CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sloane pounded on Mary Latrobe's front door for the third time. There were two cars in the driveway, and lights were on inside the house—more importantly, the addition that, according to a small sign over the door, was the home office of Latrobe Travels. Someone was home, but no one was answering.
"Mary Latrobe? This is the FBI." Sloane waited five seconds, then knocked again. "I need to speak with you. It's urgent."
But there was still nothing.
Sloane tried the handle, but found it locked. She stepped back and looked at the small windows flanking the door. Both had their curtains drawn, but she could see movement inside. A shadow passing through the living room, quick and furtive, lit up by soft light in the background.
That was enough—someone was inside, luring, and refusing to answer the door. A million thoughts flooded through her mind, but they were all dwarfed. By the possibility that the shape she saw through the curtains might very well be their killer.
Sloane drew her weapon and took two steps back from the door.
She turned her shoulder into it and drove forward with her full weight.
The door frame splintered around the lock, and the door swung inward with surprising ease.
It slammed against the interior wall as Sloane made her way inside.
She instantly took a shooter stance, her grip around her service Glock tight.
"FBI!" Sloane moved inside, sweeping the room with her gun. The front room to the home office was empty; it was quite small, with a few shelves of books, binders, and cute decorative items. She could hear sounds from the adjoining room straight ahead. She was quite sure this was where the figure had been moving when she’d spied it outside.
She could hear something scraping, like furniture being moved. Then a muffled cry.
Sloane rushed into the room, taking a split second to take in the entirety of the situation.
This was the hub of the home office, filled with Disney memorabilia and travel brochures.
Sloane moved inside, gun raised, and right away saw that Mary Latrobe was slumped in a desk chair, her hand pressed to her chest, where a letter opener protruded out.
Blood soaked through her white blouse and dripped onto the floor.
Her face was gray, her breathing shallow.
She looked at Sloane with unfocused eyes but didn't speak.
Shit, I guess she’s not the killer after all, she thought.
But that realization was cut short when she saw the other figure against the wall. She was standing by the window, nearly halfway out of it by now. It was Jennifer Grisham, the bakery owner and graduate of the second Act Success program.
No…we checked her. She was innocent. There was no way…
Yet, here she was. And one of her legs was already outside, her hands gripping the window frame as she tried to pull herself through. She looked back when she heard Sloane enter, and her expression shifted from panic to something harder.
"Stop right there," Sloane said, advancing closer with her Glock trained directly on Grisham. "Jennifer Grisham, you're under arrest."
But Jennifer didn't stop. She kept pulling herself toward the window, trying to get both legs outside.
Sloane crossed the room and grabbed Jennifer's arm, yanking her back into the office with one hand while maintaining her grip on her weapon with the other.
Jennifer stumbled and caught herself on the edge of the desk.
Mary Latrobe made a weak sound of protest as the desk shifted under Jennifer's weight.
She’s still alive… good…
"It's over, Jennifer,” Sloane said. "Put your hands where I can see them."
Jennifer's right hand moved to her waistband.
Sloane saw the motion and started to react, but Jennifer was faster.
She pulled a compact pistol from a holster at her hip and fired.
At the same time, the sound of the gunshot filled the room, Sloane recalled Jennifer telling her and Kate that she had a concealed carry permit.
The shot went wide, punching through the drywall near Sloane's head—but it had come so close that she had heard it blazing past her, making a sort of strange, hiding noise as it tore through the air.
Sloane dove to the side, bringing her own weapon up.
Jennifer fired again. This shot hit the doorframe where Sloane had been standing a second earlier.
Sloane restrained herself from firing her weapon and instead rushed forward before Jennifer could line up a third shot.
She grabbed Jennifer's wrist and forced the gun toward the ceiling.
Jennifer twisted and drove her elbow into Sloane's ribs. Pain flared, but Sloane held on, using her other hand to hammer at Jennifer’s fingers with the butt of her Glock.
They struggled over the weapon, both breathing hard. Jennifer was stronger than she looked, or maybe just desperate enough that adrenaline was doing the work. She managed to swing the gun back toward Sloane, the barrel coming around in a tight arc.
Sloane grabbed Jennifer's thumb and bent it backward.
Jennifer screamed and her grip loosened.
The pistol clattered to the floor, and Sloane kicked it away, sending it spinning under the desk where Mary sat dying.
A wave of relief passed through Sloane before the battle was over; on two occasions, she was sure she was going to have to fire.
But now that Jennifer had been disarmed, the fight would be easier.
Jennifer wrenched herself free and ran. She made it out of the office and into the smaller room before Sloane recovered.
Sloane went after her, her ribs protesting where Jennifer's elbow had connected.
She could hear Jennifer thundering toward the door, just a few feet away from the night outside and a better chance at escaping.
By the time Sloane had exited the office, Jennifer was already at the door.
She yanked it open and sprinted outside into the late afternoon sunlight.
Sloane followed, bursting through the doorway and onto the front lawn.
Sloane knew that she was fast but running in the dark around unfamiliar terrain meant that speed might actually make things worse.
This was a time for caution and planning, not an all-out sprint.
Yet before Jennifer made it even ten feet across Mary Latrobe's yard, a car turned into the driveway.
Jennifer came to a stop as the car pulled up to the curb.
As it parked and the door opened, Sloane wasn't at all surprised to see Kate stepping out.
Of course, she hadn't been able to turn down the possibility of a promising lead.
Got more than you were hoping for, then, Sloane thought.
“Kate, it’s her!” Sloan said, pointing to Jennifer. “She’s the killer!”
Kate didn't question it at all—she was likely convinced merely because of the manic look on Jennifer's face as she was trapped between them.
She got out of the car and for a moment, she looked uncertain.
Sloane understood right away; Kate had not come armed.
She had no weapon to hold Jennifer in place.
“I’ll stay here with her,” Sloane said. “You call for an ambulance! Mary Latrobe is inside, bleeding out with a stab wound to the chest.”
Kate nodded and rushed inside.
Sloane kept her weapon trained on Jennifer, who stood frozen on the lawn.
The woman's chest was heaving, her face flushed from the brief run and the struggle inside. Blood stained her hands and the front of her shirt. She looked defeated now, all the fight drained out of her. Sloane felt a rush of hatred toward the woman, but was more ashamed that she and Kate had been right there in the woman’s bakery and let her go.
"On your knees," Sloane commanded. "Hands behind your head."
Jennifer complied slowly, sinking to her knees on the grass.
A blank sort of haze fell over her eyes, likely rocked by realizing what this meant—what her murder spree was going to cost her.
Her hands moved to clasp behind her head, fingers interlocking.
Sloane approached carefully, holstering her weapon and pulling out her handcuffs.
She'd learned early in her career never to underestimate a suspect, even one who appeared broken.
"I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Patricia Holmes, Rachel Thornton, and Susan Hayes," Sloane said as she secured Jennifer's right wrist. "You're also being charged with the attempted murder of Mary Latrobe."
Jennifer didn't respond. Sloane pulled her left arm down and cuffed it, checking that the restraints were tight but not cutting off circulation. She patted Jennifer down quickly, finding nothing else on her person. The gun was still inside under the desk.
"You have the right to remain silent," Sloane continued, reciting the Miranda warning while helping Jennifer to her feet.
"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.
Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you? "
"Yes." Jennifer's voice was flat, emotionless. She was starting to shake and tremble.
Sloane helped Jennifer back up onto her knees and guided her toward her sedan. She opened the back door and helped Jennifer into the seat, keeping one hand on her head to make sure she didn't hit it on the door frame. Jennifer slumped against the seat, staring straight ahead.
"Don't move," Sloane said. She closed the door and checked that the child locks were engaged. Jennifer wasn't going anywhere, even if she could suddenly break out of her stark moment of realization and get her thoughts together to consider escaping.