CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Who leaves their door unlocked these days?” Matt whispered as his heart rate kicked up a notch.
Bree said, “No one.”
“Let’s call her.”
Matt pulled out his phone and punched in the digits. The line rang three times and then went to voice mail. He left a message asking for her to call him back.
Bree gave the door a one-finger push. “Hello? This is Sheriff Taggert. We are coming inside.”
Matt would have preferred they sneak in, but procedure was procedure. They didn’t have a warrant. They were accessing Jana’s apartment out of concern for her safety and well-being.
After waiting a heartbeat, Bree drew her weapon and pushed the door all the way open to reveal a small living room. Instead of traditional furniture, the living room held an easel and painting supplies. Bree’s brother was an artist, and the apartment smelled like his place. “Hello?”
Silence greeted them. Bree lifted a foot to step over the threshold, but Matt tugged her back. He pointed to the cream-colored carpet.
A trail of dark-red drops connected the back of the apartment to the door.
“Paint?” Bree asked.
Matt scanned the painting. A forested landscape. “I don’t know anything about color mixing, but I don’t see any red paint on this canvas.”
They shared a glance.
Blood?
Bree froze and backed up a step. “I’ll call for backup.”
Considering how many of her department were out sick, Matt wouldn’t hold his breath. Luck would determine whether a patrol unit was nearby. He jogged back to the SUV for an AR-15. He and Bree would likely be on their own. Nerve damage to his hand prevented him from qualifying with a handgun, but his marksmanship with a rifle was excellent. He would take no chances following a blood trail in the residence of someone involved in a serial murder case.
“Backup is en route,” Bree said when he returned. “ETA fifteen minutes.”
“Better than I expected.”
Something thudded at the back of the apartment. Bree drew her weapon and entered, with Matt at her flank. Avoiding the red trail, she spun left, while Matt went right, sweeping his rifle from corner to corner. The kitchen held a small table and two chairs. No pantry. Matt opened a closet. Empty.
They didn’t rush but proceeded carefully. With no back door, there was no avenue for an intruder to escape. On the other hand, maybe there was no intruder. Maybe Jana had a cat that had knocked something over.
But the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck didn’t like that explanation. He could feel someone in the apartment.
The red trail led to a narrow hallway that ended in a T. Bree went right. Matt followed the blood into the bedroom. He paused in the doorway. The droplet trail ended in a basketball-size stain in the center of the room. Several competing, sharp odors hit his nostrils. A queen-size bed occupied the far wall. The comforter had been dragged onto the floor. A wet spot stained the center of the pink sheet–covered mattress. The stain wasn’t red, but clear or light-colored.
Matt noted signs of a struggle. A bedside lamp lay on the carpet next to the single nightstand. Pieces of lightbulb were scattered around it. The nightstand drawer lay on the carpet, broken. Dresser drawers hung open, their contents spilling out onto the carpet.
Matt’s gaze zeroed in on an empty can of turpentine discarded in the corner. The stain on the bed wasn’t blood. His veins chilled. Turpentine?
Matt ducked to check under the bed. The closet door burst open, and a tall man in jeans and a black hooded jacket jumped out. He swiped his hand downward at Matt’s head.
At close quarters, the rifle was too long to swing into position. Matt blocked the blow with the barrel, then spun the butt of the weapon toward his assailant’s face.
The man jumped backward. He reached into his pocket and drew out a matchbook. With a quick flick, he lit a match and tossed it onto the center of the bed. The covers ignited with a whoosh.
“Police!” Matt yelled as he lunged for him. The man turned, grabbed the TV from its stand, and threw it at Matt before bolting for the door.
Matt jumped backward, and the TV crashed to the floor.
Bree rushed through the doorway. “I smell smoke!”
The running man knocked her into the wall and raced out of the bedroom.
Regaining her balance, Bree gestured. “Go after him. I’ll take care of this and be right behind you.”
She ran for the door, using her radio to call for the fire department.
The smoke alarm began to blare as Matt sprinted in pursuit of the suspect. “Stop!”
He ran through the living room, reaching the doorway in time to see the suspect race across the grass. Bree was pulling a fire extinguisher from her vehicle.
Matt surged forward, gaining on him instantly. The guy glanced over his shoulder. Matt caught a glimpse of a pale face beneath the dark hood before the head whipped around again. Matt turned up his speed. The guy crossed the street and clambered over a six-foot wooden fence behind a house.
Barely breaking stride, Matt vaulted the fence. He spotted his quarry halfway over the fence on the opposite side of the narrow yard. Frenzied barking and growling sounded from the left. Matt froze. A huge white pit bull cannonballed toward him. Matt would never get across the yard before the dog reached him. He backtracked two steps and made it back over the fence just as the big dog hit the wood, shaking it.
Bree was running parallel to his path. He waved toward the street and yelled, “He went over the other side of the fence.”
Matt turned, racing around the house. The intruder was a hundred feet ahead, but his endurance was clearly flagging, his strides slowing and becoming uneven. He tripped, a sure sign he was running out of gas. A much-fitter Matt stretched his stride and began to catch up. They approached another house and another fence. Hooded Guy grabbed for the top board, but Matt was on him. He reached for his shoulders, pulling backward. They both went down on the grass. Matt blocked a sneaker aimed at his face. Grabbing the foot, Matt cupped one hand under the heel and used the other to crank his toes. The motion flipped the man onto his belly. Matt had his hands behind his back before the man could catch his breath.
Bree raced up and handed Matt a pair of handcuffs. Matt secured his prisoner’s wrists and left him face down on the grass.
“Thanks.” Matt climbed to his feet and brushed dirt from his knees.
“You’re welcome.” Bree patted down the prisoner. She pulled a wallet out of his front pocket. “His name is Chevy Calhoun.”
Matt got in his face. “Where’s Jana, Chevy?”
“I don’t know.” Chevy pulled his head back. “Probably work.”
“Probably?” Matt asked. “What did you do with her?”
“What? Nothing.” Chevy lifted a shoulder. “She usually works until two or three—”
“Where does she work?” Bree interrupted.
“The Sunrise Café,” Chevy said.
Bree stepped away to make a call. She lowered the phone a few seconds later. “No one is picking up.” She turned back to Chevy. “Why were you in Jana’s apartment, Chevy? Besides setting her bed on fire.”
Chevy wheezed and coughed. “Getting . . . my . . . stuff.”
“Your stuff?” Matt asked.
Chevy squirmed, and Matt helped him sit up. Chevy was in his early twenties, tall and lean, with scraggly, dirty-blond hair that fell across his forehead. Despite his beer breath and bloodshot eyes, he wasn’t sloppy drunk. He’d been able to run and climb fences. He’d had just enough alcohol to make him stupid but still functional.
“The bitch wouldn’t return my AirPods.” He spit a little blood onto the grass. “You split my lip.”
“Why did you light a match and run?” Matt crouched in front of him to look him in the eye.
Chevy blinked away and shifted his position on the grass. “You startled me.”
Liar.The butt scoot was a classic tell.
“You’d already doused the bed in turpentine,” Matt said.
Chevy glared back but said nothing.
“Get up.” Bree hauled Chevy to his feet. “Let’s go back to the car.”
By the time they walked back to Jana’s apartment, a patrol unit and fire engine had arrived. The apartment building’s smoke alarm had been silenced. Two firemen walked out of the apartment, carrying an extinguisher. One jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Fire’s out.”
“Thanks.” Bree raised a hand in appreciation. She was 98 percent sure she’d already put out the fire, but firemen believed in being thorough, which was why cops sometimes jokingly referred to them as the EDU, or Evidence Destruction Unit.
Bree stood Chevy next to the patrol vehicle. She propped a hand on her duty belt.
“How did you get into Jana’s apartment?”
“I have a key.” Chevy met her gaze. “I lived there until the bitch kicked me out two weeks ago.”
Bree continued. “Did you have her permission to enter her apartment today?”
Regret crossed Chevy’s face. “I have a key,” he repeated, raising his chin.
Bree leaned closer. “When is the last time you talked to Jana?”
“I don’t know. I tried to call her a bunch of times, but she blocked me.”
Wonder why?
Bree motioned for her deputy. “Put him in the back.”
Bree went to her vehicle and opened the rear hatch. She retrieved a Rapid Stain Identification test kit for human blood. “Let’s get back inside.”
They put on booties before entering. Bree tugged on a blue glove, then touched the edge of a red stain. “It’s dry. I’ll confirm it’s blood before we raise the alarm.” She opened her RSID kit.
While she performed the test, Matt donned gloves and studied the forested landscape Jana had been working on. Up close, he could see cuts in the canvas, as if someone—presumably Chevy—had slashed it with a knife or razor blade. A small table stood next to the easel. On it, next to tubes of oil paint and brushes, lay a box cutter.
Matt followed the red trail back to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, scanning the room. Had Chevy caused all the damage? Had he and Jana fought?
The room stank of wet ash and something else. Matt walked toward the dresser. He leaned forward and sniffed.
“Positive for human blood,” Bree said behind him. “What do you smell? Turpentine?”
Had he planned to burn the whole apartment down?
“And urine.” Matt straightened.
“Ew.”
“Yeah.”
“So, did he break in here, shred her painting, pee on her clothes, and decide to set the bed on fire in retaliation for her dumping him?”
Matt considered the state of the room and Chevy’s attitude. “That feels about right.”
“She’s a painter, so the turpentine was probably already here,” Bree pointed out. “Most people who want to start a fire use gasoline.”
“Maybe the fire was an afterthought. Chevy seems like a hold my beer kind of guy rather than a planner.”
“Maybe.” Bree cocked her head. “But our killer got away with three murders.”
“Killing girls and dumping them in an isolated spot in the woods doesn’t take a genius.”
“I suppose not,” Bree said. They walked around the apartment. Matt took video of every room. Bree snapped pictures. “The problem is, if Chevy is telling the truth and he doesn’t know what happened to Jana, then someone else was here.”
Matt glanced at the bed. “And Chevy destroyed evidence that might tell us who.”
“What the fire didn’t burn, the firemen likely trashed.” Bree exhaled hard. “I’m going to request a forensics unit.”
Matt followed her outside. She moved to her SUV to make her call. Matt spotted an older woman of at least seventy-five standing on the stoop of the next apartment. She zipped up a black jacket against the wind. Despite her clear senior citizen status, there was no slouch to her posture. Broad-shouldered, she stood almost six feet tall. Two long white braids trailed out from under a purple Minnesota Vikings hat.
Matt walked over and introduced himself. They shook hands.
“I’m Noreen Hamlin.” Noreen had the grip of a lumberjack.
“I see you have a doorbell camera.” Matt pointed. “Any chance it shows who approached your neighbor’s apartment?”
“No, sorry. The way the doorway is set in, the edge of the building blocks the view to that side. I told Jana she needed to get one. Packages go missing so often here, they should be on milk cartons.” She jerked a thumb at the patrol vehicle. “I assume you caught that asshat ex breaking into Jana’s place?”
Matt made a noncommittal noise. “Do you know where she is?”
“She’s probably at work.” Noreen lifted a cell phone. “I just texted her.” She glanced at the screen. “She hasn’t responded. She’ll check her messages on her break.”
“How well do you know Jana?”
Noreen waved toward the building. “I live in the next unit. Me and Jana have been neighbors for a few years. She’s a sweetheart. Most of the residents here are seniors. Jana and I are always helping the old folks with their walkers and groceries.”
Matt suppressed a smile. Noreen was one of the old folks, but there was nothing remotely frail about her.
Noreen continued. “Jana and I check on the other residents if we don’t see them for a few days. That sort of thing. When she kicked out the dumbass loser over there”—she gestured toward the patrol car where Chevy sulked in the back seat—“I brought over a box of tissues and some homemade fudge.”
“How long ago was this?” Matt asked.
Noreen tapped her chin. “A couple of weeks. I told her to change her locks. She took her key back, but I told her not to trust that bastard.” Her expression went fierce.
If she took her key back, why did Chevy still have it?
“When was the last time you saw Jana?” Matt asked.
“Two days ago, so that would be Tuesday. We met at the mailbox and chatted for a couple of minutes.” Noreen pointed to a communal mailbox fifty feet away. “I’d already had my dinner, so it was about five or six in the evening.”
“Did she mention anything about Chevy or anyone else giving her a hard time?”
“She had to block his number. He’d been leaving nasty messages on her voice mail. Sent her a dick pic too, with a text of something like this is what you’re missing. Like she ever wants to see that again.” Noreen rolled her eyes, then grew solemn. “She joked about it, but I know it bothered her.”
“Do you know why she broke up with him?” Matt asked.
“Oh, yeah. The walls are thin. There were so many reasons.” Noreen lifted her hand and began counting them with her fingers. “Laziness, drunkenness, general inconsideration, lack of ambition. Jana would go to work—she’s a waitress—and he’d lay around drinking beer all day. He contributed nothing for food or rent, nor did he cook or clean. He had a job when he moved in, but they fired him, and he hasn’t managed to find another one.” Noreen paused. “But something else happened. She wouldn’t tell me what, but it must be pretty bad because she tells me everything else.”
“Has she mentioned any other threats recently? Men following her? Harassing her?” Matt asked.
Noreen shook her head. “No. She’s mostly concerned about Chevy. He’s upset that his free ride is over. He had a good gig going there for a while.”
Matt asked, “Do you know Jana’s friend, Ally?”
“I do.”
“Was Ally living here with Jana?”
“No.” Noreen’s lips flattened. “But Jana’s been so worried about her. Ally stopped answering her calls. Ally’s dad came by looking for her. Jana was really conflicted. She wanted to help Ally, but she didn’t know if involving her father was the right move. There was a lot of friction between Ally and her dad.” Noreen paled. “I can’t believe she was murdered.”
“Would Jana get upset enough about Ally’s murder to have a breakdown?”
Noreen lifted a helpless shoulder. “Jana’s pretty levelheaded—except for her choices in men—but finding out your best friend was murdered ... That could mess anyone up.”
“Did Jana use drugs?”
“Definitely not,” Noreen said. “She works too much, and she saw the damage drugs did to Ally’s life.”
“Does Jana have family?”
“She’s an only child. She hasn’t seen her dad in years, but her mom is local. Her name is Crystal. I have her number for emergencies.” Noreen pulled out her phone.
“Is she close to her mom?” Matt asked.
Noreen nodded. “Crystal was in a bad car accident six or seven years ago. She’s been disabled since. She’s in constant pain. I don’t know how she functions.” Respect deepened her voice. “There’s a charity nursing service that visits a few times a week, Care something or other, but most of the work is on Jana’s shoulders.”
Matt took Crystal’s number, then collected Noreen’s contact information and thanked her.
Stepping aside, he used his phone to try a second call to the Sunrise Café. When a woman picked up, he asked for Jana. The woman said, “She’s not here. She didn’t show up for her shift today.”
“Thank you.” Matt ended the call and went looking for Bree. He found her standing behind her vehicle.
“A blue Ford Escape is registered to Jana,” she said. “It’s parked at the back of the lot. The doors are locked, and the engine is cold.”
“Forensics needs to look at her vehicle and the outdoor area between her apartment door and the parking lot.” Matt scanned the wide-open area. “If someone broke in and attacked Jana, that’s ballsy. The possibility that it wasn’t Chevy worries me.”
“Same. Because the perpetrator would still be out there.” Bree pointed to a security camera mounted on a light pole. “The apartment complex manager accessed the camera footage. Jana parked the car Tuesday after work. It hasn’t moved since.”
“The neighbor has a doorbell camera, but it only shows her doorway, not Jana’s.” Matt summed up his conversation with Noreen. “The Sunrise Café picked up their phone. Jana didn’t show up for work today. I didn’t want to call her mother.”
“No,” Bree agreed. “We’ll talk to Jana’s mother in person.”
Matt thought about the blood in the apartment. “What are the chances Jana cut herself and went somewhere to get stitches?”
“Her vehicle is still here, but she could have called a Lyft or an Uber. Let’s call around to the local ERs and urgent care centers.” But Bree’s tone was doubtful. She opened the rear hatch and pulled out a roll of crime scene tape. “Considering her relationship with a likely serial killer victim, we’ll treat this as a crime. If we’re wrong, no big deal.”
But the consequences of not investigating could be deadly. They returned to the apartment, donned fresh gloves and booties, and went inside. The living room looked the same as when they’d left. They skirted the blood stains and made their way to the bedroom. Fire-extinguishing foam soaked the bed and surrounding carpet.
Bree stopped a few feet shy of the wet area. “I doubt there’s any usable evidence there.”
“Probably not.” Matt moved to the nightstand and began to search.
Bree went to the dresser. She turned away, gasping. Her face scrunched in disgust. “I think he peed on her clothes in here too.”
“What an asshole.” Matt found nothing interesting in Jana’s nightstand except two how-to books. How to End a Psychologically Abusive Relationship and Setting Personal Boundaries. He turned to the closet, where Chevy had been hiding.
Bree joined him. They checked coat pockets and searched between clothing items. Bree led the way back out to the main rooms and motioned toward a laptop charging on the kitchen counter. “We’ll have forensics take her laptop.”
Matt went to a small chest near the door and opened a drawer. “Here’s her purse!”
He unzipped the top. Unfortunately, Jana didn’t carry much beyond a wallet, lip balm, and sunglasses. Matt opened the wallet and found a small stack of receipts for gas and grocery purchases. “Jana actually used cash.” Which would make it harder to track her movements.
“No phone?” Bree asked.
“Not in her purse.” Matt unzipped a small compartment, which held a travel-size bottle of ibuprofen and a roll of antacids.
“I usually keep my phone in my pocket and carry it around the house.”
Matt zipped the purse and returned it to the drawer. “Let’s hope the laptop is useful.” But he gave the old machine a doubtful look as they wrapped up and headed for the door.
Outside, Matt glanced at the ex in the patrol car. “It’s usually the ex.”
Chevy had broken into Jana’s home, set her bed on fire, and tossed a TV at Matt. They had multiple options for charging him: B and E, arson, assault. He was definitely going to jail.
“I’ll call in a BOLO alert for Jana. Let’s take Chevy to the station and question him there. Maybe being in custody will shake him up.”
“Based on his body language, I think he’s lying about something,” Matt said. But was he lying about Jana’s disappearance or something else?