so far on the list of names from the judge.”
“Good.” Max turned to look at the whiteboard, disappointed that it hadn’t changed since he’d written on it that morning.
What did I expect? That someone would have solved things while I was out?
He erased John Doe 1 and John Doe 2 and wrote in the names of Michael Munoz and Eli Chisholm.
“Here.” Mercy handed him large headshots of each man and of Rachel, which he attached with round magnets next to their names.
He stepped back and studied the faces, feeling that uncomfortable awareness he always got from looking at photos of people who had died. How could someone who was so alive in the picture no longer exist? Simply snuffed from existence.
Max’s gaze lingered on Rachel. She’d had a strong energy and wasn’t the type of person to allow herself to go unnoticed. But now she was gone. He checked the time, wondering when he’d hear about her autopsy results.
He added an s to the word bullet under Munoz’s and Chisholm’s names. Two bullets fired at close range.
Executions.
“Did you read what Noelle and Evan discovered about Munoz’s tattoo?” Max asked Mercy.
“I did. I dug up more information on the boogaloo movement and let domestic terrorism in Portland know that’s who we might be dealing with over here.
The good part is that if it’s boogaloo followers, they are not an organized national group.
I suspect it’s a small local bunch that has found a common enemy or gripe.
They’re not going to draw support from some big coalition. It’s grassroots.”
“Would you say that the judge’s car bomb is an example of what they’d do?” he asked.
“Possibly. Violence targeting a federal official or branch isn’t unheard of. If we could find out more about Eli Chisholm—the man in the trunk—it might confirm that it was.”
Max opened his laptop. “Chisholm was thirty-one with a number of assault arrests. Never married. Work history is sporadic. He worked for several construction companies and car dealerships. No family in the area.” He stood and wrote interviews under Chisholm’s name.
“We need to talk to his most recent work associates. Neighbors. Let’s find out what he was up to. ”
The room’s door swung open, and Noelle strode in with Evan right behind her.
Her gaze locked on Max, and she smiled, creating happy butterflies in his stomach.
“Good work on Michael Munoz,” he told them.
He’d read the summary of their interview with Carson Vohland.
“The information from the tattoo might crack this whole thing open.”
“Good,” said Noelle, setting her bag next to a chair.
“And I realized on the way here that the dozen bright Hawaiian-style shirts in Michael Munoz’s closets could indicate his focus too.
The shirts are a known thing with Boogaloo followers.
The connection is a play on the name into big luau.
I guess Hawaiian shirts go well with tactical gear,” she said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.
“I’ve found photos of them at protests and demonstrations.
They wear camouflage gear, tactical vests, multiple weapons, and loud Hawaiian shirts.
Why did these guys have to ruin the good reputation of the Hawaiian shirt?
They’ve replaced its longtime association with Tom Selleck in my brain. ”
“I was just saying we need to start interviews for Eli Chisholm,” said Max, wondering if Noelle would have a problem if he wore one of his Hawaiian shirts that summer. “Let’s see if we can connect him to the other victims or boogaloo. So far it appears he hasn’t crossed paths with the judge.”
“I’ll start interviews tomorrow,” said Noelle, making a note. “Anything from his autopsy?”
“A double tap that matches Munoz’s,” said Max. His phone rang. “Speaking of autopsies.” He answered the phone and put it on speaker. “Dr. Lockhart? You’re on speaker. Agent Kilpatrick and Detectives Bolton and Marshall are here.”
“You’ve kept me busy today,” came the medical examiner’s voice.
“Sorry about that,” said Noelle. “Hopefully that’s the extent of it.”
“I finished Rachel Johnson,” said Dr. Lockhart.
“She has the same close double bullet hole in the head. But for her, both bullets exited the skull, and forensics dug them out of the motel room floor. Some differences are that she didn’t have the contusions on the wrists and ankles like your others, and she was clothed. ”
He didn’t have time. He shot her and ran.
“Johnson had an alcohol level of point one,” the doctor continued. “There was evidence she’d been sexually active recently. She had vaginal tears, but there was no semen present. Condom use was most likely why.”
“She’d been raped?” asked Noelle. “By someone who wore protection?”
“Based on what Agent Rhodes told me about their phone call, it sounded like the sex had been consensual that day. So most likely it was rough sex and possibly not rape.”
Noelle didn’t look convinced.
“She was also approximately eight weeks pregnant. She may not have even been aware of it.”
Mercy looked stunned. “Neither she or her sister mentioned it,” she told the ME. “That’s awful.” She looked at Noelle. “I don’t know if I should tell Cory or not.”
Max didn’t know either.
“Anything else we need to hear, Doctor?” he asked.
“Bullets went to the lab, but they were deformed from hitting the concrete floor. I don’t think they’ll be much help.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Max ended the call.
The room was silent.
“That’s so horrible about the baby,” murmured Mercy. She took a deep breath and looked to Max. “What’s next?”
He struggled to mentally shift gears. “I have someone—”
A loud knock sounded at the door, and Janice, one of the support staff working with the task force, stuck her head in. “Max? Did you drop this in the parking lot?” She held out a manila envelope.
He took the envelope, frowning at his name, which was written in the upper left-hand corner. Not his handwriting. “I didn’t.” He opened the unsealed flap and pulled out several photos.
Keira.
One photo had been taken in front of his sister’s home, her purse over her shoulder as she walked to her car. He flipped through the other three photos. All were of Keira doing normal everyday things, but she appeared unaware she was being photographed. “Shit!”
He grabbed his cell phone and called her, his hands shaking.
Answer. Answer. Answer.
Acid in his stomach burned up to the back of his throat.
Please be safe.
Noelle had pushed back her chair as he looked through the photos. “Max! What’s wrong?” She moved next to him, took in the pictures, and sucked in a breath. “When are these from?”
The phone continued to ring at his ear.
Answer. Answer. Answer.
“Max. What’s up?” Keira said.
He dropped into his chair, his hand over his eyes as he leaned heavily on the table. “Keira. Are you okay?” His voice shook.
She was silent for a long moment. “Yes. Why? What’s going on?”
“Okay,” he said. “Hang on.”
How do I ask without scaring her?
“Bear with me for a minute. Can you tell me what you’re wearing right now? Or what you wore when you left the house today?” His hand tightened on the phone, and he stared at the photos.
“Jeans. White sweater and white jacket. Black boots.”
Exactly what she wore in the photos.
Someone is stalking her and wanted me to know it.
Just like with the flower delivery she received.
“Congratulations on having a murderer for a brother.”
It’s all aimed at me.
“Is TJ home?”
“Yes. Why? Max. What is going on? You’re freaking me out.”
“You know the flowers you got?”
“Yes.”
“Someone just sent me photos of you, and you’re wearing exactly what you just told me. One photo was taken in front of the house. One is you getting out of your car somewhere. Another is of you through a restaurant window, and another is you gassing up your car.”
Noelle gripped his shoulder, her eyes wide with concern. He moved his mouth away from the phone. “Get Janice back here. I want to know where she found these.” Noelle nodded and left.
“Someone is stalking me,” Keira said slowly. “But they let you know. Like with the flowers. Who’s doing this, Max?”
“I don’t know, hon. But I want you and TJ out of that house. Now. Get a hotel somewhere. Use his truck and try to pay with cash. Can you get into his truck without being seen?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Max heard TJ’s voice in the background. “Let me talk to him.”
“What the fuck did you say to Keira?” asked an angry TJ. “She’s shaking.”
Max gave him a quick rundown. “Go now, TJ. Get her out of there. Leave her phone in the house in case it’s being monitored somehow.
Do not take her car. And exchange yours for a rental or try to swap with a friend in case you’re being followed too.
Pick up some burner phones and send me the numbers. ”
“Got it.” TJ was all business. “I’ll let you know where we end up.”
“Thanks, brother. Stay safe.”
Max ended the call. And looked up to find four sets of worried eyes staring at him. “Janice,” he said to the woman Noelle had brought back to the room. “Where exactly did you find the envelope?”
“At the east edge of the parking lot. I was heading out to my car and saw what looked like an office envelope behind Jessica’s minivan, so I went to check.” She looked at the photographs. “What are those?”
“It’s my sister,” he said quietly. He looked at Evan and Noelle. “Camera view of that part of the parking lot?”
“If it’s where I’m thinking,” said Evan, “there isn’t coverage. It’s just out of view, and if Jessica’s minivan was there, it was probably used for more cover.”
“The envelope might never have been picked up,” Max said. “The sender had no way of knowing that I’d actually get the photos.” He slid the photos around, studying each one. They were photocopies of photos. Completely untraceable.
But maybe the envelope.
Evan had put on gloves and was already reaching for the envelope. “I’ll take it to the lab.”
“Thanks.”
Who would do this?
He looked at his whiteboard with three murders and a car bombing to solve. “Shit.” He had to focus on the cases. Not Keira.
Noelle touched his arm. “She’s safe, Max. TJ can watch out for her. And she’s very capable of taking care of herself now that she knows. You’ve got a tough sister.”
“I do,” he agreed. He was suddenly exhausted. “Why, though? Why harass Keira when it’s clear that they’re trying to get under my skin?”
“Did something else happen?” asked Mercy.
He told her and Noelle about the roses Keira had received. And the note that called him a murderer. Both women had big questions in their eyes.
“Why would they say that, Max?” Noelle asked gently.
He took her hand and held it tight in his.
What will she think?
My family still shuns me.
“There’s something I haven’t told you.”