CHAPTER FOURTEEN
C HAPTER F OURTEEN
Bree drained her coffee mug as she parked in front of Claire’s foster home. She and Matt had spent hours writing and reviewing reports the night before. Meticulous paperwork was a boring but essential part of a successful investigation.
Matt climbed out of the passenger seat and joined her at the base of the long driveway. The neighborhood was quiet and typically suburban. Modest older houses and SUVs lined the street. Mature trees and shrubs decorated generously sized lots. A minivan sat in front of the two-story house Claire was assigned to. A basketball net stood at the curb, and childish chalk drawings decorated the sidewalk. Bree listened for high-pitched voices but heard none.
A fortyish-year-old woman with a brown ponytail emerged from the front door. “Hi. I’m Janice.”
Bree introduced herself and Matt. “We need to speak to Claire.”
“She went for a walk,” Janice said. “I thought it would be OK if she promised to stay in the neighborhood.” Janice twisted her hands. “It is OK, right? She’s seventeen.”
Bree held up a hand to ease the woman’s anxiety. “It’s fine. She’s almost an adult. Which way did she go?”
Janice pointed down the street. “That way, toward the playground. I feel so bad for her. She seems overwhelmed.”
Bree glanced back at the chalk art, which suggested younger children were in residence. “Where are the other kids?”
“My husband took them out for breakfast,” Janice said. “Claire didn’t want to go. She’s barely eaten anything since she got here. I tried to cook her breakfast, but she said she wasn’t hungry. She needed some space.”
“That’s understandable.” Bree didn’t know how the girl was coping at all with what she’d experienced. Lindsay needed to look into therapy for Claire. She was going to need help processing her trauma. Even though she was nearly an adult, Bree still didn’t like the girl being out on her own. Claire might want some alone time, but that didn’t mean it was safe.
Matt scanned the street, as if he weren’t comfortable with Claire being without supervision either.
“I’ve never fostered a teenager this old before.” A frown line bisected Janice’s forehead. “Mostly, we get younger kids. We’re a little unsure how to help Claire, but we’re trying.”
A scream pierced the morning air. Bree whirled to see Claire emerge from behind a huge clump of shrubs on the corner two blocks away. She was coming at them in a flat-out run. Bree started toward her. Matt was already gone, sprinting like a decathlete. A figure rounded the corner behind Claire, clearly in pursuit. He was male, tall and thin, dressed in black and wearing a black baseball cap. He was too far away for Bree to see any additional details. As soon as he spotted Matt, he came to a sliding stop, whirled, and raced away in the other direction.
Claire and Matt passed each other. The girl paused as she reached Bree. Breathless, she wheezed out a few words. “The man ... grabbed me ... chased me ...” Gasping for air, she waved down the block.
Bree gestured toward Janice. “Go inside, lock up!”
She glanced over her shoulder to see Janice herd Claire into the house and slam the door. Then she ran after Matt. With one hand on her lapel mic, she reported the incident and requested backup. The first ETA came in at seven minutes.
Too far away. This would be over long before a patrol deputy arrived.
Matt surged ahead. They ran several times a week together. While she couldn’t match pace with his much longer legs, she was quick on her feet. But the man they were pursuing was also fast, and he had almost a two-block lead on them.
Bree pictured the neighborhood map from her GPS. Ahead, the road curved to the playground. She skidded into a sharp right turn, along the next short block, and veered left. Now she was running parallel to Matt, but her route was on the inside of the curve. With her shortcut, she’d gained a bit of ground on the suspect. Lungs screaming, thighs burning, she pushed harder. She spotted the playground on the next corner—a swing set, with a little fort and suspension bridge.
At the next intersection, motion in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She swiveled her head. The man in black raced across the bisecting street and passed the playground. Matt was fifty yards behind him, still moving at full speed, like a running back with the ball and the end zone in sight. But Bree’s shortcut had paid off. She was closer. She veered across the grass, heading straight for the suspect.
The playground backed to a strip of evergreens, but over them, Bree could see the tops of houses on the other side. Another housing development. She wanted to catch him before he made it to the trees. She inhaled and gave him a warning: “Stop. Sheriff!”
He didn’t even glance her way, and she saved her breath for sucking in oxygen. She was within a hundred feet now, and gaining on him. The suspect appeared to be flagging, his strides less even, less sure—more desperate. Swerving around a climbing apparatus, he stumbled in the thick layer of wood chips beneath the equipment.
Bree gained another few feet. She might not be as fast off the line, but she had endurance to spare. Her strides lengthened, anger fueling her. This man had tried to grab and chased a teenage girl. Possibly he’d killed her parents and shot at Zucco.
I’m going to get you now, you bastard.
Remembering Zucco’s shooting, Bree drew her weapon. But she couldn’t fire at his back. She didn’t know if he was armed, and he was still too far away for an accurate shot. The houses beyond the strip of trees were close, and she wouldn’t risk a neighborhood kid catching a stray bullet.
He swung an arm around. Bree caught the glint of metal. She dropped to the ground as the shot went off. The bullet struck the pretend bridge, splintering the wood. A woman screamed. He fired again. The shot whizzed over her head. Bree rolled behind the mini fort. Built of four-by-fours, it should block a bullet. With her back to the structure, she scanned the area for the screamer—and for Matt. He was on the sidewalk next to a woman with a toddler and a baby stroller. Matt gathered them behind the engine block of a Jeep parked at the curb. Then he crouched over them, also shielding them with his body. Bree returned her attention to the shooter. She peered around the wooden post and leveled her gun in the shooter’s direction, but he was nowhere in sight.
The sound of an engine starting carried on the breeze. Tires squealed on pavement. The engine roared, then faded.
Fuck!
He was getting away.
She scrambled out from behind the play structure and ran toward the trees. With the threat gone, Matt left the woman and children and caught up with Bree. Together, they raced through thirty feet of buffer foliage. They burst onto the suburban street on the other side just in time to see the rear end of a black SUV in the distance. It turned out of the development and disappeared down the road.
Bree used her lapel mic to update dispatch. But her deputies on patrol weren’t close enough to catch the shooter.
Matt paced in frustration. “We should have known he would shoot at us. That’s exactly what he did when Zucco chased him. He could have hit that mother or one of her kids.” He circled like an irritated big cat in a cage.
Bree let him walk off his adrenaline while she focused on bringing down her heart rate and catching her breath. “And what could we have done differently? Not chased him at all?”
“No,” he said in a sulky voice. He wasn’t even breathing hard. He pointed to an intersection more than a hundred yards away. “Did you get a plate number on the SUV?”
Bree shook her head. “Too far away. I couldn’t even testify as to the make or model. It appeared to be the size of a Ford Explorer, definitely black.”
Matt’s jaw shifted in frustration. He continued to pace the asphalt, both hands on his head, cursing. Bree let him vent. He didn’t get visibly angry often. They’d both seen too much in their law enforcement careers. But when the vulnerable were attacked, and he couldn’t catch the scumbags responsible ...
Yeah, she gave him a minute.
He stopped pacing. “I’ll get the witness’s contact information and a statement.”
While Matt walked back to the mother and her kids, Bree updated dispatch, calling for responding patrol units to be on the lookout as they approached. But all they knew about the suspect was that he was a tall, thin man dressed in black and driving a black SUV, potentially a Ford Explorer. It wasn’t enough information to issue an official BOLO.
Bree located the bullet buried in the wood of the play structure. She photographed it, then after donning gloves, dug it out of wood. She walked to the area where the shooter had stood when he fired at her and also located the shell casing. With the bagged-and-tagged evidence in her pocket, she walked through the evergreens and scanned the neighboring housing development.
A moment later, Matt joined her. “The ground is too dry for footprints.”
Bree nodded toward the four houses facing them. “Let’s knock on those doors. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone saw our shooter or has a doorbell or security camera that caught the SUV.”
But they did not get lucky.
They retreated to the foster home, and Janice let them inside. In the kitchen, Claire sat at the table, hugging herself, crying silently. She was dressed in denim shorts and a T-shirt instead of Zucco’s gym clothes. A chair was pulled next to Claire’s, as if Janice had been sitting close, trying to comfort her.
Bree sat at the table across from Claire and pulled out her notepad.
Claire’s face was pale and streaked with tears. She looked like she’d lost weight since the day before. She plucked a tissue from a box on the table in front of her and wiped her eyes and nose. “I’m sorry.”
Matt stepped away, leaning on the wall like a sentinel.
Bree took the empty seat next to the girl. “Are you OK?”
Claire nodded. “I didn’t cry until it was all over. Now, I can’t stop.”
“It’s the adrenaline,” Bree assured her. “It’ll pass.” She scanned the girl again. “You weren’t hurt?”
“No.” Claire sniffed.
She hunched over her folded arms. Janice set a glass of ice water on the table at Claire’s elbow.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Bree asked.
Claire drew in a long, trembling breath. “The little kids were loud when they got up, and I needed some quiet, some space, you know? I went for a walk.”
Janice hovered, her movements disrupting Claire’s concentration.
Bree redirected her back to the story. “Where did you go, Claire?”
“The playground. It was empty. I sat on a swing. I used to love the swings when I was little.” Claire paused and clenched her hands together.
Bree’s heart cracked as she pictured the girl, sitting on the swing, seeking comfort from a childhood memory.
Claire continued. “I was there for maybe ten minutes? Then an SUV parked. I got this creepy feeling, like the driver was staring at me.” She shivered. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she swiped it away with a fingertip. After a deep breath, she continued. “A few minutes later, he came walking toward me.” She hesitated, her gaze turning inward as she remembered. “He was so focused on me, it was scary. And the way he headed right toward me freaked me out. At first, I felt dumb, like he was probably going to ask me a question and I was overreacting because of what happened to my parents. But I couldn’t help myself. I had to get away from him.” Her eyes widened. “I got up and started walking away. He followed me. I ran. He chased me.” Claire’s breaths sped up. “He caught me before I even got to the sidewalk.” She rubbed her wrist, where a red mark indicated a bruise would develop. “He pulled me toward him. He was too strong. I couldn’t pull away.” Her breathing was choppy and frantic.
“You’re safe now, Claire,” Bree said. “No one is going to hurt you.”
Claire nodded, but she was close to hyperventilating.
Bree turned to Janice. “Do you have a paper bag?”
Janice opened a drawer and produced a paper lunch bag.
Bree opened it and handed it to Claire. “Breathe into this. Deep and slow.”
Claire did, and her breathing evened out in a few minutes. She lowered the bag. “I let him pull me closer. Then I kicked as hard as I could. I got him in the thigh. He released me and went down on his knees.”
She’d probably caught him in the balls. Good girl.
Claire gulped. “Then I ran as fast as I could. I heard him behind me. When I turned the corner onto this street, he was still behind me. But he stopped chasing me when he saw you.” Her eyes lifted to meet Bree’s. “He was after me. I know it. I could feel it. But why?” As she asked the questions, her eyes fell to her wrist and the reddening marks around it.
Resolve hardened Bree’s heart. “I don’t know, but we won’t let him near you again.”
Claire didn’t look convinced.
Bree didn’t blame her. They hadn’t considered that Claire could be a target, but then, they didn’t know what had motivated the murders either. “Can you describe him?” Claire had been much closer than Bree or Matt. She wanted Claire’s impressions, free of contamination by her own and Matt’s recollections.
“I don’t know,” Claire sobbed. “It’s all a blur.”
Bree motioned toward Matt. “Was he shorter or taller than Investigator Flynn?”
Claire squinted at him. “A little shorter but skinnier.”
“How old do you think he was? Twenty? Fifty?”
Claire tilted her head. “I’m not sure. He was wearing a baseball cap, a black one, pulled down so the brim shadowed the top half of his face. But from his body shape and the way he moved, I think he was older than me but not real old.”
Bree agreed silently and made notes. “What was he wearing?”
“Jeans. Black T-shirt. Sneakers.” Claire brightened. “He had tattoos. One was big. It looked like a tiger.” She pointed to her left bicep. “I remember that!” Pride lifted her voice.
Bree wrote it all down. “The tattoo is a great detail, Claire. How about his hair?”
“Not sure.” Claire brushed a hand over her scalp. “Because of the baseball cap. It must have been short, though, because I didn’t see any hair sticking out.”
“Good observation,” Bree said.
Matt touched his own short beard. “What about facial hair?”
Claire shook her head. “I don’t think so. If he did, it was only some scruff.”
Matt asked, “Did he wear any jewelry? An earring, watch, or chain?”
“I don’t know.” Claire closed her eyes for a few seconds, as if trying to picture her assailant. “That’s all I can remember.”
“You did great, Claire.” Bree tapped her notepad. “This is all good information.” Bree skimmed her notes. “An adult man, not old, tall and thin with short hair. Tattoos, including a big tiger on one arm. He was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and sneakers. We saw him drive away in a black SUV.”
Claire’s chin lifted for a second. “I remembered a lot.”
Bree nodded toward the girl’s wrist. “Do you need some ice for that?”
Claire shook her head. “It’s just a bruise.”
“Let me know if it hurts more, OK?”
“OK.”
“Now, excuse us for a few minutes.” Bree motioned to Matt. “I want to get this description out to my parole deputies.” And every other law enforcement officer in the area.
Bree and Matt stepped out of the house.
“She’s not safe here.” Matt’s eyes searched the street.
“No,” Bree agreed. “I’ll call her social worker. She needs to be moved. For now, we’re going to take her back to the station.”
A patrol car parked at the curb.
“I’ll have the deputy run the bullet and shell casing to forensics.” Bree had another idea. “Remember when Adam drew a tattoo for us?”
Matt nodded. “You’re thinking maybe he can do that again?”
“Maybe. The tattoo she described sounded specific. I’d rather have it drawn from her memory than bombard her with a thousand photos of tiger tattoos.”
“True. That might confuse her.”
Bree sent her brother a text. “Zucco’s at the station. Claire seemed to like her. Maybe she can get her to eat something. The girl looks ragged.”
“It’s no wonder.” Matt took Bree’s notepad. “I’ll put out a BOLO.”
Bree returned to the kitchen and explained the situation to Claire and Janice.
Janice seemed relieved. “I’ll get you a bag for your things.” She left the room.
“You have things?” Bree asked.
Claire straightened. “Janice bought me some clothes, and a toothbrush and stuff. It was nice, but I’d rather have my own things. Can I go back to my house and pack a bag?”
“I can’t let you into the house yet, but if you give me a list, I’ll get your things.” Bree was not ready to release the crime scene. Nor did she want Claire to see the place before it had been thoroughly cleaned.
“OK. Thank you.” Claire’s eyes misted, but she blinked away her unshed tears and straightened her spine.
“OK, then. Here’s your phone back.” Bree handed it to Claire.
“Thanks. I didn’t think about how not having it made me feel more alone.”
“Now you can talk to your friends,” Bree said. And call for help if she’s chased ...
Claire looked away. “Yeah.”
Did the girl have close friends? They hadn’t uncovered any friends of the Masons so far. Did they raise Claire to be a loner? People with go-bags in their attic didn’t trust easily or get too close to people. They could have passed that sentiment along to Claire subconsciously, if not intentionally.
“Are you OK leaving here?” Bree asked.
“Yeah. I mean, Janice is nice and all, but the little kids are a lot. I couldn’t get a minute alone.” She looked around. “Plus, I think I’d be scared here now. Who was that person? Did he kill my parents?”
“I don’t know, but Lindsay will find you a new place to stay.” But Bree also wondered how the man in the black SUV had found Claire.
Janice called Claire to the back of the house. Bree stepped outside to call Lindsay and update her.
“I don’t know where to put her today,” Lindsay said. “Let me make some calls. I’ll get back to you.”
“I’ll take her to the station. She’ll definitely be safe there until you find a placement.”
When Claire reemerged with a trash bag full of clothes, Matt took the bag and carried it to the SUV. “The media is here.”
“Already?” Bree asked.
Matt blocked their view of Claire with his body as she slid into the back seat of the SUV.
Bree drove to the sheriff’s station. When they arrived in the parking lot, Claire glanced up from the phone she’d been staring at for the entire drive. She looked lost.
Pity swelled in Bree’s chest. Solving the Masons’ murders was the best way to keep Claire safe.