Chapter 7
Gabe didn’t like the look on El’s face.
Her expression was tight, controlled in the way people got when they were holding something back. Whatever she’d learned in the autopsy, she wasn’t ready to tell him. Or maybe she just didn’t want the receptionist to hear it. Either way, the finding bothered her.
He crossed to her. “What is it? What did you find out?”
“Not here.” She tucked an evidence bag with clothing under her arm and took his elbow to steer him toward the door.
Not good.
He held the glass door open for her. She moved through without slowing, already heading for her vehicle in that focused, forward stride that meant her mind was occupied.
He caught up to her as she clicked the key fob and the doors unlocked.
They slid in together, and he turned to face her before she could reach for the ignition.
“Okay,” he said. “Spill.”
She took a moment to set her phone in the dashboard holder. Not stalling—organizing. There was a difference with El, and he’d learned to read it. “First off, Kenna didn’t have air in her lungs. She definitely didn’t drown.”
“Not unexpected.”
A sharp nod. “In addition to the external strangulation marks we saw, Faye found hemorrhaging inside the throat muscles. She believes someone used two methods of strangulation. Possibly the first to subdue her, the second to end her life.”
“Man! Two methods. As a deputy, I saw that once before in a murder case of a former Marine and his wife. What do you make of it?”
El stared past his shoulder, not quite meeting his eyes. “We might be looking at someone with law enforcement or military experience.”
His thoughts exactly. “Kenna never mentioned anyone like that in her life, but our search of her house might show us something.” He filed it away and moved on. “What about the blood on her shirt?”
“She didn’t have any injuries other than the strangulation, so not her blood.”
His mind went somewhere dark before he could stop it, and he had to hold himself still for a moment before he could say it out loud. “Then it could be Lucy’s.”
El shifted to look at him directly. Her fingers curled around the wheel, released, curled again. “It could be from her or the attacker. We need Sierra to search the car seat. The fabric is dark, and I didn’t see any blood, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
“The amount on the shirt would be a significant loss for a child.”
“Could be, but let’s table this discussion until we know more from the scenes.” Her voice was steady, but it had that cautious quality, the one she used when she was managing something she didn’t want to spiral. “Speculating right now doesn’t help anyone.”
She was right, and he knew it. He pushed the image to that place in his mind where he kept the things he couldn’t afford to feel yet. “Did Faye find anything else?”
“Micro-tears in the shoulder and neck muscles. That kind of injury happens with an accident like hers, but also when someone is violently startled. Most likely grabbed from behind.”
“Like the killer coming up behind her to take control.”
“Exactly. There were also traces of blood on Kenna’s hand. Not hers either. We’ll get the DNA to Sierra to run.”
“Could be her attacker again.”
“Possibly,” she said quickly. “Faye also found evidence of binding at the wrists and ankles. The marks suggest a specific type of zip tie. The impressions are distinctive enough that we may be able to match or cross-reference them through ViCAP.”
“Our team can look into the zip ties, if you’ll let us.”
She didn’t hesitate. “We’re stretched thin right now. I’ll take the help.”
He sat back. “I didn’t expect to get so much to go on from a small-town ME.”
El’s eyes narrowed slightly. “She’s overqualified for the job if you ask me, but she likes living here. We benefit from that.” A long breath. “Before we talk about next steps, there’s one more thing.”
She turned away and looked out through the windshield, her leg beginning to bounce against the floorboard in a low, restless rhythm.
He’d been waiting for this. Whatever it was, it was what had caused her tight expression the moment she’d walked out. He pressed his palms flat against his knees, the pressure grounding him, giving him a place to put the tension building in his chest. “Go ahead. Say it.”
She turned back slowly and held his gaze. “Kenna was twelve weeks pregnant.”
She let her statement hang in the air. An enormous silence followed.
“She was…” He stopped. Started again. “But she never…” The words wouldn’t organize into anything useful. A headache formed behind his eyes, and he pressed two fingers to his forehead.
How had Kenna not told him? They’d been close. Or at least he’d thought they were close. Something this significant. Something life-changing. And she hadn’t said a word.
That stung in a place he hadn’t expected.
“You didn’t know she was seeing anyone?” El asked quietly.
“She never mentioned it.” He lowered his hand. “Maybe she didn’t know about the pregnancy yet. Or maybe she did, and that was what she was coming to tell me.”
“Then we need to find out who the father was, and whether the pregnancy had anything to do with her death.”
The contents of his stomach turned over. “What kind of person kills someone over that?”
“One who should be behind bars.” El closed the folder. “Finding Lucy has to stay our priority, but while we work Kenna’s house for anything that leads us to Lucy, we search for evidence of this relationship at the same time.”
“I assume the ME is running DNA on the fetus.”
“Yes. I arranged for a fetal tissue sample to go to the Veritas Center. Means we could have the father’s profile in twenty-four hours or so. Doesn’t mean he’ll be in the database, but when we find our suspect, we’ll be able to determine if he’s the father.”
El’s phone rang. She grabbed it before the second tone. “Go ahead, Massey.”
Gabe leaned slightly toward her side of the car. Tried to listen in, but he couldn’t make out Massey’s words. He only heard the efficient rhythm of someone relaying information. El’s fingers drummed once on the steering wheel and went still.
“And what did he want?” she asked.
She bit on her lip while Massey answered.
“If he’s right, it sounds like it sank,” she said. “Get the dive team on it.”
She listened again, and her shoulders went rigid. She kept her phone pressed to her ear, eyes sharp, body entirely still. Listening hard.
Then she slowly relaxed, and her fingers dropped back to the wheel. “Good work, Massey. Now we need to find this guy.” She tilted her head as she let her free hand open and close against her thigh. “Fast-track the warrant. Text me the details the moment you have them. We’ll head straight there.”
She ended the call, slotted the phone back on the dashboard holder, and started the engine in one fluid sequence.
“Our witness called back. Said he remembered seeing a floating seat cushion from a boat. Didn’t know if it was connected to our scene, but it had ‘Property of H. H. Mason’ painted on it. ”
“There wasn’t one in the water by the time I got there.”
“Gone before I arrived, too. Witness said it was torn, looked old. Probably got waterlogged and sank.” She checked her mirrors. “The dive team just found it.”
“And since you said we’re heading over there, I’m guessing you know who H. H. Mason is.”
“The witness knows of him, but hasn’t actually talked to him and doesn’t know what the H.
H. stands for. Says he keeps to himself, but there’s a mailbox with those initials at a place about three miles south on Lake Road.
” Her phone buzzed against the holder. She glanced at the screen, then at Gabe, and something sharpened in her eyes.
That barely contained urgency he’d come to recognize. “Mason’s address.”
Adrenaline sizzled through him like an electrical current switching on. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s book it!”
El pulled into the long driveway and parked in a wide clearing surrounded by soaring evergreens. She killed the engine and sat for a moment, studying the property.
Mason’s house was barely more than an oversized shack.
The siding had once been red, but time and weather had left it a dull, brownish rust. Peeling at the corners.
A few boards visibly warped. A boathouse down at the water’s edge was in markedly better condition, freshly painted in the same red the house used to be, its lines clean and deliberate.
“Truck could mean he’s home.” Gabe pointed at an old pickup sitting in the driveway. “Or it might not run.”
She studied the vehicle. Rust crawled along the wheel wells. Electrical tape held a cracked side mirror on. “I’ve seen worse on the road. You probably have too. Either way, we approach like he’s inside.”
“Agreed.” She turned to look at him directly. “And you’re not carrying a badge right now, so stay behind me. Sidearm stays holstered unless a life-or-death situation calls for it.”
He crossed his arms. “I’ll let you go first, but I’m drawing my weapon now, and that’s not negotiable.”
She held his gaze.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice was even, not aggressive. “You know I have plenty of experience, and I won’t overreact.”
She did know that. It was the only reason she didn’t press it further. “Fine, but remaining behind me holds.”
“You have my word.”
She was out of the vehicle before he finished the sentence, moving quickly enough to get ahead of him. She pulled her sidearm and crept over beds of fallen pine needles and leaves, both softened by the morning mist. She went to the building and signaled for Gabe to remain at a distance.
At the front window, she held back for a moment, then took a quick look through the dirty glass.
No lights. No movement. No sign of Mason.
She took another quick peek, then glanced back at Gabe and shook her head.
His expression tightened with disappointment. She didn’t waste time, but headed for the two front steps leading to a small platform while signaling for him to join her. The porch groaned under her boots, loud enough to announce her to anyone inside.
If Mason opened fire, they could die. Not on her watch.
She directed Gabe to move to the side of the small platform. She shifted as far as she could to the other side, then knocked hard on the splintered door. “Police, Mr. Mason, I need to speak with you.”
Tapping her foot, she counted sixty seconds. Knocked again. Harder.
“Police. Come to the door, Mr. Mason.”
Quiet surrounded them until a bird fluttered in the evergreens and went still. She glanced at her watch. Two full minutes had passed.
She looked at Gabe. “Doesn’t appear to be home. I’ll try the knob, but we don’t have a warrant so even if it’s unlocked, we won’t go in.”
He frowned. “Then what’s the point of checking?”
“If he didn’t lock it, he thinks he’s coming back soon.”
Gabe’s gaze moved toward the water. “Could be down in the boathouse.”
Using her sleeve to protect any evidence, she tried the knob. It turned freely under her hand.
“You might be right.” She stepped off the porch. “Let’s check it.”
He waited for her and fell in behind without being reminded, his footsteps entirely silent on the wet ground. Thankfully, his law enforcement experience had taught him how to move silently.
She knocked on the boathouse door and called out Mason’s name.
Nothing.
She tried the knob. It turned. She released it and stepped back.
“What?” Gabe’s voice was low, strained. “You’re not going in here either? He could’ve killed Kenna. He could have Lucy.”
“I know.” She did know. That was the problem.
Her every instinct pulled her toward that door.
“If I let that lure me inside without the warrant, I hand his defense attorney the case on a platter. Everything we find in there becomes questionable. I’m not doing that to Kenna or Lucy.
” She stepped back. “We go back to the car. We wait for the warrant.”
He stared at her with something between a grudging respect and disbelief that she was leaving.
Was he right? Was she deciding too quickly to go back to the car?
She turned toward the car. Then stopped.
A small window was set high on the boathouse wall. She’d missed it on the approach. One corner of the glass was cracked, and a triangular piece was missing. An open gap no bigger than a fist she could look through.
She changed course, moved beneath it, and rose up on her toes to bring her face level with the opening.
It hit her then. She whipped back. Stepped down. Couldn’t form a word to say. Just stood for a moment with her hand resting against the wall.
“What?” Gabe’s voice was low. “What did you see?”
“It’s not what I saw.” She turned to face him.
His eyes were wide, his mouth pressed into a hard line, the muscles around it taut with something he was working to contain. “Tell me. Now!”
“It’s the smell coming through that window. There’s only one thing that produces that kind of odor.” She held his gaze. “A decaying body.”