Chapter Thirty-Nine
Thirty-Nine
Duncan called her as she sped down the highway.
“Where have you been?” Leanne asked. “I tried—”
“Big development,” he cut in. “Where are you?”
“Driving.”
“Okay, I just got off the phone with a buddy of mine in the FBI field office in El Paso. You know how I told you there was something screwy with the lab, and my DNA results got put on hold?”
“You’re talking about the DNA test on the duct tape?”
“Right. Well, I found out what the holdup was,” Duncan said. “Turns out, the sample I submitted got a cold hit.”
“A cold hit. You mean—”
“It matched a sample from another crime scene. A cold case,” he said. “And get this—that cold case is one of the ones on your list.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m dead serious.”
Leanne veered around an eighteen-wheeler doing a sluggish sixty miles per hour.
“Which case is it?” she asked.
“One of the ones the forensic anthropologist told you about. This case was eight years ago down in Presidio County, near Marfa.”
Leanne’s pulse picked up. “The woman with the duct tape in her hair.”
“Exactly. But it wasn’t duct tape that was submitted. This was from a DNA sample from under the victim’s fingernails.”
Leanne knew the case immediately. “The side of her face was bashed in, too, and she had a broken wrist. Did Jen Sayers submit this? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Because she’s not the one who sent it,” he said. “That’s the other thing. This evidence was submitted by the FBI as part of an investigation.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in.
“Since when does the FBI investigate murders in Presidio County?” she asked.
“That’s what I’m getting at. They’re involved in this somehow, but I’m still not sure why and to what extent.
I’m trying to get answers. But in the meantime, my friend gave me a huge tip.
After this original profile didn’t get any matches in CODIS, the FBI sent it to a genetic genealogist, who was able to develop a family tree based on links between this perpetrator’s DNA and DNA samples that have been uploaded to those commercial ancestry sites. You know what I’m talking about?”
“Forensic genealogy.”
“Right,” he said. “So, this genetic profile traces back to a family right here in Chisos County.”
“Justin Carr.”
A beat passed.
“How the hell did you know that?” Duncan asked.
“Because five minutes ago he became my prime suspect,” she told him. “I’m on my way to interview him now.”
“What?”
“I need to talk to him, feel him out. And I want him on his guard in case he’s thinking about doing anything.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You can’t just show up at this guy’s door, Leanne.”
“Why not?”
Silence.
“You know damn well that’s what you would do if you got a suspect in your sights,” she said.
“No, I wouldn’t. First, I’d get my shit together and confirm it’s him.”
“I know it’s him.”
“How?” he demanded. “According to this genealogist, there are three male relatives in this family who could have done it. Justin and his brother, Joel, and also his dad, Harlow. All three resided in Chisos County eight years ago at the time of the murder, and any one of them could have—”
“It’s Justin. I’ve got corroborating evidence, and I don’t have time to explain everything now, but I can tell you he fits my criminal profile.”
“Since when do you have a criminal profile?”
“Since this morning.”
“Just…wait, okay? Think this through a minute. What are you going to gain by charging over there and banging on his door before we’re ready?”
“I am ready. Now! Today! If he’s our guy, then he’s killed two women in the past two weeks alone. He’s escalating, Duncan. I’m going to go over there and talk to him and take a look at his tires and hopefully get probable cause for an arrest warrant so we can—”
“All right, all right. I hear you. At least wait for me and I can meet you over there.”
Leanne didn’t want to wait. It was dusk already. What if he was planning to go out tonight, trolling for his next victim? What if she missed her chance to intercept him?
“If it’s really your guy, then he’s been active for twelve years, Leanne.”
“Longer than that.”
She still hadn’t told him her controversial theory about Hannah Rawls. She’d been too ashamed of her dad’s involvement to bring it up, but there was no avoiding it now. Everything was going to come out—the wrongful conviction, the cover-up. The subsequent murders that had been virtually ignored.
“Don’t blow this whole case by being impatient,” Duncan said. “Wait for me, all right? Where are you?”
“West edge of town. Justin lives in a trailer on his dad’s yucca farm.”
“What if he’s not home? He could be at work or—”
“He’s a river guide with Big Bend Outfitters, and I called over there to check,” she said. “He’s off work today. I’ve already made a plan, and you’re not talking me out of this.”
“I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. We’ll talk to him together.”
“I don’t need—”
“You’re better off with two people, Leanne. Don’t be stubborn and sabotage all your hard work.”
She bit back an argument because she knew he was right. And she also knew that if she had a better relationship with her police chief, she would have called him to fill him in and obtain backup from her own department.
But the bottom line was, she flat-out didn’t trust him, and she’d rather risk going alone than let McBride in on her plan.
“You know I’m right,” Duncan said.
“Fine. Be there in ten, or I’m going without you.”
They disconnected, and she cursed to herself as she stared at the highway ahead. If it had been Duncan rushing off to interview a murder suspect, she could be damn sure he wouldn’t have called her for help.
But it wasn’t a bad idea to have backup.
She could admit that. Still, she hated waiting, especially when she desperately wanted to take a look around and get some sort of evidence that she could use as probable cause for an arrest warrant.
Maybe she could get Justin to give her a DNA sample somehow, maybe by getting him to touch something or by picking up some of his trash, such as a drinking straw.
She’d have to figure it out on the fly, because what she wasn’t going to do was let him slip through her fingers and go out hunting for his next victim.
Delays and inaction had already resulted in unspeakable tragedy.
Justin Carr.
Justin.
She’d known him for years. For her entire life.
Going into this whole thing, Leanne had realized that when she finally homed in on a suspect, it might be someone she knew. As soon as it became clear the UNSUB was someone local, she’d braced herself for that outcome.
Or at least, she thought she had. But she’d never imagined this.
It was a gut punch.
Justin. Someone she’d gone to school with and had beers with and even had sex with years ago on a booze-soaked New Year’s Eve when she’d been home visiting. They’d met up at a friend’s party, and now just the memory of his hands on her body made her want to hurl.
Leanne shuddered, wishing she could erase the memory. She felt nauseated. Justin Carr was a predator. A monster. She pictured him back at the Javelina Cantina, hanging out with Liam Moriarty on the weekend of Sean’s release. She remembered how his words had cut her.
Your dad ruined his brother’s life.
Fury burned inside her. No, he had ruined Sean Moriarty’s life—Sean’s life and so many others.
So many decimated families, including her own, all because of him.
He’d cut a path of destruction through their lives, and he’d done it silently, stealthily, without anyone even knowing it, including every last cop who’d sworn a duty to protect this community.
And every last one of them had failed.
The sign for Carr Farms came into view, and Leanne slowed. A silver Honda Civic was pulled over on the side of the road. Leanne’s heart skipped a beat.
Izzy’s car.
What the hell? She pulled a U-turn and parked behind the Honda. It looked empty. Leanne jumped out, glancing around as she approached the vehicle.
“Izzy?” she called.
She cupped her hand over the glass and peered inside. A set of keys sat in one of the cup holders. In the other was a water bottle.
With a sinking feeling, Leanne opened the door and examined the seat and the steering wheel, looking for blood. She touched the water bottle, and it was still cool.
“Damn it!” Leanne looked around. “Izzy?”
Leanne circled the car but didn’t see any sign of a flat tire or engine trouble or a dented bumper. Why had she pulled over?
Leanne called Duncan but it went straight to voicemail.
“New plan,” she told him. “I’m going now.”
· · ·
Izzy stared at Justin across the cab of his truck.
He didn’t look at her. Didn’t talk. But that silver handgun on his dashboard said a lot.
He’d offered her a ride back to her car, and she’d tried to refuse, but he had insisted.
And in the moment, she’d thought it was better to act normal than let on that she was afraid of him.
But when he got behind the wheel and put that gun there, it was obvious she’d made a terrible mistake.
She looked out the window now as they bumped over the ruts in the road, moving farther and farther away from the highway where she’d parked. Heart racing, she glanced down at her door handle, but it was locked.
She cleared her throat. “Thanks for the ride.”
Her voice sounded thin and raspy. Had he heard the fear in it?
She looked at him. “Where are we going?”
He didn’t answer. Just kept driving.
She looked away again. Her heart was pounding so fast she was lightheaded. Bile welled in the back of her throat.
Justin Carr. He’s the one.
Her brain felt numb from it. She’d known him for so long, she couldn’t even remember meeting him.
They hadn’t gone to school together or shared the same friends.
But somehow, they’d always known each other’s names.
Like she’d always known Nadine and Bip and Father Walter.
Justin was someone who was just around, like everyone else, part of her scenery.
Izzy’s stomach churned as they bumped along, and she tried to think of what she knew about him, frantic to come up with some kind of leverage she could use.
But what she knew didn’t amount to much.
Justin was a river rat, a rafting guide.
He rode mountain bikes, too, and he was an amateur photographer.
She’d seen his pictures here and there, and he did social media posts for his company, Big Bend Outfitters.
An icy realization washed over her.
He’d been right there at the trailhead the other night. He must have just—
“Saw you checking out my tires,” he said.
Izzy’s stomach knotted.
“Why’d you take that picture?”
“What picture?”
He shot her a look. “Don’t play dumb, Izzy. I saw you.”
Her mind went blank. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She couldn’t think of a single excuse.
He looked at the road again, shaking his head. “You should have minded your own business.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Shut up!”
His outburst shattered the fake calm. She looked ahead, heart thundering.
There was no pretending now.
She knew.
He knew she knew.
And that gun on that dashboard—within easy reach for him—was an undeniable signal that she’d made a bad mistake.
Izzy’s heart pounded as she tried to come up with a plan.
What little she knew about him seemed like nothing compared to what she didn’t know.
Where was his family? Besides his crazy father who’d threatened her with a shotgun, who were they?
Did anyone else live here on this farm with them?
Standing on that porch, Justin’s dad had looked wild-eyed. By contrast, Justin seemed calmer.
But she sensed the hot anger coming off him in waves.
Justin felt trapped. Because of her.
She’d cornered him—without meaning to, but she had. And now she was going to pay the price.
This man sitting inches away from her had killed women and beaten them to a pulp. She pictured the victim by the train tracks, and suddenly the bile was back again, making her want to throw up.
Don’t do it. Don’t! Think of a plan…
She looked out the window at the rows and rows of spiky desert plants. Her palms were sweaty. Her back, her neck. And her heart was beating so fast, it felt like it might burst right out of her chest.
What had she been thinking, coming here? How had she let her guard down? She’d been so caught up in the moment, she’d let go of the paranoia she’d carried with her for days. And she’d walked right into this.
Would anyone see her car on the side of the highway? She thought of the phone in her pocket. Slowly, she eased her hand toward it, praying he wouldn’t notice.
The truck pitched forward. She bit her tongue and caught her hand on the dash as Justin skidded to a stop.
“We’re here.” He grabbed the gun and pointed it at her, then used his other hand to shove the gearshift into park.
“Get out.”
“But I—”
“Get the fuck out!”
Out was good. She could make a run for it. Panic spurted through her as she looked around at the desolate landscape. She reached for the door handle.