CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
An hour later, Bree huddled on the wet grass while the ME examined the tarp-wrapped body. A dozen feet away, Matt conferred with two forensic techs.
Circling the SUV, the usually cool and professional Dr. Jones emitted a rare emotional outburst. “What the actual fuck?”
Bree lifted both hands into the air. The gesture felt appropriately helpless.
Like her.
“He went from hiding his victims to flaunting them in your face?” Dr. Jones snapped her gloves on with atypical violence.
“That’s exactly what happened.” But Bree’s head was full of questions. “It doesn’t make much sense.”
“No.” Dr. Jones asked, “The kids didn’t see, did they?”
The question redirected Bree’s gaze. “No. Thankfully, they’re in the house. As soon as the body is removed, Matt’s parents are coming to get them.” Unfortunately, there was no way to conceal her address from the public. Everyone knew where she lived. “As much as I hate to make them go—they both have the flu—I don’t know how they can stay here.”
“I’m sorry you’re all going through this.”
“Thanks.”
“What you do is important.” Dr. Jones gestured toward the body on the SUV with a blue-gloved hand. “And that is the proof. We need to catch this SOB.”
“We do.” Bree nodded. Her neck muscles were so tense, the small movement was almost painful. She rubbed at a knot at the base of her neck, but it refused to give.
Dr. Jones lifted the edge of the tarp. “You said you know who she is?”
“Yes. Her name is Jana Rynski.” Bree pulled her phone from her pocket and called up a picture of Jana.
The ME agreed with a nod. “We’ll confirm.” She dropped the tarp. “I’ll unwrap her on the table, just like the first three. On first glance, the presentation appears to mimic the others, but I don’t want to make assumptions.”
“There’s always the chance a different killer is copying the disposal method.” As hard as Bree tried to contain case details, information always leaked. “But Jana was Ally Swanson’s close friend, so the cases are already connected.”
“We’ll dot the i’s and cross the t’s.” Dr. Jones stepped back. “Nothing more I can do here. We’ll get her back to the morgue. I have two ahead of her, but she’ll go on the schedule ASAP.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Bree moved aside to let the ME work.
Matt approached. “I called over to the jail. Chevy is still there. He didn’t make bail yet. He didn’t do this.” He pointed to the tree.
Bree said, “We need a time of death before we know if he’s guilty of murder.”
Matt continued. “Last night’s rainstorm probably washed away any evidence along with the tracks, but forensics will try.”
Bree assumed they wouldn’t find any evidence. “He didn’t use the driveway. The motion sensor would have picked up his vehicle. He couldn’t get close to the house either, or the alarm system would have alerted.”
Matt’s brother had wired the house with enough security to rival a casino. Even the barn had cameras and sensors.
“I’ll have Nolan add a security camera to the parking area. We’ll get an electrician out to run wire, maybe add another circuit.”
Frustration bubbled up in Bree’s chest. Her voice emerged as sharp and tight as concertina wire. “Why not an eight-foot fence topped with an electric current? Armed guards and turrets? We can just turn the farm into a prison.”
Matt put a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be OK.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
Matt squinted toward the street. “He would have parked on the street and carried her over here, just as he probably did for the bodies in the clearing.” He turned and stared at the body again. The ME’s assistant was positioning a gurney close to the SUV. A black body bag lay open on top, waiting for Jana’s body. “If we were already home, he could have stood on the top of the vehicle.”
She tried to picture it. “Unless he carried a ladder from the street, that’s the only way I see this being set up.”
“A ladder would have made noise.”
“We were occupied with Kayla last night,” Bree said. “By the time I fell asleep, I wouldn’t have heard a rocket launch in the yard.”
“But Brody would have.”
“Yeah. True. I always feel better when he’s around,” Bree agreed. “But why? Why take this chance? He was so very careful to hide the other three bodies.”
“This”—Matt swept out a hand—“was in-your-face bold.”
“Yes. I don’t like it.” The farmhouse pulled Bree’s gaze again. Quaint and cozy, it projected wholesomeness, from the wide porch to the cow-shaped mailbox. This was home, and it had been invaded by evil.
“The kids will be fine,” Matt said.
“I know. I’m grateful to your parents.” If Bree had to handpick people to act as the kids’ grandparents, she couldn’t do better than George and Anna Flynn. She almost smiled, but the tug of her mouth stopped cold at the sound of the body sliding off the hood of her car onto the gurney. The killer knew where Bree lived. How much more did he know about her? How hard would it be to track the kids to the Flynns’ house? “Your parents have an alarm, right?”
“You bet. Nolan set them up. It’s solid, and I’ll make sure they use it.”
“OK. Good.” She felt like a frozen statue that could shatter into a million pieces at the slightest tap. Keep it together, damn it.
“We’re going to catch him.”
“We are.” Bree mentally drew a cross over her heart, another pledge to her sister, or rather, to her sister’s memory.
Movement on the road caught her attention. Two runners stood on the yellow line, gawking.
“Shit,” Matt said under his breath.
Bree had been careful to keep communication off the radio to delay the press’s arrival until after the body had been removed. More than a dozen people crawled around her property: forensic techs, the ME and her assistant, and a handful of deputies. None of them would break radio silence. They all had families of their own. They understood.
The two joggers turned into looky-loos. One pulled out his cell phone and held it at arm’s length, obviously taking pictures or video.
Anger burned like a torch in Bree’s chest. She stalked down the driveway toward the road. Houses were spaced wide apart in this area. Her closest neighbor was a half mile away. She didn’t recognize either of the joggers, but both had the ultra-lean builds of long-distance runners. They were in their midforties, dressed in black running pants and brightly colored jackets with expensive brand logos.
She took two yoga breaths to clear her voice of the fury gathering in her heart. It wouldn’t help her here. She summoned a polite tone. “Excuse me. Would you please stop filming?”
Pointedly not looking at her, the man with the camera scoffed. “You can’t do anything about it, Sheriff.” His face twisted in a nasty sneer. “This is a public road, and there is no legal expectation of privacy in public. The First Amendment and all that.”
Bree swallowed a sarcastic retort. Another yoga breath. Be nice. It’s the last thing he’ll expect. “Do you live around here?”
His eyes shifted from his phone screen to Bree. Surprise flashed in his eyes. He’d expected—maybe even wanted—a confrontation. Well, she wouldn’t give it to him. He’d have to find his fifteen minutes of inflammatory internet fame somewhere else.
He scowled, sizing her up, clearly suspicious. “Couple of miles away.”
The other man slunk a few paces away, as if he wanted to distance himself from his running partner.
“Then we’re neighbors.” Bree held out her hand. “I’m Bree Taggert.”
Filming Guy lowered the camera, hesitated, then gave her hand one single shake. He released her as if her palm had burned his. “I know who you are.”
“What’s your name?” She dropped her hand.
“You can’t bully me. My brother is a lawyer,” he said in a know-it-all voice. “I haven’t committed a crime or an infraction of any kind. I don’t have to tell you my name.”
Bree suppressed an eye roll and a heavy sigh. This guy was spoiling for an altercation. “No, you don’t. But we are neighbors.”
He shoved his hands into the side pockets of his jacket but didn’t respond.
“I’m asking you, as a neighbor, to not put my house on the internet. Children live here.” She let that fact sink in for a minute. There were no laws requiring him to do this, except those of common decency. “It would upset them to see their home on the news.”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Her moral appeal made him acutely uncomfortable, like a full bladder. He nodded toward the house. “What happened?”
It would be on the news soon enough, Bree knew, and she decided to be honest. She had nothing to lose by telling him. If she gave a little, maybe he would too. “Someone left a dead body at my house.”
Shock widened his eyes. His gaze flickered to the medical examiner’s van. Bree glanced over her shoulder. From this vantage point, the emblem on the side of the van wasn’t legible, and a cruiser blocked the view of the gurney. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he hadn’t known death was involved. Maybe he would be less of an asshat now that he did. She turned back.
He went still. “The serial killer? He was here?”
“I don’t know for sure.” She hesitated. “But off the record, one neighbor to another, I think so.”
“That’s fucked up.” He scraped the toe of a running shoe on the asphalt, still contemplating his recording.
“Come on, Phil,” his friend said. “Just delete the video. You don’t want to give that sicko any attention.”
If Phil were a cat, his ear would have flickered just once at his friend’s plea. But Phil didn’t move for a full minute. Neither did Bree. She’d laid out her request simply. He would either do the right thing or be a dick. From the conflict on his face, his decision could go either way.
“Phil.”The friend’s tone grew an I can’t believe you edge.
“Fine.”Phil bit off the words like a chunk of exceptionally tough beef jerky. He raised his phone, tapped the screen, and swiped left a few times. “Deleted. Happy?” He seemed angry that he’d been pressured to be decent.
Bree nodded. “Thank you,” she said, and added sincerely, “I really appreciate it.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Huffing, he turned away. He and his friend jogged away. Neither looked back.
Bree pivoted on her heel. Matt stood fifteen feet away. She walked to him.
“I would have punched him.” Matt’s eyes followed the runners.
“No, you wouldn’t,” she said. “He wasn’t doing anything illegal. But thanks for not interfering.”
He exhaled hard through both nostrils, much like his horse, Beast. “How did you get him to cooperate?”
“I was nice.”
Matt snorted. “Assholes really hate that.”
“They do. But also, thanks for wanting to punch him.”
“Anytime,” he said. “Though you could have put him on the ground if you’d needed to.”
“Still, it’s always nice to have backup.”
Matt turned as she drew even with him, and they walked back down the driveway, shoulder to shoulder. She almost took his hand like she normally did when they were at home. Then she remembered a dozen cops were crawling all over their side yard. Oh, the hell with it. She walked closer, resting her head against his shoulder.
He drew her close for a few seconds, wrapping one arm around her. “It’s going to be OK. We’re going to get him.”
“I know. I just need a minute.”
“Same.” Matt gave her a squeeze.
“Sheriff!” Dr. Jones called.
With a sigh, Matt dropped his arm. Bree stepped away and they headed toward the medical examiner.
Dr. Jones pointed to the body. The black bag gaped open, revealing the tarp-wrapped body. “When we lifted her, an envelope fell out of the tarp.”
Bree and Matt crossed the wet grass and stared down. A clear plastic zip-top baggie lay on the ground next to the gurney. Inside was a plain white envelope, the kind used for business correspondence. Block letters on the front spelled out SHERIFF TAGGERT.
Matt made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. He pulled gloves out of his pocket and tugged them on before taking the bag by a corner. Being careful not to disturb any potential prints, he opened the top and slid the envelope clear of the plastic bag. The flap wasn’t sealed. He lifted the top and withdrew a single sheet of paper.
His eyes hardened as he unfolded it. “I’m calling my dad. The kids need to leave. Now.”
Bree’s throat turned sour, the acid from her coffee rising as she read. The message was simple and direct. Her insides knotted themselves, and she pressed one hand to her burning solar plexus.
The message was written in the same block print as her name.
I’M DONE HIDING.