Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Leanne pulled up to the little brick house and strode to the front door. The porch light was on, but no TV. She cupped her hands and peered through the window, but the blinds were closed tight, and she couldn’t see inside.
Headlights swept across the yard, and the garage door opened. She whirled around, shielding her eyes from the glare as a pickup rumbled up the driveway.
Leanne walked over and waited as Duncan eased into the garage. He took his time getting out.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
He walked back to the tailgate. “Take a guess.”
He wore a dusty black T-shirt and black tactical pants. He reached into the back and grabbed a flak jacket and duffel bag. He’d obviously been on an op, but that did nothing to calm her temper.
“I left you two messages.”
He slung the duffel over his shoulder. “I had my phone off.”
He crossed the empty half of the garage.
Well, not completely empty. There was no vehicle parked there, and he’d converted the space into a home gym that had made Leanne green with envy the moment she’d seen it. She did her workouts in the blazing sun.
He dropped his gear onto the rubber mat and sank onto the weight bench.
“What’s up?” He pulled off his sweaty T-shirt and flung it to the floor in front of a stacking washer-dryer.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were the primary on the un-IDed remains from Chisos County?”
He looked up at her. “Come again?”
“The jawbone, Duncan. Long Canyon Road.”
Recognition sparked. “The deer hunter?”
“Yes! I spent an entire afternoon combing through reports, looking for connections to my case, only to find out you were the primary investigator. What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He leaned over and unlaced his boots. “I didn’t realize that’s what you were talking about when you told me about un-IDed bodies. Anyway, there’s not much to tell.”
“What do you mean?”
He tossed a dirt-caked boot into the corner. “The guy who found the jawbone brought it in himself. Fucked up the chain of custody. He’d been drinking all day with his buddies, couldn’t even say for sure where he found it.” He pulled off his other boot and tossed it away. Then he stood up.
“Where’d you get GPS coordinates for the police report?” she asked.
“That’s an approximation. I drove out to this location he described and took them down.” He rested his hands on his hips. “How do you know this is related to your homicide case?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The human jawbone was found near where Long Canyon Road intersects with Highway 67 on the western side of the county.
Even if it’s an approximation, that location makes it part of the pattern.
” She crossed her arms. “Six unidentified victims dumped near a ninety-mile stretch of highway in the last ten years. Four of those are definitely female, and the other two might be. And those are just the ones we know about. Did you guys search for the rest of the remains?”
“We did a canvass.”
“I mean seriously search, with a cadaver dog.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I suggested it, and it went nowhere. Just like if you suggested it to McBride.”
Frustration flashed through her because he was right. Given the number of deaths in the desert, her department didn’t have the resources to track down every last bone. The closest canine search team was based in El Paso.
Leanne turned away and pressed her fingertips to her temples. This case kept snowballing, and instead of more support, she was getting pressure to wind it down.
“Hey.”
She turned back to Duncan.
“You really believe it’s connected.” It was a statement, not a question.
She took a deep breath. “I spent my day buried in forensic anthropology reports. The MO is the same. Duct tape, strangling, crushed skulls. And the locations where the bodies are being dumped—”
“You sound like it’s an ongoing thing.” His brow furrowed as he stepped closer. “You realize what you’re saying, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She was saying they were dealing with a serial killer.
“McBride won’t touch it,” she said.
His eyebrows tipped up. “You ran this by him?”
“I started to, but he shut me down.”
“Lemme guess. He’s distracted by the Moriarty case.”
“Our last high-profile homicide is exploding in our faces right now,” she said.
“He’s not exactly looking for more stuff to investigate.
He’s already made it clear he’s unwilling to spend any resources on this.
Not to mention, there are reporters everywhere and our department is under a microscope. ”
Duncan was watching her now with a wary look, probably because he knew what was coming.
She cleared her throat. “So, I was thinking.”
“No.”
“Just hear me out. We found some duct tape near the culvert where my Jane Doe was recovered.”
He turned around, shaking his head.
“There was duct tape with two of the other bodies that Jen Sayers handled. That’s not a coincidence—that’s an MO.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, because duct tape is so hard to come by.”
“One of those cases was in Chisos County, too. You could submit the evidence on behalf of the sheriff’s office, along with mine—”
“Leanne—”
“Just listen. You could submit it as part of following up on your cold case investigation of the unidentified jawbone.”
“There is no cold case investigation. I’m up to my neck in active investigations.” He waved an arm at his gear strewn across the floor. “Not to mention the task force that has me on call twenty-four/seven.”
“You don’t have to do anything—just send in the duct tape. If anything comes of it, I’ll handle the follow up.”
“Bullshit. If anything comes of it, we’ll both be in the middle of a shitstorm.”
“Okay, but if anything does come of it, that means my theory is right and someone is out here murdering people and getting away with it.”
She stared up at him, waiting for him to agree.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his dirty hands. “I swear to God, Leanne—”
“Please? This is the last favor.”
He dropped his hands and laughed. “Right.”
“I mean it.”
“Look at you.” He shook his head. “You can’t even say that with a straight face.”
· · ·
By the time Leanne made it home, the yurt was dark and the campground was quiet. What few weekday tourists Michelle had this evening had apparently turned in early and were tucked under their feather duvets for the night.
Leanne pulled into the driveway and eyed her front door as her stomach grumbled. No Igloo cooler or skinny cat to welcome her home this time.
She let herself into the house and dropped a plastic bag of gas station groceries on the counter.
It was cold again, so she switched on the heater and stripped off her clothes as she made her way to the bedroom.
She tossed her jacket on the bed, then added her holster and gun to the pile, followed by her T-shirt and bra.
After a few minutes standing under a warm shower spray, she pulled on a tank top and sweatpants and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
Her phone was nearly dead, and she plugged it into the charger before getting out the burrito she’d bought for dinner. She popped it into the microwave and watched it spin on the turntable, where—despite her appetite—it looked even less appetizing than it had under the convenience store heat lamp.
Leanne grabbed a water bottle from her fridge and twisted the cap, then stared out the window.
Something looked off outside, but she couldn’t place it.
She turned off the light above the stove and scanned the darkened landscape beyond her yard.
A nearly full moon shone down over the canyon, and she heard the stuttering hoo-hoo-hoo of the great horned owl that lived nearby.
She studied the rocks and scrub trees. On a distant ridge, the light of a campfire flickered, but other than that everything looked normal.
Except…
She realized what was bugging her as the microwave dinged. The backyard was too dark. She padded into the bedroom and grabbed a pack of lightbulbs from the top of the closet. Dragging her stepladder outside, she positioned it under the porch light and climbed up to change the bulb.
She twisted it, and the light went on.
“What the…?”
She turned it the other way, and it went off again. She twisted it back on, then climbed down and set the pack of bulbs on the ladder, staring at the fixture as gnats started to swarm.
Who had loosened the bulb? She couldn’t remember when she first noticed it being out. Several nights ago, at least.
A scratching noise made her turn around, and she looked out at the dark yard.
A man stood up from the lounge chair. Leanne reached for her service weapon, but it was under a pile of clothes in her bedroom.
The shadowy figure stepped forward, and some primal corner of her brain sent a warning before her conscious brain caught up.
Sean Moriarty.
Her hands curled into fists as he emerged from the darkness.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He stepped into the glow of the porch light, and her heart skittered. Her mother was right—he looked the same. But different, too, in ways that mattered.
He had the same tall, broad-shouldered build that she remembered from high school.
But the muscles that had once been swollen from football practice and steroids were now lean and sinewy.
He wore a gray T-shirt over stiff new jeans.
His head was shaved, and the porch light glinted off his pale scalp.
Most men around here, from cowboys to border cops, had skin that was tan and leathery from the sun. Sean Moriarty’s skin had the pasty look of someone who had spent years under fluorescent prison lighting.
“What are you doing here?” she repeated.
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s a free country.”
The word free was loaded with accusation.
He swaggered forward and rested his hands on his hips—the same hands that had once plucked fifty-yard passes out of the sky like magic. Now his knuckles were covered in prison ink.
He nodded at the fixture above her head. “Your light was out. I been waiting in the dark.”
“This is private property. You need to leave.”
He pulled a toothpick from his pocket and slid it between his lips. “I will.”
“Boone Sullivan’s ranch is, too. Same for the Triple R. I advise you to stay away from there. Someone might mistake you for a prowler.”
He smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were flat and gray.
He stepped closer, and she caught a whiff of cigarettes. His gaze raked over her, lingering on her thin white top.
“You look good, Leanne. All grown up.”
She stared at him, refusing to be cowed or even blink.
He pulled the toothpick out and looked at it. On his right forearm was a faded viper, and seeing her high school mascot with all the prison tattoos put a pinch in her chest.
“Know something I learned in Huntsville?”
She crossed her arms.
“Patience,” he said. “I’ve had fifteen years to think about all the people who wronged me. It’s a long list, and your dad’s at the top. You’re on it, too.”
She scoffed. “Me? You don’t even know me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
He smiled again, and she felt the chill in her bones.
“Don’t worry, Leanne. You’ll get what’s coming.”
He moved forward, and she flinched. Still smiling, he stepped around her and walked to the side of her house, then disappeared around the corner.
Leanne stared after him, replaying his words and wishing she’d responded with something stronger. This is private property. What the hell was that? Her cheeks flushed.
Somewhere in the distance, an engine started. It sounded like a truck, low and throaty, and she stood there listening until it faded away.