CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SIX
A large wet dog nose woke Bree. A glance out the window told her it was dreary and drizzling for what seemed like the millionth consecutive day. So much for spring. The bed was empty and cold. Matt was already up. She touched the phone on her nightstand. Ten a.m.
After leaving the forensics team to do its job, Bree and Matt had come home just before dawn, had breakfast with the kids, then fallen into bed for a couple hours of sleep. Bree rubbed her forehead, where fatigue throbbed in a dull ache.
Ladybug nudged Bree’s chin. She put a hand on the dog’s neck and scratched. “You’re right. I need to get up.”
Vader gave her the stink eye from his perch on Matt’s pillow. Not everyone was happy that Matt had moved in. Bree gave his head a scratch, then slipped out of bed. After taking a five-minute shower and dressing in a fresh uniform, she headed for the stairs, the dog at her heels. Bree grabbed the banister as the dog bumped her knees on the steps. “You don’t have to be touching me at all times.”
In response, the dog pressed against her legs even harder.
In the kitchen, Ladybug stretched out on the floor next to Brody. Matt stood at the counter, pouring coffee. He was six three with a broad, muscular body. Short reddish-brown hair and a trimmed beard gave him a Hollywood Viking vibe. If they hadn’t spent the previous night at a crime scene, his low-riding sweatpants and snug T-shirt would have sparked the desire to take him back to bed. Still, she appreciated the view, the kiss ... and the mug of coffee. “Morning.”
“Morning.” His grim expression matched her mood.
Neither of them was looking forward to the day. There was no denying what they were facing. Three sets of remains with varying postmortem intervals. No clothing. All victims wrapped in camouflage tarps and abandoned in an isolated clearing in the woods. The hikers had stumbled upon a serial killer’s dumping ground.
The news played on Matt’s tablet, which was propped on the counter, the volume low. She focused on the weather. The miserable drizzle would continue for the rest of the week. “Glad I put on my thick socks. Don’t want a repeat of my icicle toes from last night.”
“I don’t want any more of your icicle toes either.”
Bree grinned. She’d used his calves to warm them up.
Matt took a long sip of coffee. “Dana is at spin class.”
After retiring and following Bree upstate, Dana had become an honorary aunt while she figured out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Lately, she’d been dating Matt’s older brother.
“How long have you been up?” Bree drank deeply, willing the coffee to work its magic.
“About five minutes.” He lifted a glass dome on the counter.
Bree grabbed a chocolate croissant from the selection. “Calories aside, there are days I’m very glad Dana has been working on her patisserie skills.” Uniforms could be let out, right?
Not bothering with a plate either, Matt selected a pastry. “Today is definitely one of those days.” He finished his croissant in three bites.
A voice from the TV shifted, taking on an urgent tone. “Multiple dead bodies were found last night in the woods near Echo Road Bridge.”
Bree spun and stared at the tiny screen. Matt reached over and turned up the volume.
The reporter stood in front of the covered bridge. She wore a bright-blue rain jacket and held an umbrella to shield her sleek blonde bob from the light rain. The bridge’s neglected condition was glaring. Dark-red paint peeled on the exterior walls, and graffiti and rust marred the guardrails. “Sources say a serial killer is loose in Randolph County.”
“Who are her sources?” Matt stroked his beard.
Bree shrugged. “I’ve given up trying to locate the leak. There are too many options. Could be someone from the department, the ME’s office, anyone with a police scanner ...”
“Our luck was due to run out.”
“We were fortunate the press didn’t show up last night.”
Matt drained his cup and set it in the sink. “I’ll shower. Be ready in ten.”
Bree spent those precious minutes maximizing caffeine and sugar consumption. By the time they drove to the sheriff’s station, her headache had faded into the background.
The new addition to the station loomed unfinished on the opposite side of the building. The renovations were behind schedule due to nationwide shortages in building materials.
As she expected, news teams clustered around the parking lot. Reporters giving sound bites lowered their mics as Bree cruised through the gate and into the fenced rear parking lot. No doubt they’d gather their gear and storm the lobby now that they’d spotted her. Entering through the back door, Bree went directly to her office. Matt veered off to drop his jacket at a computer station in the squad room.
There were no sounds from the addition. No drilling, no hammering, no banging.
Bree switched on her computer. The machine was still booting up when her administrative assistant, Marge, appeared in the doorway. In her sixties, Marge wore comfortable slacks and a cardigan. Reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck. “The interview you had scheduled with Renata Zucco for tomorrow canceled.” She looked down at a note in her hand. “She has the flu.”
“Just as well. We need a new deputy, but I don’t have the time to spare. Reschedule for the week after next.”
Marge made a note. “Did you check your email?”
“Not yet.” Bree hung up her jacket and took her place behind her desk. “What’s happening with the construction?”
“Everyone is sick. They shut down the project for the week in hopes they will stop spreading the flu among each other.” Marge sighed and forged into the room, her practical shoes squeaking. She handed Bree a stack of pink message slips and a cup of steaming coffee. “Phones have been ringing all morning.”
“Thanks. It was a long night.” Bree lifted the coffee to her mouth. A caffeine IV wouldn’t be enough today. She set the slips on the desk. One sip of the station’s harsh brew had her reaching for the bottle of antacids in her pencil drawer.
“Which is why I didn’t bother you this morning.” Marge nodded at the bottle of antacids. “It’s a little early in the investigation for those.”
“Again. Long night.” Bree flipped through the messages.
“Some of those are from reporters looking for info. The board of supervisors is panicking.”
“Always.” The county administrators lived in terror of bad PR. Crime did not encourage tourism. Pretty B and Bs, fishing charters, and campgrounds depended on the short, upcoming summer season to generate income.
Marge’s lips tightened. “But there were calls from people with missing relatives. A couple of parents ...” She cleared her throat. “You’ll want to handle them gently.”
“Yes.” Bree’s monitor blinked to life. “I’ll check in with the ME and give a quick statement this morning. I’ll schedule a press conference after I know when I’ll have details.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Bree knew that if she put off the statement, the media would speculate. No good could come from that. “Tell them I’ll be out shortly.”
“Also, Howard Killian is still in the holding cell.”
Bree had forgotten about him.
Marge said, “He’s been vocal about wanting his phone call and lawyer.”
Bree would make the time to stop and speak with Grace today. “Have Juarez handle it when he comes in.” She’d sent her deputy home for a few hours of sleep as well.
Marge exited the office, and Bree texted the ME. Matt appeared in the doorway. Bree motioned him inside. Her phone vibrated. “Dr. Jones.” She answered the call, but she didn’t bother with small talk. “The press is camped in the lobby. What can you tell me?”
“I’m starting the first autopsy in a few minutes.” Dr. Jones sighed. She’d left the scene earlier than Matt and Bree but probably hadn’t gotten much sleep either.
“The public is scared. They need some information.” Though Bree would hold back specifics to enable investigators to determine real leads from false.
“All three victims are females with approximate ages between sixteen and twenty at time of death. Come by later this afternoon,” Dr. Jones said. “I’ll have more for you then.”
“Thank you.” Bree ended the call and repeated the information for Matt. “Let’s go talk to the press.”
A few minutes later, Bree faced a bank of reporters in the lobby. “Last night, the remains of three females between the ages of sixteen and twenty were found in the woods near Echo Road Bridge. None of the remains have been identified at this time, and the medical examiner’s office has not yet determined causes or times of death. Autopsies are scheduled shortly.”
“Were the girls murdered?” someone asked.
Bree leaned closer to the mic. “All three deaths have been classified as homicides.”
“Do we have a serial killer in Grey’s Hollow?” another reporter called out.
Though she’d been expecting the question, Bree still winced. If the board was already in panic mode, they would lose it when they heard the words serial killer. She chose her next words carefully. “I can’t answer that question until the medical examiner completes the autopsies. But I assure you all, these cases are our top priority.”
Another reporter lifted his mic. “You’re not denying the possibility that there’s a serial killer in Grey’s Hollow?”
“No.” Bree didn’t hesitate. “The truth is that we don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. Speculation and panic help no one. Let’s stick to the facts.”
Another reporter stepped forward. Nick West. He was young and sharp. He had potential star quality. But historically, he’d displayed some moral flexibility, when his integrity was occasionally overridden by his ambition. “How long have the victims been dead?”
Bree was not surprised Nick would home in on that important detail. She hedged. “The medical examiner hasn’t issued times of death yet.”
“But are the remains in the same state of decomposition?” Nick would not be put off that easily.
Bree hesitated. Technically, she should defer the question. She was not the medical examiner. But would she be perceived as withholding or hiding important information? She couldn’t take that chance. She had vowed to be transparent with the public. She worked for them. Bree took the words protect and serve to heart.
She leaned close to the mic, knowing her next words would spark fury from county politicians. “While I cannot give specific times of death, the remains were in varying stages of decomposition.”
Nick continued. “They were killed at different times and left in the same location in the woods?”
“Yes,” Bree answered.
The room went quiet for one breath, then bedlam broke out, with all the reporters shoving themselves forward and yelling questions about a serial killer.
Bree held up her hand. The noise level dropped from a boil to a simmer. “The medical examiner’s office is working hard to complete the autopsies. I’m scheduling a press conference for this evening, when I expect to have more details.”
With nothing more to say, she left the room. Matt followed her to her office. He closed the door and paced the small space next to her desk. “You made the right call.”
“Didn’t really see an option.”
“Because we both know the chances that we’re dealing with a serial killer are about ninety-five percent. Evading the question today would only make you look incompetent or dishonest tomorrow. No one wants a sheriff who’s hiding the truth.”
“Especially when lies could get someone killed.” Bree’s intercom buzzed. She pressed the button. “Yes.”
“Madeline Jager is here,” Marge said in an annoyed tone. “Apparently, she came into the station just as the SK bomb dropped.”
“Send her back.” Bree lifted her finger off the intercom button and smoothed back her hair, as if containing her professional bun would also hold her composure in check. Jager was the county administrator. She was also one of the only people who could get under Bree’s skin—like chiggers. Her head began to throb proactively. “And so it begins.”
Matt snorted. “I’d ignore her.”
“I can’t.” Bree squared her shoulders. “You know how she is.”
“Like a Belgian Mal on a suspect.” Matt stood and opened the office door.
Brisk footsteps approached. Jager appeared in the doorway. Her lips were freshly filled, and her forehead was frozen in a state of mild surprise. Bree instantly pictured Cruella de Vil but with red hair. The completely inappropriate vision was Matt’s fault. He’d made the comparison once, and Bree’s brain wouldn’t let go of it. Expression might be impossible for the top third of Jager’s face, but her eyes snapped with bright fury. She paused for dramatic effect, then swept into the office on a wave of indignation.
Matt closed the door and stood with his back against it, his arms folded over his chest, like a sentry.
“How could you?” Jager bit off each word.
“Excuse me?” Bree would make her spell out her complaint.
“You practically admitted we have a serial killer.” Jager hissed out the last two key words.
Bree lifted a brow and held Jager’s eye. “Because we do.”
Seemingly speechless, Jager’s mouth opened and closed again. A petty flash of satisfaction swept through Bree. Jager usually had plenty to say. She recovered quickly, though, clearing her throat. “You just said the medical examiner hadn’t issued a cause of death for any of the victims.”
“We have the remains of three women left in an isolated clearing. The women were all about the same age and have been dead for varying lengths of time. All were wrapped in identical tarps.” Bree omitted the color of the tarps. She had no faith that Jager could keep the detail in confidence. “If you can think of another explanation, please go ahead.” Bree leaned back in her chair and waited.
Jager froze for a few heartbeats. Then she took a step, turned, and sank into Bree’s guest chair. “You’re sure?”
“About those details? Yes. Matt and I were at the crime scene.”
Jager shot Matt a questioning look.
He nodded. “Classic dumping ground for a serial killer. There was nothing natural or accidental about that scene. They were all murdered.”
“Maybe the remains are old?” Jager’s tone held a tiny spark of hope. “Maybe whoever killed them is long gone.”
Bree shook her head. “The most recent remains are maybe a week or so old.”
Jager rubbed her knuckles. “And the others?”
Bree shrugged. “Older. Not sure how much yet. We should have more information later this afternoon.”
Jager frowned. “There’s no other way to spin this?”
Bree swallowed a lump of anger at the suggestion to spin the news. “I’m afraid not. If we deny what is obvious, then we end up looking very bad when the facts come out in such a short time. And the facts always get out.”
Jager gave a curt nod. “You’re giving a press conference later today?”
“Yes. Being transparent and honest will be important in maintaining public trust.” Bree shouldn’t have had to point that out, but Jager was a politician at heart.
“We can’t have a serial killer running around.” Jager stood. “I want those details before the press conference.”
Bree exhaled through her nose. She had no time to waste with politicians, but a quick phone call with Jager was much preferred to another in-person conversation. “I’ll call you.” The don’t call me was implied.
Jager headed for the door. Matt reached for the knob. Jager hesitated. “What are the chances they’ll kill again?”
“Speculation isn’t helpful,” Bree said.
“You have experience,” Jager snapped, her gaze darting between Bree and Matt. “You must have an opinion.”
“Off the record?” Bree didn’t trust Jager.
“I’m not a reporter.” Jager rolled her eyes. “I’m the last person who will tell anyone there’s a killer running around the county.”
Bree and Matt shared a grim look, then Bree turned back to Jager. “They don’t usually stop until someone makes them.”