Chapter 10 #2
“Malted barley and a basement,” Grant mused. “Sounds like someone was cooking beer or whiskey in their basement, maybe during prohibition?”
“Could be. The samples were dated,” M.E. said. “Like it might’ve been years since the malted barley was deposited.”
“So, we’re looking for houses or warehouses with basements,” Melissa said.
“Basements where someone was making beer or whiskey,” Grant added. “We’ll need to talk to people who’ve lived here a long time.”
“Prohibition was in the 1920s,” Avery said. “I doubt anyone from that era is still alive.”
“Probably not, but someone who knows the history of this town might have an idea,” Sheriff Taylor said. “Or someone whose relatives were involved in bootlegging during prohibition.”
“I’ll stop by the library and see if they have old copies of newspapers dating back to the 1920s,” Melissa said. “It might take a while. Detective Lansing can assist.”
Bree frowned.
“You got a problem with that?” Melissa asked. “We could just lock you in a cell until the district judge has time to hear your case of impersonating a federal officer.”
“No problem,” Bree said, though her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I love digging through moldy archives.”
“Good,” Melissa grinned. “Then you’ll love spending time with me in the library.”
“Grant and I will nose around town and talk to people who were born and raised here,” Avery said.
“Start at the diner,” Sheriff Taylor said. “The waitress there, Letha Herrin, is the biggest gossip in the county. She has lived in Shadow Valley her entire life. Her parents were also lifelong residents. She might have the dirt from that long ago or know someone who does.”
“We’ll be sure to stop by and visit with Ms. Herrin,” Avery said.
“She works the lunch and dinner crowds,” the sheriff said.
“Good to know.” Grant nodded toward Avery. “We can hit the county courthouse and see if they have any information on commercial or residential buildings with basements.”
“We need something we can sink our teeth into. Three victims are three too many.” Agent Bradley pushed to her feet. “Those women never had a chance to fight back.”
“Based on what the M.E. reported, the man injected them with drugs that effectively subdued them.”
Avery nodded. “He had complete control over them.”
“That’s right,” Grant said. “The drugs helped him to control them first. He didn’t just kill them. He wanted to watch them die.”
Avery gasped. “Watch. Them. Die.”
She hurried to the whiteboard, grabbed up an erasable marker and wrote three letters on the board.
W T D
When she turned back to the others, her face was pale, her eyes shadowed with grief. “Watch. Them. Die.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Bree murmured. “The letters carved into the victims’ chests.”
Avery’s heart pinched hard in her chest.
“The man subdued them, then killed them slowly through asphyxiation, so he could watch them die.”
“And that wasn’t enough. He staged them in a bed of roses like a testimonial of his power,” Avery added. “He wants us to know he can kill and get away with it.”
“He’s teasing us,” Bree smacked a hand against the smooth surface of the table. “We can’t let him get away with it. No other woman has to die.” She buried her face in her hands for a moment, then pushed her fingers through her hair. “Okay then. Let’s get to that library.”
Melissa nodded and led the way out of the conference room.
“We’ll be at the courthouse and then the diner for lunch and a good round of gossip,” Grant said.
“Good luck,” the sheriff said. “I’ll look into who might have access to benzodiazepine and haloperidol.”
“If you add Benadryl to those two drugs, you get a B-52 cocktail,” Grant said.
Avery’s eyes widened. “They used B-52 cocktails back in the 1970s and 80s to rapidly sedate patients in a highly agitated state—like someone with schizophrenia.”
“That’s right,” Grant said.
Sheriff Taylor stood and hitched up his belt. “I’ll check with the local hospital and medical clinics to see if anyone is missing those drugs.”
Grant hooked Avery’s elbow and led her out of the room. Once outside the station, he helped her into the rental car and slid in behind the wheel.
Avery opened her phone and searched for directions to the county courthouse.
As Grant pulled out onto the street, she guided him to the courthouse, using the map.
An hour after arriving, they left the courthouse with a list of forty homes in the area with basements and their addresses.
“That’s a lot of basements we might be looking into,” Avery pointed out.
“We need a way to narrow the list down,” Grant said. “Maybe our visit with the town gossip will help.”
“I hope so,” Avery said. “Searching forty homes and businesses could take all week. Not to mention, it might alert the killer to the fact we’re closing in on him. He could decide to move out of the area altogether.”
“I don’t think so,” Grant said. “He’s deposited all the bodies around Shadow Valley. Not anywhere else. This place holds meaning to him.”
“Yeah? What meaning is that?” Avery asked.
“I don’t know yet.” Grant pulled into the parking lot for the county courthouse and shifted into park. “Hopefully, we’ll learn what message he’s trying to send.”
Avery’s mouth set in a tight line. “Please let us learn that before we lose another victim.”
“Amen,” Grant said.
They were headed for the car when an old man ran across the busy street toward them, moving in an awkward gait, his eyes wide and glassy.
A car honked. Another driver slammed on his brakes.
“Oh, dear.” Avery darted out into traffic, capturing the old man’s arm as he spun in circles in an attempt to get his bearings.
When he stopped spinning, he stared into Avery’s face, his own crumpling, “Sarah, it’s you. It’s really you. Oh, thank God I found you.”
Before she could brace herself for impact, the man slammed into her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “Sarah, my sweet Sarah. We thought you were dead. We prayed and prayed, but we thought we’d lost you.”
The old man sobbed against Avery’s shoulder. “Now, you’re here. After all these years, I never gave up hope. Now, you’re here.”
Grant tried to pry the old man free of Avery. Every time he moved a hand, the other took its place. “Let go of the woman.”
“No!” the man said. “You can’t take her away. She’s our lost little girl. Now, she’s found. You can’t take her away. Oh, Sarah. We’ve missed you so.”
Avery tried everything she could think of to dislodge the man from her person. Nothing worked.
“Sir, let go of the woman, or I’ll have to hurt you,” Grant said.
“I can’t let go,” the man said. “She might disappear again. Maggie would be devastated. She couldn’t go through that again. Devastated.”
“Sir,” Grant’s voice softened, “it’s okay. She’s not going to disappear. I promise.”
The old man was surprisingly strong, strong enough Avery couldn’t extricate herself from his embrace without having to hurt him. She had to get him to let go on his own. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. What’s your name?”
“You know me,” he said. “You have to. You’re my daughter.”
“Mr. Logsdon,” a voice called out.
Avery craned her neck in an attempt to see the person behind her.
“Mr. Logsdon, you know you’re not supposed to be wandering around town. You scare people.” A young man came into Avery’s peripheral vision.
“Miss, are you all right?” he asked.
“I am. I just can’t get this man to release me.”
“Mr. Logsdon, you need to let the nice lady go.”
“No. She’s my Sarah. She’s come home. Her mother will be so happy.”
“Mr. Logsdon, she isn’t Sarah,” the young man said. “Sarah’s gone. Your wife’s gone. You need to come with me to your house.” He gripped the man’s arm and tried to pry his hands from Avery.
“But I was on my way to work,” the old man said, his brows knitting. “I’m late. They expect me to be there.”
“You retired a long time ago,” the young man said. “The lumber yard shut down. It’s no longer operational.”
“And this is Sarah. My sweet Sarah.” His grip tightened on Avery’s arms. “She’s back.”
The young man worked at the older man’s fingers until he finally loosened them enough that Avery could free herself.
She backed away quickly.
The old man reached for her again, but she was already out of his reach, and Grant stepped between them.
“Sarah,” the old man wailed, his eyes filling with tears.
“Please excuse Mr. Logsdon. He didn’t mean to hurt you,” the young man said. “He thinks any young woman with dark hair is his daughter, Sarah.” He held out his hand to Grant. “I’m Seth Ryland. I’m Mr. Logsdon’s caregiver. I was busy changing the sheets on his bed when he slipped out of the house.”
“Does he do that often?” Grant asked.
Seth grimaced. “At least once a week. He thinks he has to go to work. Next thing I know I’m chasing him down the street.”
“Sarah, come home,” the old man cried plaintively.
Avery’s heart hurt for the old man. “What happened to his daughter?”
“She disappeared a long time ago. He’s forgotten that and the fact his wife passed earlier this year. I’m sorry he disturbed you. Come on, Mr. Logsdon,” Seth said as he turned him away from Avery. “Let’s go home, have some lunch and take a nap.”
“But Sarah...” Mr. Logsdon looked over his shoulder once more. “Sweet Sarah,” he murmured and let the younger man lead him away.
“What the heck was that all about?” Grant asked.
“A sad old man who mistook me for his missing daughter…?” Avery shook her head, her gaze following the old man and his young caregiver. “I hope Seth doesn’t have any trouble getting Mr. Logsdon home. It’s scary to think the man could wander away and potentially get lost.”
Grant watched the man being led away. “I hope he doesn’t attack you again.”
“He’s obviously got some form of dementia.”
“Dementia or not, I shouldn’t have let him get past me to you,” Grant said.
“He didn’t hurt me.”
“No, but he could have.” Grant hooked her arm and led her down the street to the diner. They didn’t stop until he had her settled into a booth in a corner where he could sit with his back to the door.
Avery felt sorry for the old man. He’d apparently lost his little girl sometime in the past and hadn’t gotten over that loss. She wondered what other secrets the town harbored. Most of all, she needed to find the secret location of a killer.