Chapter 8 #2
“I don’t mind,” she said. “Right now, I’m working on a couple of outside cases that don’t involve legwork here. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
“Thanks, boss.” He turned back to his screen.
She paused in the doorway, aware she should say something comforting but finding herself empty of platitudes. She didn’t believe in them. Or in lying just to make someone feel better.
Walter glanced up again and managed a grin. “I got you. I appreciate the support.”
She relaxed a little. “Oh, good. Thank you.” Turning away, she walked down the hall to her office and paused at seeing the old door stretched across blocks that she used as a desk. She could requisition a new one, but she’d become accustomed to this one.
Once inside, she shrugged out of her raincoat and draped it over the back of a chair.
She figured she’d be at the office all day, so she’d worn jeans and a light green sweater, something comfortable and practical.
She moved behind her desk, her computer already awake with notifications blinking across the screen.
Her phone buzzed from the desk. “Agent Snow,” she answered.
“Hi. It’s Rachel Raprenzi, and I’d like to interview you about the shooting of your sister on the courthouse steps.”
“No comment.” Laurel ended the call. She took a breath, settled into her chair, and logged into her account to begin working through the morning’s emails. The room remained quiet, save for the soft hum of her computer and the patter of rain on her window.
She responded to the easy inquiries first, clearing out messages that required nothing more than polite acknowledgments or brief updates. The rhythm of work was comforting, anchoring her thoughts and keeping her from spiraling into frustration over their lack of progress on the shootings.
Once she’d thinned the clutter, she put in a call to the Seattle Police Department, spoke to several people, and finally found a Detective Laticia Trodd.
“Yeah, I pulled the Larry Scott case,” Detective Trodd said. “Clear suicide. The guy slit his wrists in his bathtub.”
Laurel tapped her pen on her desk. “Was there any other evidence?”
“Sure. His girlfriend had broken up with him a week before, he’d gone off his depression meds, and he had given a bunch of his stuff away.
” Papers rustled over the phone. “We cleared the guy, and his family came out here and had him cremated, before taking his ashes back to Michigan.” More papers.
“Oh, no. I meant, Missouri. Close enough.”
Laurel sighed. “His family came out here? Did he live alone?”
“Yep.”
Laurel turned to look out her window at the mountains still tipped with snow. “Was he in high school?”
“Nope. He was twenty-five.”
Laurel paused. “I see.” How in the world had Viv known him? “What was his place of employment?”
“Let’s see.” Detective Trodd coughed. “Sorry. Allergies.” She was silent for a moment.
“He worked at Oakridge Solutions as a lab technician. I interviewed his boss, a Sally Shermington, who confirmed that his work had slipped and that he had seemed really down lately. His family also noted that he was depressed.”
Oakridge? The name had Laurel sitting straighter. It sounded like the detective had done her job. “All right. Thank you.”
“No prob.” The detective ended the call.
Laurel leaned to the side. “Kate? Isn’t Viv’s internship with Oakridge Solutions?” The place was one of many in the Seattle area conducting medical research.
“Yes. They recruited her right after Christmas, but it’s been tough with her sports schedules. Why?”
“Larry Scott, her friend that died? He worked there apparently,” Laurel called back.
Kate moved down the hallway to lean on the doorframe. “I see. She didn’t tell me, but I’m thinking she had a crush. He had to be older, right?”
“Yes. He was in his twenties.” Laurel frowned. What did that have to do with anything?
Kate sighed. “I sometimes forget you missed your teenage years. She probably had a crush, but currently has a boyfriend in high school, and she didn’t want to talk about any of it with her old mom. Especially since this Larry was too old for her. I’m glad she came to you with concerns, though.”
As was Laurel. “It really does sound like her friend died from suicide. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. I’ll let her know tonight and make sure she does speak with me.” Kate winked, then turned to head back up to her area.
That sounded like a good plan.
Laurel then pulled up the files DC had sent for her review.
The North Carolina case had been presented as a possible serial killer, but it didn’t look like one to her.
The three murders felt disjointed, unrelated in method and motive.
Different killers. Different circumstances.
Laurel typed out her analysis, noting the inconsistencies and backing her conclusions with statistics and probability ratios.
Then she sent the email off, her fingers moving with crisp efficiency.
The fire bombings were another matter. She scanned the details, her gaze catching on patterns that didn’t quite fit.
It was messy, but it held potential. After making several notes, she fired off inquiries to her contacts in the ATF, requesting additional data.
She needed more than what she had to reach any sort of conclusion.
A glance at the clock told her it was nearing lunchtime, but she ignored the slight ache of hunger. Her mind was already shifting to the next task when Walter appeared in her doorway.
His skin had gone pale, several shades lighter than usual, and his eyes were wide, unfocused. Sweat clung to his forehead despite the cool air, and his hands trembled at his sides.
Laurel’s body tensed. “Walter, what is it?”
He shook his head slowly. Too slowly. Like his brain was fighting to form words.
His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Finally, he managed to speak, his voice cracked and hollow.
“It’s my brother.” The words seemed to scrape from his throat, raw and painful. “They found Tyler’s body. He’s dead.”
Laurel’s mind stuttered, her analytical side trying to grab hold of something solid. Something to make sense of the blunt finality of his words. “Where and how?” Her voice came out steadier than she expected.
“On a smaller roadway along the Widow’s River. An hour or so outside of Elk Hollow.” Walter’s shoulders slumped. “It took the county time to identify him.”
How terrible. “He was hit by a vehicle?”
Walter shrugged. “Don’t know. The detective who called me wouldn’t give me information. Just wants me to come back in for an interview.”
“Walter, sit down.” She gestured to the chair across from her desk, her tone more command than suggestion. The county coroner was the best, and she figured they might have reached a friendship level. If not, a good colleague level. “I’ll start making calls. We’ll figure out what happened.”
He shook his head. “I promised to head to Elk Hollow. Can I borrow your rig?”
She reached for her raincoat. “As your supervisor, I’m going with you.” She would call Dr. Ortega on the way.
How had Tyler died?