CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Matt helped Bree load her gear into a patrol vehicle. There was nothing wrong with his Suburban, but it didn’t have law enforcement bells and whistles, like a mobile data terminal. While she adjusted her seat and steering wheel, he donned his Kevlar vest. He’d been shot in the past and wasn’t anxious to repeat the experience. Anytime they embarked on a risky call, he suited up. Domestic violence perpetrators were dangerous enough. Howard Killian had been promoted to serial killer suspect.
Bree gave him an approving side-eye and nod. “Plan on wearing that until this is over.”
“I do.” He secured the Velcro strap and shrugged back into his sheriff’s department jacket.
Bree drove out of the lot. Matt checked on the kids and the farm.
Bree’s phone buzzed. “FBI.” She answered the call and uttered a few monosyllabic responses before ending the call. “An agent will be here first thing tomorrow. I’ll have Todd forward her as much information as possible so she can begin to review the case tonight.” She made a quick call to Todd.
Ten minutes later, Bree cruised to a stop in front of Killian’s house. Matt scanned the property. Despite a dark-gray sky and zero sun, no lights glowed inside the house.
Bree unfastened her seat belt. “His vehicle isn’t here. Doesn’t look like anyone is home.”
“When was he released?” Matt asked.
“Wednesday afternoon.” Bree slid out of the vehicle.
Matt joined her on the sidewalk. Music blared from a house nearby, and the neighborhood smelled of barbecue. “He’s had a chance to catch up on his missed sleep from a night in jail then.”
“He never made it to jail. He spent his single night in custody in the station holding cell. Alone.” Bree led the way to the front door. They flanked the entrance and knocked. Nothing moved in the house. No lights turned on. No footsteps approached the door.
“It’s happy hour on a Friday. You said he was drunk when you arrested him. Maybe he’s out at a bar, telling his sad story to his pals.”
“That’s plausible.” Bree knocked again. The house remained still and quiet.
Matt pressed his ear to the door for a few seconds. “All I can hear is the music from down the street. Do you want to check the back of the house?”
“No. We don’t have a warrant, and we’re not going to get one based on two of the victims taking Killian’s very popular class, along with six hundred other local kids. One piece of circumstantial evidence won’t establish probable cause.” Bree turned and surveyed the street. “I don’t see his vehicle. He must have gone somewhere.”
Matt cupped his hand over his eyes and peered through the narrow window next to the front door, but the interior was too dim to see much. He stood back. “We could park down the street and watch the place for a while. There’s a spot behind that massive pickup.”
Bree nodded. “Good idea. If he doesn’t show up soon, we can talk to the neighbors. Maybe someone has seen him in the past couple of days.”
They returned to the patrol unit, and Bree moved the vehicle down the street. If Howard drove by them, he’d see the sheriff’s vehicle, but he was most likely to approach from the other direction, and the monster truck provided decent concealment.
Bree slouched down in the seat. Matt did the same, settling in to do nothing. Stakeouts were mind-numbing. The hardest element was the boredom. The rain picked up, drumming on the roof of the car and sluicing down the windows.
“This rain will never end,” Bree said. “I’m tired of mud.”
Their breath fogged the windshield. Matt wiped it with a leftover restaurant napkin he found in the door pocket.
A mud-splattered pickup truck turned onto Killian’s street. The truck slowed as it passed Killian’s house, then continued.
“Can you see the plate number?” Bree asked.
“No.” Matt pulled his binoculars from the glove compartment. “It’s covered in mud, like the rest of the vehicle.”
“Like the whole freaking town. We’re going to need to change the town name from Grey’s Hollow to Grey’s Wallow.”
The pickup turned around in Killian’s driveway and went back the way it had come. It turned the corner and disappeared from view.
“Wrong house?” Bree asked.
“Felt like they were casing the place.” Matt rolled his shoulders and concentrated on the house.
“What’s that?” Bree pointed through the windshield. A beam of light flashed in one of Killian’s front windows. The light arced and disappeared.
“A flashlight,” Matt said.
“In the daytime? That’s suspicious.”
“Killian could have spotted us and is trying to pretend he’s not home.” Matt reached for the door handle. “Let’s go see who it is.”
Bree grabbed her uniform hat from the back seat. They slipped out of the vehicle and walked back to Killian’s house. Rain plastered Matt’s hair to his head. From the sidewalk, Matt scanned the windows but saw nothing. They walked to the front door. He shielded his eyes with a hand and peered through the window. A light bobbed in the back of the house.
Something squeaked behind the house. Matt froze. He lowered his voice. “Did you hear that?”
Bree nodded. They both remained motionless, listening.
A scraping sound emanated from the backyard.
Matt mouthed, “Whoever is inside used the back door.”
Bree lifted a palm to the sky. She whispered, “Killian could be inside, avoiding us. The only conditions of his bail set by the judge were to not leave the state without permission, to not possess a firearm, and to stay away from Grace. I’m sure his attorney advised him not to talk to us.”
A metallic bang inside the house drew them up short. Bree’s hand went to the gun on her hip. “On second thought, let’s check around back.” She pressed her lapel mic and reported a possible break-in to dispatch, who promised backup would be en route when available. Bree drew her weapon and led the way around the house. Matt’s boots squished in the saturated grass.
Matt eased an eyeball around the corner, searching the shadows for shapes or movement. “Don’t see anyone,” he whispered. They passed a window, the blinds drawn tightly.
Bree stepped around, creeping through a few feet of wet grass onto a square concrete patio. Shoulder to shoulder, they skirted a rusty table and two worn wicker chairs. The sliding glass door stood open a few inches. Matt’s instincts went on full alert. His pulse quickened, echoing in his ears. He drew in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, then slowly emptied his lungs, lowering his heart rate and heading off the adrenaline dump that threatened to tunnel his vision.
He gestured toward the opening. Wind stirred the air, disturbing a pile of leaf debris accumulated against the foundation. A sheer curtain blew back and forth through the door opening, as if the house were breathing.
Bree moved to one side of the door. Matt stood at her shoulder. She eased over the threshold. Matt followed her in, the curtain curling around his body, holding him back. He disentangled the fabric, freeing his legs. A thud sounded from the next room. Whoever was inside was attempting—but failing—to be quiet.
Pale gray light shone from the hallway that led to the front of the house, but the back of the house was dim.
Matt and Bree crept through the family room. Matt spotted a large shadow moving around the kitchen, using a flashlight to search the room. Matt gestured, but Bree had already seen it.
Something banged. The figure grunted. His flashlight brightened the ceiling as he rubbed his forehead.
Matt swept a hand across the wall. The lights came on. The figure spun to face them, leaving Matt and Bree blinking at Grace Abbott’s father.
“Sheriff’s department!” Bree leveled her gun at him. “Let me see your hands.”
Mr. Abbott raised his bowling ball–size fists into the air. His hands held only the flashlight. “I’m not armed.”
“Turn around,” Bree instructed. “Put your hands on the back of your head.”
Mr. Abbott complied. Matt moved forward to cuff him. After he was restrained, Matt turned him around and patted down his pockets. He found keys and a wallet.
“What are you doing here?” Bree asked.
Mr. Abbott frowned. “Looking for Grace.”
Matt asked, “Isn’t she at your house?”
“She was.” Mr. Abbott rattled the cuffs behind his back. “She got her old waitressing job back. She worked her first shift this morning. She was supposed to be done by two o’clock. She never came home.” He glanced around the kitchen. “We thought maybe she was with him.”
“Did she say she wanted to return to Killian?” Bree asked.
Mr. Abbott’s jaw clenched tightly enough to crack a molar. “No.”
“Then why would you think she would?” Matt pressed. “She’s only a couple of hours late.” But Matt didn’t like it.
Mr. Abbott turned his head to meet Matt’s gaze. The anger in Abbott’s eyes alarmed Matt. “Because she is who she is. She has a history of making bad decisions when it comes to men.” He inhaled and blew the air out in a short snort. “Look, I don’t think she’ll go back to him. But if he called her begging to talk, she might give in. She’s easily swayed. Just basic female weakness.”
Bree’s eyebrow shot up, but Mr. Abbott didn’t seem to catch the irony of calling females weak when one was currently holding him in custody.
Heat blasted up Matt’s spine. He opened his mouth to respond, but Bree tapped his forearm.
“Mr. Abbott,” she began in an admirably neutral voice. “Where is Grace working?”
“Weekends,” he said. “On Route 40.”
“We know it.” Bree pulled out her phone, pressed a button, and raised the phone to her ear. Weekends was a sports bar famous for its triple-decker burgers and bottomless french fry baskets. “How did Grace get to work?”
Mr. Abbott said, “Uber. She was supposed to be home around two thirty.”
“Did you call Weekends?” Matt asked.
Mr. Abbott cocked his head. “What do you think? Of course I did. They said she left at the end of her shift. She’s not answering her phone. If he convinced her to meet with him”—he circled his head to indicate their current location—“this would be the logical place.”
Bree lowered her phone. “Grace’s calls are going right to voice mail.”
Which meant the phone was either turned off or the battery was dead.
Bree tapped the phone on her thigh. “Has Killian been in touch with her?”
Mr. Abbott’s head jerked in a tight shake. “I told her if she talked to him, she had to find somewhere else to live.”
Thereby ensuring that Grace would not tell her father if she had talked to Killian.
Lights swirled through a window that overlooked the street. “Backup is here.” Bree took Mr. Abbott by the arm and led him toward the sliding glass door.
“You can’t arrest me!” Mr. Abbott protested. “I was just looking for my daughter.”
Bree steered him through the opening. “Breaking and entering is illegal.”
“The door wasn’t locked.” Abbott jerked his arm away. “I didn’t break anything.”
“You still can’t enter someone else’s home without permission,” Bree said.
Matt scanned the house. Everything looked normal, except a trash can that had been knocked over.
“That was an accident,” Mr. Abbott grumbled. “It was dark. I bumped into it. I just want to find Grace.” His voice crackled, the first sign of emotion breaking through his tough-guy facade.
Matt wondered if Mr. Abbott regretted the hard-ass stance he’d taken with his daughter.
Bree took his arm firmly. “We’re going outside.”
“If you arrest me, I can’t find her.” A note of panic lifted his tone.
“We’re going to look for Grace,” Bree assured him as she chicken-winged his arm, using the leverage to propel him out of the house.
“He searched my pockets.” Mr. Abbott jerked his chin toward Matt. “I didn’t take anything.”
Bree sighed. “Do you promise to go home and stay there?”
Being arrested on Friday night would mean spending the weekend in jail. She clearly didn’t want to arrest Grace’s father.
Mr. Abbott stopped resisting, but Matt stuck close anyway. Abbott was mountain-size. Even in handcuffs, a man with his sheer mass could do some damage. Bree could handle herself just fine, but she didn’t need another physical confrontation, not after the boot she’d taken to the face at the motel. If Abbott resisted, it would be like trying to manhandle a mule.
Abbott bowed his head for a minute, then raised his chin and looked Bree, then Matt in the eye. “I do.”
“You’re giving me your word?” Bree asked.
“Yes.” Abbott nodded.
“Then I won’t arrest you at the moment.” Bree spun him around and removed the handcuffs. They left through the open slider. After closing the door, Bree marched Abbott around to the front yard. She gently propelled him toward his truck. “Go home. Stay there.”
“Thank you,” he said over his shoulder. “Please find my daughter.”
A sheriff’s department patrol vehicle pulled up to the curb. While Bree spoke with her deputy, Matt walked to the next-door neighbor’s house and rang the bell. Matt noted the doorbell was a camera model. Digital chimes sounded inside, and a dog burst into a frenzy of yapping.
A sturdy middle-age woman in yoga pants and an oversize hoodie answered, concern creasing her brow. A skinny Chihuahua mix charged down the hall with a Flintstones Dino-like chorus of barking. She blocked him with a foot, but he darted around the woman’s ankles and lunged at Matt, growling. Barely ten pounds, the dog’s age showed in the solid white of its face and muzzle.
The woman crouched and tried to catch the dog, but it slunk out of her reach. “Damn you, Ripper.” The admonition came out with no heat, merely resignation and a little humor.
Ripper lunged at Matt’s foot. Matt didn’t react, which seemed to confuse the dog.
The woman blew a chunk of sandy-blonde hair from her eyes. “I got him from the shelter a couple of months ago. I thought adopting a senior dog would be easier, but Ripper here is quite feisty for his age. He scared the bejesus out of the mailman yesterday.” The woman stood back, watching as Ripper stopped barking and sniffed Matt’s boots. “You don’t seem afraid.”
“I was a K-9 handler for the sheriff’s department.” Handlers took turns playing the suspect in training exercises. A full-grown German shepherd delivered a hell of a hit, even through a bite sleeve. Matt looked down at the dog circling his feet. He doubted Ripper’s teeth could even pierce his boot. If the old dog did manage to bite, he’d probably leave most of his teeth stuck in the thick leather. “He’s fine, ma’am.”
She sighed. “He’s not fine. He’s a jerk. But he’s my jerk, and I love him.”
Matt snorted. “I understand.”
“You’re here about him?” She inclined her head toward Killian’s house.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman crossed her arms. “Did he hit her again?”
“Mr. Killian’s house was broken into,” Matt said. “Have you seen him?”
The woman huffed. “I’m not sorry someone broke into his house. He’s an awful person.”
Matt didn’t disagree. “I still need to talk to him.”
“I haven’t seen him since he was arrested a few days ago. Can’t say that I’m sorry about that either. This is a nice neighborhood, except for him. If I see him outside, I avoid him.”
“Has he been hostile to you?”
“He’s just miserable, always complaining about ridiculous things, like kids running across the lawn or someone walking too close to his stupid Beemer.” She rolled her eyes. “Even the Girl Scouts skip his house during cookie season.”
“Have you seen his vehicle in his driveway?” Matt asked. “Any other signs he’s been home?”
She tilted her head and tapped a finger to the corner of her mouth. “I think his car was there yesterday when I left for work around seven a.m., but I can’t be a hundred percent sure.”
Matt glanced at the doorbell camera. “Does your doorbell camera show Mr. Killian’s driveway?”
“It does.” She pulled her phone from a pocket on the leg of her yoga pants and opened an app. “I had a package delivered yesterday at 9:07 in the morning.” She turned the phone so Matt could see the screen. The bottom of Killian’s driveway—and the rear of his BMW—was visible in the background.
“Any other recent videos?” Matt asked.
“There’s activity on Sunday, but that’s it, sorry.” She lowered her phone. “I don’t get many visitors.”
“Have you seen his vehicle today?” Matt asked.
She shook her head. “I was off today. The only time I’ve set foot outside is to take Ripper out back to do his business. Neither of us loves this wet weather.”
“Could I have a copy of that video from Thursday morning?” Matt asked.
“Can I download it?” She opened her phone again. Matt walked her through the download-and-send process before returning to Killian’s front yard, where Bree was waiting. He relayed the neighbor’s information.
“I’ve put out a BOLO on Killian and his vehicle,” Bree said. “Grace, as well.”
“Now what?”
“Let’s go to Weekends and see if they have surveillance video showing Grace leaving. Killian’s brother bailed him out. We’ll pay him a visit and see if he knows where Killian is.” Bree looked away. “We need to find Grace. I know she’s only been missing for a few hours, but I don’t like this situation at all. I’d like to find her.”
Matt finished her thought. Before she ends up dead.