See Her Die

by Leigh, Melinda

  Dustin flushed and looked away.

  Bree nudged his arm. “What happened?”

  Dustin sighed. “Eli was making fun of him. The guy was an idiot. He even burned his hand on the hot water heater element. His pants wouldn’t stay up. His butt crack was hanging out.” Dustin studied the table. “The guy was a loser. Eli took his picture and posted it on Twitter.” One side of Dustin’s mouth twitched, as if he still thought it was funny. “Eli has a series of pics he calls—called—the Phil McCracken Files, where he posted butt-crack pics.” Dustin sobered. Was he remembering his friend was dead?

  The red mark wasn’t a tattoo or birthmark. It was a burn.

  “Eli was the only one mocking him?” Bree asked.

  Dustin’s shoulder jerked. Then he shook his head. “No, we were all giving him a hard time.”

  “So, this man came to repair your water heater, and the four of you tormented him?” Bree asked.

  “Yeah,” Dustin admitted. Regret seemed to subdue him. “Have you found Christian?”

  Did Joe kill Eli and Brian for revenge because they made fun of him?

  “Not yet. You hang tight in here, OK?” Bree closed the door and went back to the conference room. She repeated what Dustin told her. “Let’s get all the information we can on Joe Marcus.”

  “What do we have so far?” Stella asked.

  Bree ticked the facts off on her fingers. “One, we know he was longtime friends with Sara Harper. Two, he has access to a Dodge Charger, the same model vehicle used in Eli’s abduction. Three, the plumbing contractor who employs him worked at two of the houses that were recently burglarized in Scarlet Falls.” Bree sighed, frustrated. “This is all circumstantial. If we want a search warrant for his house, we need something more direct to establish probable cause.”

  “We also need to verify that Joe actually worked at those houses that were burglarized, not just the company he works for,” Stella pointed out.

  “I’ll call the owner of ABC Plumbing.” Matt left the room, phone in hand.

  “This all started with a man shooting Sara Harper at the Grey Lake Campground. How would he know where she was?” Bree thought out loud.

  “If Sara was killed by her burglary accomplice, then maybe she told him where she was staying,” Todd said.

  “If they were partners, they would have been in communication with each other,” Bree agreed. “Do we have the records for Sara Harper’s prepaid phone?”

  “Let me check again.” Todd pulled his laptop out from under a folder and opened it. “Yes. It’s in.”

  Bree moved around the table to look over his shoulder. She’d taken Joe Marcus’s contact information after speaking with him, so she had his phone number. She opened her phone for the notes she’d made on the interview, then compared the number Joe had given her with the list on Sara’s phone. No matches. “There’s a number in her contact list under the initial J. Sara called this number on Sunday at eleven p.m. It’s the last call she made.”

  “There’s no personal information attached to this number. Maybe it’s a burner phone.” Todd scrolled through the list.

  “Maybe.” Bree closed her eyes and turned the development over in her head. “J could still stand for Joe. Maybe he has another phone. It would be pretty stupid to use his regular cell phone.”

  Too many maybes.

  “Todd, you write up the affidavit for the search warrant with our evidence as it stands. I’ll call you if Alyssa IDs Joe, and you can add her statement. Make sure to include the garage, other outbuildings, the dock, the woods, and any vehicles on the premises. I want to compare tire treads with the impressions we made at the boat ramp. We’ll want footwear, to compare those treads as well, trace evidence, computer and electronic equipment, biological evidence.” Bree listed specific language she wanted on the search warrant. If she didn’t cover all the possibilities, their search would be limited, or evidence collected could be challenged in court later. “We need to be able to execute the warrant tonight, so detail the exigent circumstances for the judge. This is a life-or-death matter. We need to find Christian now, before he becomes the next victim.”

  Normally, search warrants could only be served during reasonable hours. Bree would take no chances that evidence found would be thrown out by a judge because she hadn’t served her search warrant properly.

  She collected the six photos she’d shown Dustin. “I’m going to take these to Alyssa and see if she recognizes Joe as the man who shot Sara Harper.”

  She’d been a wishy-washy witness, but Alyssa’s ID of Joe would strengthen the affidavit. Otherwise, Bree would have to convince a judge she’d never met to have faith in her.

  Matt returned. “I called the owner of ABC Plumbing. He confirmed Joe worked on the burglarized houses. He also said Joe didn’t show up for work today.”

  “That helps.” Bree made her own notes as she spelled out the details for Todd. “Let me know when the warrant application is ready. I’ll call the judge and ask if he’ll sign electronically. That’ll save time.” Bree turned to Stella. “Would you be willing to stay and help execute the warrant?”

  “Just try and stop me.” Stella stood and picked up her coffee cup. “I’ll caffeinate.”

  “I’ll go with you, Bree.” Matt followed her from the room.

  She stopped in her office for her coat. Then they hurried through the back door to the SUV.

  Nerves hummed in Bree’s blood as she prayed she was right. A young man’s life depended on it. She knew in her gut that if they didn’t find him, he’d be dead by morning.

  “We’re close.” Matt fastened his seat belt. “I can feel it.”

  “We have to find Christian tonight.” Bree sped out of the parking lot. “We have no indication that this killer holds his victims long before he kills them.”

  “He won’t take Christian to the inn where he killed Eli and dumped Sara.”

  “No. We ruined that location for him. I also doubt he’ll return to the boat ramp where he dumped Brian,” Bree agreed. “Joe had a garage behind his house. Maybe he took him there.”

  The drive to the motel was less than ten minutes. Bree lifted her foot off the gas pedal as they approached the entrance.

  Matt leaned forward and squinted through the windshield. “Is that smoke?” He cracked his window.

  The smell of smoke hit Bree’s nose. She took the turn into the parking lot too fast. The SUV lurched. Tires squealed. Matt grabbed for the armrest.

  Smoke billowed from the two-story structure. An alarm blared. People were emerging from motel rooms.

  “Shit.” Bree grabbed her radio mic and reported the fire to dispatch as she slammed the gearshift into park and jumped from the SUV. She sprinted toward the sheriff’s deputy vehicle parked in front of Alyssa’s room. Bree raised a hand to knock on the window, but froze, her hand in the air. A hole had been punched through the glass. The deputy was pitched forward. Blood covered the back of his head. “He’s been shot!”

  Was he dead?

  Where was Alyssa?

  Fear for the girl bubbled into Bree’s throat. She unholstered her weapon and used the butt of her gun to smash the window. She reached through the broken glass and pressed two fingers to the deputy’s neck. “It’s Wallace. He’s alive.” But his wound was bleeding heavily. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  She and Matt dragged the deputy from his car.

  A man ran from the office toward Bree. He stopped, panting. “I’m the manager. What’s happening, Sheriff?”

  “This deputy has been shot!” Bree yelled. “Do you know which rooms are occupied?”

  “Yes.” The man glanced around, his expression stunned.

  Bree pointed toward the small group gathering on the other side of the parking lot. “Try to account for all your guests.”

  He headed for the cluster of people.

  Matt was on the radio, reporting an officer down and requesting an ambulance and backup.

  A woman in a bathrobe ran ba
refoot across the parking lot. She carried a short stack of towels. She dropped to her knees beside Wallace’s still body. “I’m a nurse.” She pressed a folded towel to the back of the deputy’s head and applied pressure.

  “Thank you.” Bree turned toward the building. Was Alyssa still inside?

  Smoke poured from the windows below her room. Is she alive? Bree couldn’t see any flames, but most fire fatalities didn’t burn to death. They died of smoke inhalation.

  Swallowing her anger, Bree raced for the concrete steps that led to the second-story landing, gun in hand. Matt was at her side.

  “Careful!” Matt touched the door lightly with his fingertips, clearly checking for heat. “Feels OK.”

  The door was locked. Matt stepped back and kicked the door. It held. He kicked the door twice more until the frame gave. Wood splintered. The door flew inward, bouncing off the wall.

  Bree went in first, leading with her weapon. She swept the room with her gun until she was sure it was clear. Smoke filled the top half of the room and burned her eyes. Her vision blurred as they watered. She wiped a forearm across her face and blinked to clear her eyes. The beds were stripped of their sheets. Smoke clogged Bree’s nose. She coughed and ducked low, trying to stay beneath the thickest cloud.

  “Alyssa?” she yelled, choking.

  Matt rushed by. Coughing, he pulled the collar of his jacket over his mouth and nose. He pushed the bathroom door open. Bree peered around his shoulder. A rope of sheets was tied around the base of the toilet and threaded through the tiny window. Not many people could have squeezed out the small opening. Alyssa was very thin, but getting out the window must have required some gymnastics—and desperation. But then, the motel was on fire. So, yeah. She’d been desperate.

  She’d also been prepared. It wasn’t likely that she’d made that rope at the last minute. She’d probably had it ready.

  Bree didn’t know whether to be relieved or panicked.

  “Alyssa’s gone.” Matt coughed and pulled Bree back toward the door. “We need to get out of here.”

  Bree yanked her arm free of his grip. She stepped into the tub and looked out the window. The rope of sheets led almost to the ground below the window.

  How had she gotten out? The girl must be as flexible as Gumby. But then, when Bree had chosen the room, she’d been more worried about a man getting in than Alyssa getting out.

  The smoke thickened and tears poured from her eyes.

  “Bree!” Matt grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room.

  On the walkway, Bree ran down the cement steps and around the building.

  Most of the snow had melted in the sun earlier that day, leaving mud in low-lying areas. Fifty feet of weedy ground separated the motel from the woods. Bree pulled her flashlight from her pocket and shone it on the ground. A set of footsteps in the mud led from Alyssa’s landing point at the base of the wall into the trees.

  Bree took off running, but her smoke-filled lungs protested, and she had to stop when she reached the tree line. She leaned on her thighs and coughed, the taste of smoke thick in her mouth and throat.

  Damn it!

  Matt was right at her side, also coughing. “Just breathe for a minute, then we’ll chase her down.”

  Bree straightened and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Worry for Alyssa drove her forward. Bree stumbled along the trail. The cold night air soothed her lungs. In a few strides, she recovered her wind and broke into a slow jog. In two hundred yards, the trail ended at a narrow, unlined paved road.

  Bree turned in a circle. “Where is she?”

  “She couldn’t have gotten far.” Matt pointed his own flashlight on the ground and walked along the shoulder of the road.

  Bree took the other side, looking for a spot where Alyssa left the pavement. “What road is this?”

  Matt had his phone in his hand. “Rural Route 31. It runs parallel to the interstate. There’s not much on it but a couple of farms. It cuts through miles of nothing and intersects with several other country roads.”

  “I can’t track her on pavement.” Bree stared down. “I wish Brody wasn’t hurt. My department needs a K-9.”

  “It does.”

  Brody’s injury had convinced her. She couldn’t rely on a borrowed, retired dog, no matter how good he was. He was not a young animal. She had to put her own fears aside and figure out a way to acquire a dog.

  She called the state police and requested a K-9 unit, but she didn’t have time to wait for it to arrive.

  Matt and Bree returned to the motel parking lot. Two fire trucks were hosing down the motel. Guests clustered in small groups in the parking lot.

  Bree grabbed Matt’s sleeve. “Would you take my SUV and drive a couple of miles down that road to see if you spot Alyssa?”

  “Of course.” Matt took the keys she offered. Bree watched him drive away in her vehicle. Then she turned toward the chaos. The motel fire alarm blared. A siren sounded the arrival of another fire truck.

  It seemed impossible that Alyssa had run away on foot that quickly. The fire had just started. Had she escaped?

  Or had Alyssa also been taken?

  If Joe had her, he would certainly kill her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The electric trimmers buzzed in his hand, and the asshole squirmed. But he was securely zip-tied to the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere. A drop of blood fell from his wrist to the concrete floor. The plastic was digging into his skin.

  “Stop it.” He grabbed a handful of blond hair and ran the clippers along the scalp. “You’ll just make it hurt more.”

  Handful by handful, the hair piled up on the tarp. The hair, he decided, was a big part of the image. Without it, the guy looked pathetic and weak. The clippers slipped a couple of times. The target flinched every time his scalp was nicked.

  What a pussy.

  The man moaned behind his gag. His blue-and-red-striped rugby shirt and jeans that cost a week’s pay were folded in the corner. He shivered.

  These assholes pretended to be so tough, but they were actually just facades of straight teeth, expensive clothes, and haircuts that cost as much as most people’s rent. Underneath, they were nothing. Their whole world was superficial. What did they know about being a man?

  He was self-made. He didn’t have parents to pave the way for him. Unlike this privileged jerk, who was handed his life and his looks. Didn’t work mean anything anymore? Why did women fling themselves at rich douchebags when they could have real men?

  His victim shuddered hard. Goose bumps covered his skin. The garage was cold, but it wouldn’t matter. Soon, he wouldn’t care about the cold.

  When the head was completely shaved, he admired his work. Without the pretty hair and clothes, the guy was nothing special.

  He pulled the gag away from the mouth. “Convince me not to kill you.”

  “What is wrong with you, man?” The target’s voice broke. He was going to cry.

  Glee filled him. He’d broken the jerk already. “You’re not helping your case.”

  “What do you want?” The man sniffed. His eyes were watery, and his lips were turning blue.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I just want to know that you’re not a total asshole.”

  “Look, man. I’m sorry if we offended you. We were just joking around.” The asshole tried to blow him off.

  “You aren’t funny.” He walked in a circle around the chair.

  The target’s neck swiveled, trying to keep him in sight. He stood directly behind him, just to freak him out.

  “What are you doing?” Panic raised the pitch of the man’s voice.

  Fear.

  He could smell it. Taste it. Enjoy it.

  It was about time someone feared him for a change. He’d spent his whole life being second to these so-called alpha males. Well, that wasn’t how it was going to be from now on. He was alpha tonight. He was calling all the shots.

  “I’ll give you anything. Just let me go,” the target begged.

>   “Your friends begged too.” He leaned close to his victim’s ear. “Do you want to know what happened to them?”

  The target’s breathing sped up, until he was almost hyperventilating. Which was more fun, freaking them out or killing them? It was hard to decide.

  He remembered his second victim. Killing them. Definitely.

  The torture was like foreplay.

  “Let me tell you exactly how your friends died.” He closed his eyes and pictured the second killing. The memory rolled in his mind, clear as a video. He leaned close to the man’s ear and whispered. When he’d finished describing every detail, he opened his eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do to you.”

  His victim was breathing hard too, and his entire body shook with tremors. He inhaled the scent of terror. It made him hungry for more.

  He wanted this night to last forever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Matt leaned on Bree’s SUV. A few yards away, Bree was talking with the fire chief. She shook his hand, then turned and walked back toward Matt.

  The motel parking lot was a sea of first responders. An ambulance waited to take Deputy Wallace away. Two EMTs wheeled his gurney toward the open rear doors. Bree stopped to check on him. Now conscious, Wallace reached toward her. Bree gave his hand a squeeze, then backed away from the gurney. The deputy was loaded into the vehicle.

  The nurse who had administered emergency first aid stood and brushed rock salt and dirty slush from her bathrobe. Blood stained the pale blue terry cloth. Bree stopped to shake her hand as well.

  Bree might complain about the politics her job required, but she was actually damned good at it. She was a natural leader. She appreciated people and let them know why. Her praise felt genuine, not like bullshit.

  “I drove three miles up the road.” He handed Bree her keys. “No sign of Alyssa, but there are plenty of places she could have gone off the road without leaving tracks.”

  “Thank you.” Bree rubbed her forehead, leaving a smudge of soot.

  “She could have heard the gunshot and escaped before the fire was started.” Possibilities spun in Matt’s head. “Or he used the fire to flush her out. It’s even possible she left earlier. You said she was pretty spooked when you talked to her.”