CHAPTER ELEVEN
C HAPTER E LEVEN
Bree spotted patrol units at the curb ahead, lights flashing. She slid into the spot behind Todd’s vehicle, slammed the gearshift into park, and bolted out of her vehicle.
Matt jumped out of the passenger seat and joined her on the sidewalk. “Zucco is OK.”
“I know.” But gunfire had been exchanged.
Zucco had reported that the suspect got away, but Bree would not relax until she saw her in person. Sometimes being sheriff felt like parenthood. She felt responsible for every deputy under her command.
Together, she and Matt rushed around the side of the house.
Zucco walked out of the woods and stopped in front of them. Bree scanned her deputy for bloody holes, but all she saw were twigs, leaves, and dirt stuck to her uniform. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Zucco’s eyes flashed with fire, not fear. “But he got away!”
“What happened?” Bree kept her voice low, but she recognized that her deputy was processing a surge of adrenaline. On a good day, Zucco was a firecracker. After being shot at, she was a bundle of dynamite.
Zucco paced in a circle as she recounted the foot chase and gunfire exchange. Her hands flew around as she punctuated her rage with gestures.
“Let’s check out the scene.” Bree motioned toward the woods.
Zucco led the way. She stopped and turned in a circle. “I took cover behind this tree.”
“Let’s find those bullets.” Bree wanted to know if the same person who’d shot at Zucco had also killed the Masons.
Matt and Todd began searching the ground. Zucco pointed to a hole in the tree trunk. “Here’s one.”
Barely a foot from her head.
Bree breathed. She could have lost a deputy today. Having Juarez shot earlier that summer had been bad enough.
Todd photographed and videoed the area. Then he dug the bullet out of the tree trunk and bagged it as evidence.
“I’ve found another,” Matt said.
Todd walked to where the shooter had stood. Todd squatted and brushed dead leaves with a gloved hand. “And a shell casing.”
An hour later, they’d recovered three bullets fired from the suspect’s gun and a few that probably belonged to Zucco. She’d given the shooter a good fight. Good enough that he’d retreated.
For that Bree was grateful. “Take the rest of the day off,” she said to Zucco. “Tomorrow, you’re on desk duty with Juarez until we’ve investigated.”
All officer-involved shootings required mandatory decompression time. Since no one had been injured today, Zucco’s downtime would depend on her reaction and the investigation of the incident. If Zucco’s body camera corroborated her story, she should be back on duty quickly. The shooter had broken the law by crossing the crime scene barrier. Zucco’s pursuit was completely justified. He’d also fired the first shots, and Zucco had returned fire in self-defense. Zucco hadn’t endangered any bystanders. Her actions had been appropriate. The only person she might have endangered was herself.
“Yes, ma’am.” Zucco looked regretful. She was one of the more aggressive deputies. Bree knew Zucco didn’t regret chasing a man into the woods alone. She was unhappy because she was being pulled from patrol duty.
“You should have waited for backup before chasing him at all.”
Zucco grumbled. “Yeah. Probably.”
Bree raised her brows.
Zucco sighed. “You’re right. Sorry. I won’t do it again.”
But she didn’t look sorry, and they both knew she probably would do it again. While they’d all like to be as careful as possible, sometimes it wasn’t possible. Cops were caught alone all the time. When she’d worked patrol in the city, Bree had always had a partner, but out here, deputies rode solo. The fact was that they didn’t have the budget or manpower to make sure backup was available all the time.
As much as she wanted to protect them, Bree couldn’t guarantee her deputies’ safety. But she wouldn’t allow them to take unnecessary risks either. She would keep an eye on her newest deputy. Courage was commendable, but impulsiveness was a liability.
After Bree had taken over the sheriff’s department, she’d cleaned out corrupt, misogynistic deputies, updated procedures, and modernized the actual building. There hadn’t even been a locker room for female officers—but then, the previous sheriff hadn’t hired any female deputies. Her latest addition—inspired by her own recent foray into therapy—was greater access to mental health care services.
Todd pointed to the woods. “I’ll take a deputy and see if we can follow his tracks.” He headed for the trees.
Bree and Matt returned to the Mason house. On the back patio, Bree studied the doors. “If it’s the same person, he went in the same way he did when he killed Shelly and Josh.”
“Why not?” Matt asked. “It worked the first time.”
“Kind of dicey to go back the day after the murder. Forensics finished up a few hours ago. Why take the risk?”
“Maybe he didn’t find what he was looking for last night.”
“Then why did he kill the Masons so fast?” Bree asked. “If he was looking for something specific, why didn’t he make them talk first? Why not threaten to kill Claire if they didn’t?”
“All good questions,” Matt agreed. “And why did he leave before he found what he’d gone there for? If Claire interrupted him, he could have killed her. He’d already murdered two people. He’s obviously not squeamish, though like we discussed before, maybe he couldn’t kill a kid.”
Todd returned. He opened the map app on his phone. The neighborhood of McMansions backed to woods. Most of the area behind it was empty. “A trail of broken underbrush leads to Backwater Creek Road.” He tapped on a green section of the screen with a blue line running through it. “There’s a walking trail by the creek. He could have left a vehicle here and walked through the woods. It isn’t far. There’s enough foliage to screen his vehicle from the road.”
“Tire tracks?” Bree asked.
Todd shook his head. “The parking area is gravel.”
Bree turned back toward the house. “We need to search the house again.”
“I’m in.” Matt fell into step beside her.
Forensics had finished with the house, so they didn’t bother with gloves. Bree stood in the kitchen and pivoted in a circle. “We need to look beyond a normal forensics evidence search.”
“We don’t know what we’re looking for.” Matt frowned. “Could be as small as a safe-deposit box key.”
“Let’s get started in the home office.” Bree turned into the corridor.
They paused in the doorway, taking in the whole room. Matt went to the bookshelves and ran his hands over the frame and molding. Then he began pulling books and shaking them.
Bree pulled back the area rug and checked the floorboards underneath. She inspected the underside of the rug. Like Matt had said, a safe-deposit box key would be very easy to hide. They finished the office and repeated the in-depth inspection for the rest of the downstairs.
In the garage, they looked in every storage box and inside both vehicles.
They found nothing else of interest and moved to the second floor. Hours later, they stood in the primary bedroom. The bedding had been removed. Obviously, the mattress had been protected by a waterproof cover, because it looked oddly pristine. Squares of bloodstained carpet had been cut out and taken away as evidence by forensics. But the room still looked like a scene from a horror movie with the remaining bloodstained carpet and spatters on the headboard.
“We’ll have to cover all of this before we bring Claire in here,” Bree said.
“Yes. A couple of sheets will do it.” Matt lifted the mattress and checked its seams. While it was raised, Bree examined the box springs, and then Matt pulled the headboard away from the wall and she checked behind it.
Bree turned toward the closet. “I feel like we’re missing something.”
“It’s possible we’re wrong about why he came back here. Maybe he’s a sick fuck who wants to relive the murders.”
Bree shuddered. “Could go either way. Except the murders don’t feel like the actions of a random killer looking for thrills. They feel ... purposeful.”
“They do,” Matt agreed.
They went into the walk-in closet. Matt started with the carpet, pulling it away from the wall. Bree moved clothing and looked for holes in the wall. They opened every box, inspected every pocket, and checked inside every shoe.
Then Bree looked up, where a rectangular attic access panel was framed in the ceiling. No dangling rope indicating there was a built-in pull-down ladder. “Was there a stepladder in the garage?”
“Yes. I’ll get it.” Matt left the room, returning in a few minutes with a four-step ladder, which he set up below the attic access. He climbed up, pushed on the panel, and slid it to the side. He stuck his head and shoulders into the hole. “There’s something up here, but there aren’t any floorboards. I might be too heavy to walk across.” He descended the ladder.
“I’ll go.” Bree went up the rungs and hoisted herself through the opening. Placing her feet on the two-by-fours framing the access hatch, she pulled her flashlight from her duty belt.
“Be careful.” Matt climbed the ladder as she started across the attic.
She shined her light into the space. The beam highlighted a large object in the far corner under a rafter. “There’s something up here. I need to get closer.”
Matt poked his head and shoulders through the opening. “Don’t fall through the floor.”
“I’ll try not to.” Stepping from joist to joist, she carefully picked her way across the space. When she got closer, she recognized a tarp. Lifting the blue woven nylon, she uncovered three backpacks. She relayed the finding to Matt.
“What’s inside them?”
She crouched and smacked her head on a rafter. Dust rained down, and she sneezed. “There’s no room up here. I’ll bring them down. Give me some light.”
Matt shined his flashlight into the space so Bree could return hers to her duty belt. Then she took photos of the backpacks from different angles.
“Ready,” she called over her shoulder.
Matt lowered his beam to illuminate the joists. Bree donned gloves, slung a backpack over each shoulder, and carried the third by the straps. With the added weight of the bags, her return trip across the unfloored attic was more precarious. A joist creaked and she wobbled. She paused to catch her balance, then continued to pick her way from joist to joist. As soon as she reached the hatch, Matt took the bags from her with a gloved hand and descended the ladder.
She climbed down.
He carried the bags outside the closet and set them down on a clear spot of carpet. “Not much dust, but they were covered, so who knows how long they’ve been up there.”
One bag was black, another was dark gray, and the last was navy blue. Matt drew open the zipper of the black bag. Bree did the same with the gray one. She pulled her flashlight off her belt and shined it inside the bag. “I see some clothes.” She shifted them aside. Underneath sat an opaque brick. A sliver of excitement raced through her, as if her instincts knew the block would be important. “What is this?”
She reached into the bag and lifted one out and peeled away a few layers of plastic wrap. A twenty-dollar bill stared back at her. “It’s money. Lots of it.” Each block consisted of four or five banded stacks of bills a half-inch thick. She fanned the top of a stack to see bills ranging from fives to hundreds. She rechecked the bag and spotted another block. “There are plastic-wrapped blocks of money under the clothes. What did you find?”
“The same in the main compartment.” Matt opened a second zippered compartment. “Protein bars, an empty bottle, water purification tables, a prepaid phone, and a sizable bottle of blood pressure medication.”
Bree’s bag was similarly equipped. She went to a smaller front compartment and removed a Canadian driver’s license. The photo was Claire but the name read Clara Zahn . There was a Canadian passport in the same name. “I found Canadian documents for Claire under a fake name.”
“And this one has Canadian identification with Shelly Mason’s photo and the name Shannon Zahn.”
Bree checked the third backpack. The contents were the same. “Josh Mason’s other name is Jake Zahn.”
“If these are fake, they’re damned good ones.”
“Those would be very expensive.”
“Money didn’t seem to be an issue for the Masons.” Matt weighed a block of cash in his hand. “How much cash do you think is in each brick?”
“They’re mixed bills. No way to know for sure except count it. We’ll drop them at forensics. They can count the money and make sure it’s not counterfeit. Everything needs to be swabbed and dusted for fingerprints anyway.” Bree reassessed the bags. “Alternate IDs, cash, changes of clothes, food, water, essential medication. These are go-bags.”
“Yep. Who keeps those besides spies and criminals, and why would a pair of lawyers need them?” Matt asked.
Bree’s gaze found the blood spatters on the headboard. “Probably the same reason they’re both dead.”