by Mary Stone
Helen was furious, but she didn’t let a single emotion cross her face.
“We have to go,” Miss Trent said crisply, marching straight for the SUV without waiting for her boss.
Latham gave Helen a confused look. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Mathers.”
Helen nodded. “You as well.”
Helen watched them drive away before turning toward her charges.
Lisa looked pale. Good. She should be.
“What’s wrong, Miss Helen?” Benji asked.
“Nothing, children, nothing.” She kissed the top of his head. “Just some business that these folks have to take care of. Let’s go inside and have some milk and another cookie. But just one. I don’t want you to spoil your supper.”
Lisa stood where she was, a terrified look on her face.
“You too, Lisa.” Helen gave her a small smile. “You’ll need your strength for later.”
Lisa raised her eyes, her expression pleading.
Helen shook her head. “You know what you did.”
Lisa slumped, then straightened just as she’d been taught. She even managed a smile.
Good girl, Helen thought.
Inside, the two boys knew better than to comment as they each took another cookie and a napkin.
“You just need a firm hand, Lisa,” Helen said in her very best soothing voice. “I’m sure you’ll learn to master yourself soon. It will be much easier for you now, without the constant bad influences…” She slid her eyes to the cellar door.
A tear rolled down Lisa’s cheek. She blinked, took a napkin, wiped it away, and smiled again.
Helen nodded in approval.
17
The word “isolation” came to mind as the trees loomed around the SUV. If it hadn’t been for their GPS, Adam Latham would have become lost following the roads through the heavy trees and along the steep, winding roads. The sky was overcast and halfway between fog and a drizzle.
The weather matched his mood.
No. If there had been a tornado blasting over the area while an earthquake rumbled under his feet…that would have matched his mood.
He was furious.
But he could do nothing to soothe the anger boiling just beneath his skin. That would be later. He glanced at the redhead in the seat next to him, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
Now, he had to be cool. Calm. His natural, pleasant demeanor. He wouldn’t give little Autumn Trent or the bitch of a sheriff the satisfaction of knowing they had gotten under his skin.
The bitches.
It took an act of god for him to force his teeth apart and systematically relax each and every muscle. It took miles of deep breathing to calm his racing heart. To lower his internal temperature.
“There.”
His teeth gritted again as the single word floated through the cabin of the SUV. The long, slender finger pointing toward the destination he could clearly see on his own nearly sent him over the edge again.
Inhale deeply, Dr. Latham, he told himself. Later. You can exhale your fury later.
He slowed as he approached the house sitting to the right of the gravel road that was further jumbling his mood. Just like everything else in this hickass little town, the house was boring. Dull, flat gray with white trim, it possessed two stories with a wide, raised front porch. A matching three-car garage stood separate from the house. A side door led across a cement pad between the two structures. There were no other houses in visual distance, but turnoffs on the gravel road had indicated more than one neighbor within screaming distance.
Part of the mostly dirt driveway had been taped off with glistening yellow tape. The rest was already full of vehicles, including the medical examiner’s white extended-cab truck with windowless topper.
“This is it,” Autumn said. She sounded nervous. Good.
That had been his intention when he refrained from taking the bait at her attempt at conversation. That had been his intention each time he ignored the disapproving looks she gave him each time she glanced in his direction.
He knew what she was thinking. Every emotion she had ever felt crossed her pretty features the moment she was feeling them. She disapproved of his communication with the girl back at the foster home. Lisa.
But how in the hell was any of that his fault?
Truth be told, it was Autumn’s fault for reading too much into his friendly smile and attempts at conversation. What was wrong with asking if the girl was dating? In his mind, he was going to ask her next if she’d ever dated Kyle Murphy…but that investigative line of questioning had gotten shot down very quickly.
Then, Autumn lied about him needing to make a phone call to clearly get him out of the way. The sheriff hadn’t had a clue as to why he’d called, even though she recovered quickly enough. Covered for Autumn. Didn’t they think he could see right through them?
He wasn’t a fool.
The girl, though. Her flirtation on the porch could have been misunderstood. The timing had been bad, he realized.
“I love your tie,” the little Lolita had said, batting her long lashes at him.
His response had been simple enough. “Thank you. I enjoy things that are unique.”
Twirling her hair, she’d eyed him like a lollipop she’d like to lick. And to be quite honest, even with only himself, he’d enjoyed the pretty little thing’s attention. He’d been feeling old of late. He was losing more hair, and he’d gained ten pounds. Okay, maybe fifteen. Enough so that his custom fitted suits weren’t fitting as they should.
As the foster mom hag had so directly pointed out to him. He was still furious about that as well.
So, when a sexy young thing was clearly attracted to him, what red-blooded male wouldn’t have enjoyed the attention? Her hand on his chest, stroking his tie while her eyes said that she was wishing she were stroking something else. And that smile…
“What are you doing?”
Autumn’s sharp tone brought him out of the fantasy and back to the realization that he was parked right in the middle of the gravel road. He blinked and spotted a deputy coming their way.
“I’m clearly waiting for direction on where to park.” He scoffed at the redhead. “You really need to learn more about crime scenes if you’re going to play with the FBI in the future.”
She whirled on him, red hair swirling as she faced him as much as her seatbelt would allow. “Me? Me learn about crime scenes? Do you even know how much damage you could have done if you’d taken those photographs at the Langford home?”
Actually, he didn’t see the problem with that. The sheriff had been taking pictures, so why couldn’t he? He stayed silent, though. Only giving her a patronizing little smirk to show how unaffected he was.
“Did you know that any picture taken at a crime scene is considered as evidence? Which means that each and every picture is subject to discovery, meaning that it must be turned over to defense upon request. Let’s say that you actually took that picture but didn’t turn it over to the prosecutor before the trial. Do you know what would happen?”
As she spoke, Adam remembered that his little protégé also had her Juris Doctorate degree, along with her other long list of accomplishments. She was practically one bar exam from being an attorney.
He definitely needed to take her down a peg or two.
“I’ll tell you what would happen,” she went on, her cheeks flaming with anger. “Months after the trial where we put the bad guy away, let’s say you decide to share one of those photos with one of your classes or even with some of your friends at a bar. If the defense attorney finds out that your photo was omitted from discovery, that lawyer now has grounds to overturn the conviction.”
Adam stared at her, the smirk not leaving his lips. He refused to acknowledge that he hadn’t known such a thing existed. “Don’t treat me like a fool, young lady. Of course I planned to turn the photos over after viewing them carefully for any clues.”
She snarled. Dr. Autumn Trent actually bared h
er teeth at him.
It was so exciting.
She was passionate, this one, when all this time he’d thought her vagina must be filled with solid ice. He wanted to thaw it. Thaw her. And he would—
The tapping on the window drew his attention from the woman next to him. It was the deputy, gesturing for him to move forward. So, he did, parking where he’d been indicated, but he couldn’t stop the fantasy of his and Autumn’s explosive lovemaking later that night.
This type of thing happened, more often than anyone would possibly believe. Two attractive people caught up in an exhausting and emotionally charged crime. After a long day, they both needed release, and what better way to provide that release than with each other?
He could almost feel it now.
When Autumn opened her door and stepped out, she gave him a questioning look that still held that edge of passion from a moment before.
“I need to make a quick phone call,” he said and smiled when she slammed the door.
What he needed was a moment of privacy to take care of the little problem she had given him. He looked down at his lap. Yes, little Autumn Trent was exciting indeed.
Lifting his phone to his ear, he pretended to make his call while his erection deflated.
As he watched her stalk away, a raindrop fell onto the window. Then another.
Sweet holy hell. Oregon sucked the devil’s balls.
Stepping from the vehicle before the rain turned into a deluge, Adam frowned as the ground beneath his foot ate up half of his shoe. He cursed but kept his features carefully neutral. He could write off a new pair as a business expense. There was a pair of Berlutis he’d been eyeing lately. They’d be perfect with the new suit he’d just purchased.
Life was good.
Autumn picked her way back over the yard toward him. “Sheriff Morton isn’t here yet,” she called from nearly twenty feet away.
He headed in her direction, deliberately standing just a bit too closely. “We don’t need to wait. After an area has been secured by law enforcement, there are a plethora of officers or deputies on the scene to control it. Follow their instructions. You don’t always need to make upper-level staff wait on you hand and foot.”
Autumn took a step back and turned to eye the surrounding woods. “Did anyone see him? Did he arrive in a vehicle or on foot, maybe through the trees?”
He ignored her questions. How could he possibly know the answer? Besides, those types of details weren’t the reason for his being there. Stepping past his associate, he strode over to where a couple of crime scene techs were snapping photos of the ground. Yellow caution tape protected the area, and it only took a second for him to understand why.
Autumn soon stood beside him, although she was more than an arm’s length away.
Adam pointed at the tracks. “Those are from a SUV. You can tell because the tracks are deep and have a wide wheelbase, but the distance between the front and rear tires isn’t as long as, for example, a full-sized pickup truck.”
Autumn looked suitably impressed by his knowledge, so he went on.
“You can see where the driver turned from the road. If you have both front and rear tire marks on a turn, you can calculate the length between tires. The deputies are pouring dental stone into the tracks to try to preserve them. It’s drizzling, so they’ll have to tarp over the mold as soon as they’re done pouring it.”
She nodded, all ears. “Dental stone?”
“Yes. The same thing dentists use to make molds of teeth.”
A car pulled up, capturing Autumn’s attention. “There’s the sheriff now.”
She walked over to greet them, but Adam moved over to where a deputy was holding the death book. He provided his name and credentials just as Sheriff Morton shoved open her door.
Adam was tempted to stride into the house, then hesitated, thinking it over. He refused to let anyone think that he was running from a confrontation. He had nothing to hide or to be ashamed about. They’d asked him to be here, and he’d come willingly. They owed him, not the other way around.
So, he waited for the sheriff, newly deputized Mayor Rich Brower, and Autumn to reach him.
A sheriff, a mayor, and a shrink go into a bar…
He was smiling when they arrived where he stood. Autumn was looking at him funny. He didn’t care. He had work to do and people to impress.
“What do we have here?” he asked the sheriff.
She looked grim. “Couple’s names are Warren and Grace Rose. They, along with their son, Matthew, were murdered. They were discovered this morning by a neighbor from a nearby farm who stopped by to deliver some eggs and goat’s milk.”
Autumn’s hand rose to cover her mouth. “The son was killed?”
Morton nodded. “Matthew Rose was thirteen and had been going to the community center after school. His parents were talking about getting a divorce but had apparently reconciled a few days after filing.”
That was interesting. Adam mentally filed it away for later and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he glanced around. He was beginning to enjoy working a crime scene again. He’d spent too many years in offices and boardrooms, but this was satisfying.
The others entered their information in the death book, then headed to the porch and pulled booties over their shoes. The porch was solid but needed to be re-stained. An Easter wreath made of grape vines and plastic eggs hung beside the front door.
It had been a long time since Easter, and a few months until they’d see it again. But then, the Roses had been planning a divorce. Maybe they’d been too distracted by their marital troubles to tend to small details like holiday decoration.
The interior of the house was bare, clean, and in good repair…but stark. No holiday decoration at all. It almost looked like the Roses had been getting ready to put it on the real estate market. There wasn’t a single family photograph or piece of art on the white walls. To one side was a small office area with a lone computer desk, not a single piece of paper or coffee mug out of place. To the other was a formal dining room with a silver centerpiece with purple ribbons. A staircase led up to the upper floor. This time, it wasn’t protected by those ridiculous manila file folders.
Brower noticed Adam considering the stairs. “There’s another staircase behind the kitchen. That’s the one he used.”
They walked down a hallway with an empty coat rack screwed to the wall and entered the kitchen. It was clean and the sink had been wiped down. A nearby living room had an enormous L-shaped sofa with not a single cushion out of place.
Off the kitchen was a utility room with an outer door, keypad, and alarm. The room was taped off. A window over the dryer had been broken, and the glass was scattered everywhere. A tiny staircase led up from the utility room. A tiny sink near the washer was smeared pink. The killer had tried to clean up after himself.
Brower pointed at the window to explain the perfectly obvious. “It looks like he came in there, through that window, and climbed the back stairs. It’s a custom-built house. The layout’s kind of odd.”
“Where are the bodies?” Adam asked.
“Upstairs.”
The sheriff and mayor went first. Autumn was next. Adam followed, disappointed that her long jacket covered her swaying ass.
In the doorway of the bedroom, Autumn gasped. Rich groaned but stepped inside. Sheriff Morton looked like she was made of stone.
The scene wasn’t much different than the others. Same blue rope. Same type of knots. Same staging on the bed. Gruesome.
This bed didn’t have a footboard. A heavy chest at the foot of the bed had been shoved away and the rope tied directly to one of the bed’s feet. The woman, Grace Rose, had been tied by only one foot, unlike the women at the other crime scenes. The other foot had a length of rope around the ankle, but it hadn’t been tied down. She had kicked as she died, leaving a wild smear of blood on the sheets.
The blankets had been shoved onto the floor by the window. The man, Warren Rose, lay on top of th
e blankets next to a young adolescent boy, Matthew. Neither Warren’s nor Matthew’s hands were tied. Both were covered in vicious knife wounds. In particular, Matthew’s hands were bloody and covered with at least a dozen deep, bone-revealing slashes.
Defensive wounds.
The scene at the first two killings had been bloody, but the murder of the woman hadn’t happened until she had been completely controlled. This couple fought wildly, and they had help. This one had been far less under the killer’s control.
“Poor little boy,” Autumn murmured.
Adam nodded toward the bodies of the father and son. “Murphy must not have been expecting the boy to be here. Look at the wounds on the boy’s hands. Those are defensive wounds. They go extremely deep.”
Autumn took a deep breath and nodded, though her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.
Becoming inured to this part of her job was an important part of her training. She had to see this. The first job of any law enforcement officer—or those working on behalf of one—was to not get sucked into the murderer’s delusions.
Therefore, in order to be a good mentor, Adam had to be merciless. “In order to make those wounds, the killer would have been extremely agitated, almost in a frenzy of rage. Do you see?”
Her voice was flat. “I see.”
“He’s escalating in unexpected ways.”
She nodded. “I agree. We have to stop him because he’s only going to get more violent and irrational.”
Sheriff Morton blew air out of her cheeks. “Folks, got anything for me? Anything we can use right away?”
Adam disengaged himself from mentor mode. He studied the bodies again, letting his mind analyze the picture. “Check for bruising on Matthew’s body. The killer might have tried grabbing the boy to make him watch as he tied up the mother.”
Autumn squatted down low. “Or he might have attempted to take the boy, just as he took Gina Webster.”
Frustration crawled down Adam’s spine. “If he took Gina Webster.” Beside Autumn, Rich Brower stiffened, and Adam remembered his relationship with the girl, but he wouldn’t back down on his opinion that Gina was on a murderous rampage with her boyfriend.