Chapter Four
Marshall County Evidence Shed
When her father was sheriff—forever ago—Charly had loved coming here to play.
The rules were a little different then. She doubted the current sheriff would bring his kids here.
But Charly hadn’t been the usual kid. She’d loved to read—mysteries of course—and she’d loved trailing along after her father.
Whether he was hunting or reviewing evidence, he was her idol.
Some girls her age had been enthralled with movie stars or whoever was at the top of the music charts, but not Charly.
The white Ford SUV had been towed to the shed, arriving just ten or so minutes before she and Billie. Sheriff Tully Malone was on the way over. He, apparently, had decided to hold the press conference early. Charly suspected the change in timing was about keeping Billie away from the press.
Billie wasn’t happy about it but kept his cool.
Even when the sheriff arrived, he made no fuss about being left out.
Sheriff Malone had obviously concluded that such an official high-level crime needed his personal involvement and any and all credit should be his—however this ended.
Except, she mused, if it didn’t go well then he’d likely find someone else to give credit.
Charly chastised herself for thinking such a thing.
Tully Malone was a good sheriff. He’d been on the job since her father died—sixteen years.
Died. Charly had learned to look at what happened to her parents that way because it did no good to anyone, especially her, to be reminded that her father and her mother had been murdered by a cold-blooded killer.
One who had shot and killed them and just walked away.
Her parents had been on the way home together that night.
No doubt she and Jen would have been murdered, too, if they’d been with them.
But Jen was already off at college and Charly had gone to Birmingham to visit her.
Charly was just weeks away from high school graduation and was slated to attend the same university.
But everything changed after that night.
Charly snapped from the memory as the sheriff’s deep voice filtered through the haze of the past.
“Our people will go over the vehicle carefully,” Malone was saying. “We’ll keep you advised of any details we find.”
Charly looked from Sheriff Malone to Billie.
She was surprised that the sheriff had chosen to be so forthcoming about an investigation that was obviously not just about a stolen vehicle.
It certainly wouldn’t be because he considered Charly a good friend.
Although she couldn’t deny that he seemed to be a decent sheriff, there remained a thread of tension between them.
Mostly due to her behavior after the murders of her parents.
She had been in shock, clearly. But in her earlier years she had followed her father around and hung on his every word enough to know the whole thing didn’t feel right.
Why couldn’t a single shred of evidence be found?
Why was the killer never discovered? It was as if the whole thing never happened.
The murders of her parents remained unsolved to this day. No rumors. No nothing.
Once more, she kicked the past back to its place. Just in time to notice Billie and the sheriff shaking hands.
“We will keep you informed,” Sheriff Malone assured him. “We’ll give you a look at the handbag as soon as our people have had time to process it. If our hotline turns up anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I appreciate that, Sheriff,” Billie said.
“The head of your agency called,” the sheriff explained. “I assured her that my department would provide any additional support you need. We all want the same thing here—to find your sister and her husband.”
Surprise registered and Charly resisted the impulse to ask what the sheriff meant. It was better to wait and ask Billie when they were out of here.
Billie thanked him again and turned to Charly. Since she had nothing to add that concerned the sheriff, they headed for the exit.
She glanced at the white SUV sequestered to one of the three bays in the shed.
They hadn’t been allowed to look inside or even get close but there was nothing to see.
Prints and most other potential evidence would be long gone considering the windows had been opened before sending the vehicle into the murky water.
Once she and Billie were back in his high-end black SUV, she turned in the passenger seat to study his profile. “What did Sheriff Malone mean when he said the head of your agency?”
Wouldn’t be the FBI; it was a bureau. Wouldn’t be DEA; that was an administration.
He hesitated before starting the engine. He turned to her. “I’m a private investigator. I work with the Colby Agency. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because my sister and her husband are missing. If the identity of my employer provides some amount of leverage toward that end, I’m grateful.”
Charly nodded. “I see.” Now she felt like a total idiot for taking the lead in those woods when a real, honest-to-God, probably highly trained, PI had been right next to her.
He started the engine and pulled out onto the street.
“I guess your boss is pretty important to have captured Sheriff Malone’s attention with a single phone call.”
Billie glanced at her as he navigated traffic. “She’s not your average boss.”
Charly pulled out her phone and started to google this Colby Agency.
She felt his eyes in her direction a couple of times but that didn’t deter her.
Line after line of results filled the screen.
She started with the top hit. The more she read the more startled she became.
He was not kidding when he said his boss wasn’t the average sort. Neither was the agency.
She stared at him, and he glanced her way. “Told you,” he said with a slight smile.
“Your agency is no run-of-the-mill private investigations firm,” she said before she could stop herself. “Your boss…” Charly wasn’t even sure how to frame what she’d just read about Victoria Colby-Camp. The woman was known all over the world. “She’s an icon, it seems.”
“I’m very fortunate,” he said, sending another look her way, “to be a part of the Colby Agency. But I’m on leave and this investigation is personal.”
Charly reminded herself to close her mouth, which had been gaping since she started reading the results from her search.
Apparently taking her silence as a need for further explanation, he went on. “I didn’t mention my work because I didn’t want you to feel you couldn’t speak freely or do what you normally do around me here.”
Might be a little late for that. But she got it. His sister was missing, and he didn’t want to make this about him.
“FYI,” she explained, “I have never felt the need to suppress whatever I had to say when it was relevant. No need to worry about me.”
He gave her a nod. “Good.”
She thought about what to pass along next. Sometimes it was extra important to weigh words before they were spoken. Not exactly her best quality.
“Seems the sheriff is taking the situation seriously. I mean, it’s obvious Briana and Martin were taken by force. But I would have liked to hear more about his strategy.”
“Agreed.” He made the turn onto Blount Avenue. “The usual protocol once a kidnapping is confirmed is to call in the FBI.”
“But usually with a kidnapping—if it’s not personal—it’s for some sort of ransom, right?” she tossed out. It was reasonable to see kidnapping at the top of the list of potential causes for the couple missing. The motive behind the move remained a mystery in this case.
“Yes.” He exhaled a big breath. “But I haven’t received a call or text to suggest there’s a ransom request, which is troubling. Generally, that would have happened by now.”
“This would be a pretty stupid kidnapper if he didn’t know who the target he intended to exploit was before taking anyone as collateral.” A new thread of uneasiness stitched its way through Charly. “Unless this is more about what the victims offer.”
Of course it was possible the kidnapping was some random event related to wrong place/wrong time, but the scene was far too clean for an unplanned event. This felt more like an experienced kidnapper who knew what he was after before selecting the target.
Billie slowed again, this time to turn onto Taylor Street. “If this was a spur-of-the-moment grab,” he said as he parked at her cabin, “then their bodies would have been in that SUV.”
His words sent a chill through her. “That’s it, then. You’re worried it’s not a ransom situation, not a random act of violence, but something related directly to Briana and Martin.”
Like their value as a marketable commodity, she didn’t say out loud. The idea made her sick.
“Human trafficking is real—even in small communities with low crime rates,” he explained.
“You get a lot of tourists—with that kind of influx there’s bound to be trouble once in a while.
Then there’s the possibility of revenge against me or my sister or her husband.
” Another look arrowed Charly’s way. “Or maybe you. Finding the something that triggered this event—the motive—will take time, and time is our enemy.”
She got the point but… “I hope I have never done anything that would prompt this kind of act.”
“Just saying,” he offered, “there are lots of reasons people go missing. Sometimes the cause is the last thing we expect.”
She nodded, then frowned as she surveyed the street they’d turned onto. Where were they going? She started to ask but then he pulled into the short driveway at a little white house located only a short distance before Taylor turned into Albert Smith Drive. She had obviously missed something.