Chapter 8 #2
Faye offered a tight smile. “We’re moving the body now. I don’t usually work Saturdays, but with the missing child, I’ll do the autopsy at nine tomorrow. You or Ulrich attending?”
Good question. El hadn’t considered it at this point, but this was one task Ulrich could take on. “I don’t know yet. Depends on what we find, but Ulrich will be in charge of this scene so you can communicate with him.”
Faye’s head bobbed in a sharp nod, and she hurried back to the boathouse. El popped her trunk to grab her forensic kit and waved Gabe over.
He ended his call and joined her without hesitation. “My team’s still working on the damaged vehicles in for repair, zip ties, and a deep dive on Mason. Other leads they’ve chased haven’t panned out and aren’t worth detailing now.”
“We can talk about it later. Warrants are in. Let’s search both places before the predicted rain hits. Follow me.”
If he was surprised by her invitation, it didn’t show as she headed for the boathouse, his steps falling in behind.
Faye and Theo wheeled the gurney toward their van, passing El. The body bag was strapped down against the bumpy ground. They nodded but didn’t speak. Good. El wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
At the boathouse, she distributed gloves from her kit to Gabe and Ulrich. “Do a cursory search only. No disturbing evidence. Leave that to forensics. Photograph anything that could potentially generate a lead. Any questions?”
Both men shook their heads. She turned and stepped in.
The air had cleared some since the body had been removed, but death’s scent lingered. And if there was any doubt of what had occurred there, flies on the overturned canvas confirmed someone had lost their life.
El scanned the room, taking in the fishing gear on the walls. Most of the larger items were painted with Property of H. H. Mason in black. “If I were to willingly aid in an abduction and murder, I wouldn’t use gear stamped with my name.”
“Maybe he offered the boat, but didn’t know what it would be used for,” Ulrich said. “Then he learned the truth, confronted the killer, and paid for it.”
“Sounds plausible.” She crouched by the canvas, hunting for a manufacturer’s tag. All she found was Mason’s property mark. “Everything here seems to be his. Look for anything out of place or unusual.”
Ulrich’s phone chimed. He got it from his pocket. “Text is about you, Irving,” Ulrich said. “Gas station attendant confirmed your visit and emailed a copy of the video feed proving you were there.”
Gabe looked like he wanted to say “I told you so,” but he didn’t say a word.
“I’m glad that all checked out,” El said, but it still left an uncomfortable feeling in the air, and they worked in silence, the only sound the water slapping the boathouse door in rhythmic waves.
Wasn’t hard to imagine the killer stabbing Mason then slipping the boat out and escaping from the scene. “Anyone see blood spatter or pools?”
“Negative here,” Ulrich said, edging along the wall toward the garage door.
“Same,” Gabe replied from the other side of the boat cradle.
“Hold up.” Ulrich squatted down. “Shiny object in the water. Looks like a Zippo lighter.”
“Don’t leave it submerged,” El said, excited over a potential lead. “Take a picture first, then bag it.”
“Roger, that,” Ulrich said, digging out his phone.
Wishing she’d spotted it herself, El pushed through the water to him as he fished it out. “Engraving on the front.”
She extended a gloved hand. “Let me see.”
Ulrich studied it a moment longer, then reluctantly handed it over.
“One word. CHAMP in all caps.” She flipped it over, opened the lid, and checked the bottom. “That’s all. Chrome’s worn like it was carried in a pocket for years.”
“Assuming Mason is the deceased, he was in his late sixties. If he smoked, it could’ve been his for decades.”
“Mind if I have a look at it?” Gabe asked.
El slashed through the frigid water and handed it to him. “You think it belonged to the deceased or our killer? Or even someone else?”
“Not sure. Too many possibilities.” Gabe turned it over in his gloved hand. “Could be a nickname.”
“CHAMP?” El continued to stare at the lighter. “Sounds like a boxer. Or a football player.”
“Or a military call sign.” He tapped the lighter. “Or someone’s reminder to keep winning or fighting. Like a personal motto.”
El frowned. “All plausible.”
Gabe handed it back to El. “That’s what makes this tricky. It’s a lead, but a very vague one.”
She exhaled, tension coiling in her chest. “So many possibilities for one word.”
Gabe nodded. “Exactly, and the right one will tell us everything we need to know.”
She passed the lighter back to Ulrich and got out her phone. She brought up Faye’s contact and typed, Any sign Mason smoked?
Her reply came fast. No nicotine stains on his fingers or teeth. No smoker’s wrinkles. No cigarettes or lighter in pockets. Lungs will tell for sure.
Keep an eye out. El pocketed her phone and updated the men, then turned to Gabe. “Please have your team search ‘CHAMP’ linked to Mason or his associates.”
“On it.” His thumbs flew over his phone’s screen.
This could be the break she needed. Sure, it might be a dead end. The lighter could belong to anyone, even drifted in with the water. But if it was tied to another suspect, that person might desperately come looking for it. Even the killer, desperate to avoid any trace leading back to them.
One thing her law enforcement career taught her for sure—desperate people did desperate things.
El shoved hard on Mason’s front door, and the stench hit her full in the face. She stepped back, bumping into Gabe. He caught her by the shoulders before she could stumble.
“I smell it too,” he said, his hands still warm on her shoulders.
She wanted to lean in to him. Instead, she eased free and tugged the mask back into place. “Question is, who is it?”
“One way to find out.”
She pushed the door fully open. Floor to ceiling towers of boxes, plastic bins, loose furniture, stacked magazines, black garbage bags knotted tight and bunched together in no particular order, packed the entryway. The clutter ran all the way to the back of the house, leaving a narrow corridor.
Gabe didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
“It’s too dangerous for both of us to go,” she said. “I’ll do it. You stay put.”
He took a step forward. “You said it yourself. You knock into one of those stacks, the whole thing comes down on you.”
“I’ll be careful. Give me five minutes. If you don’t hear from me, come in after me.”
She stepped off before he could argue. She doubted he would give an inch, and this was her job.
She threaded through the narrow aisles, letting her nose pull her deeper into the house.
Past the furniture, past the collapsed towers of magazines, past bags that rustled when she brushed them.
In the kitchen, only the sink and the top of the stove were visible above the clutter.
The smell thickened, and she pressed a hand over her mask.
A stack of old CRT televisions had toppled. A small dog lay crushed beneath them.
She let out a slow breath. Not a homicide. Not a person. But the sight still landed somewhere in her chest and stayed there. She loved animals. The dog hadn’t deserved this.
Question was, was this an accident or had someone purposely knocked over the TVs to take out the dog?
They’d need a necropsy to evaluate his cause of death. After that, she’d see to it he received a proper burial.
She moved on. In what appeared to be the living room, a recliner was positioned next to a small table and lamp, all sitting oddly clear of surrounding chaos.
An empty coffee mug sat on the table. She bagged it for DNA and prints, then kept moving past a flatscreen balanced on stacks of bright fuchsia tote bins.
Two bedrooms were chock-full, allowing no entry.
The third bedroom had a narrow path, then opened up to a bed and a brass lamp with a tattered shade on a small nightstand.
No phone. No laptop. No tablet. She’d been hoping for one of them.
They tended to provide a wealth of knowledge about a person more than they ever meant to give.
She and Ulrich had received calls in the boathouse, but maybe Mason had a different carrier and couldn’t get a signal on his property.
If that was the case, there was no point in having an electronic device here.
Maybe he spent his weekends deliberately off-grid.
If he needed a computer, there was always the library in town or even a friend’s place. Worth checking for sure.
The bathroom was clean, uncluttered, and almost entirely bare. No medications, no personal items, nothing that said anyone actually lived here. Same as the kitchen. Both rooms had the flat, neutral quality of a space that was used occasionally at best.
A door at the back of the kitchen stood unlocked and slightly ajar, leading to the yard. Maybe Mason hadn’t closed it, thinking he’d be back. She left it exactly as she’d found it and made her way out through the front entrance.
Outside, she lifted her mask and pulled in a long breath of fresh air. Gabe was waiting, his expression concerned.
“I don’t think anyone was living here.” She shared details of what she’d discovered, choking back her distress over finding the dog.
“Then where did the dog come from?”
“Back door was open. Could be a stray. I didn’t stop to look for a collar.” The image of the dog surfaced again, small and still under the heavy TVs, and she pushed it away. “I’ll order a necropsy right away. The vet can check for a tag or an implanted chip and the dog’s cause of death.”
“Let’s assume Mason is the deceased. If the dog belongs to him, and whoever killed him also killed the dog…” Gabe shook his head slowly. “That’s a particularly cruel person we’re dealing with.”
He was right. A brutality to the killing went beyond the practical. Killing a man who could fight back was one thing. Killing a dog that couldn’t. That was something else entirely. She filed it away and moved on.
“We need to search the truck.” She started plowing through tall grass toward it. On the way she used her radio to call in the license plate and wasn’t surprised by their response.
“Dispatch confirmed the vehicle belongs to Howard Mason,” she said, pulling open the unlocked driver’s door.
Gabe circled around to the passenger side and leaned in. “I’m not really sure if that helps confirm our deceased’s identity or not, since he didn’t have keys in his pockets.”
“Keys are in the ignition,” she said, then took a good look at the cab and swallowed a groan. Fast food wrappers, empty cups, loose mail. Work clothes stained dark red, the same red as the boathouse paint. “He’s been painting the boathouse.”
“He must really love fishing,” Gabe said. “Keeps the boathouse spotless, then lives like this. Makes no sense. It’s like we’re looking at two different people.”
“Good point.” She glanced at him, but he was too busy pawing through the trash to look at her. “And one we shouldn’t rule out until we know more about who we’re looking at here.”
“Hopefully the ME will get a fingerprint match, and then Hayden’s deep dive will give us the other details we need.”
“Right. Tell him to look at electronics, too. There’s no phone, no electronic devices at all, in the house. No network connection either. If we don’t find anything here, have him check library records or whether Mason used a computer at a friend’s place nearby.”
She started searching her side of the truck, bagging the mail for Gabe’s team to sort through later. In the center console, a pair of binoculars peeked out from beneath empty candy bar wrappers.
“What was he watching?” she asked, more to herself than to Gabe.
“Or who?”
Gabe’s ominous tone settled a cold feeling low in her stomach, but she kept going. She bagged the binoculars, set them on the torn seat, and continued digging. A half-eaten chocolate bar stuck to her fingers, and she shook it loose. “This guy has never met a trash can in his life.”
“Got something.” Gabe straightened from the passenger-side floor, holding up a brown leather gadget bag. He unzipped it and lifted out a camera. “Thirty-five millimeter. Top brand. This wasn’t cheap.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Any film in it?”
He turned it over, studying it. “Yes, with sixteen frames shot.”
“We need to get this to Sierra ASAP to have the images developed.”
“Is she heading back to Portland today?”
“Doubt it. I can’t see them finishing both the lake scene and this one today.”
Gabe’s expression sharpened. “I know your department is stretched thin with the murder, but we can’t afford to sit on this. Not with a little girl still missing.”
Victoria’s face appeared in El’s mind. The photo her parents had provided, that chubby-cheeked smile, her innocent blue eyes.
Without warning, El’s brain jumped the track to her parents, her gut twisting at the raw anger on their faces.
The blame. The indignity of being told she had no right to be there.
“El.” Gabe’s voice was close, steady, and insistent. “You with me?”
She blinked back the familiar ache. “I’m fine. You’re right.”
Her phone rang, the call from Ulrich. It must be important if he was calling from the boathouse instead of waiting for her to join him again. She answered immediately. “You’re on speaker with Gabe unless you have sensitive information.”
“You decide if it’s sensitive. It’s about the boat we think the killer used.”
“Go ahead.”
“It’s been found tied to the dock at one of those pricey vacation homes across the lake.”
“Why leave a stolen boat at someone’s house?” she asked.
“Place belongs to one of those summer-only families. He must’ve thought it wouldn’t be found until the family showed up for the summer. What he didn’t know was, they had a caregiver who checked on the property every two weeks. He found the boat and called it in.”
“And you confirmed it belonged to Mason?”
“They found boat cushions labeled Property of H. H. Mason. Boat registration is current and in his name.”
“It’s urgent to get Sierra’s team to process the boat for prints and DNA,” she said.“I want you to take charge of the boathouse scene.”
“You got it!”
She ended the call and took one last look across the cab. “Bag the camera. We’ll get it to Sierra to include in her afternoon lab shipment, and then we’ll head straight to Kenna’s place.”
She didn’t wait for his agreement but turned and stepped away from the truck, breathing deep and fighting off her memories. Her worry for Lucy.
Please. Please don’t let this investigation end like Victoria’s.