Shuttered Secrets

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  Lee had that government-issue Blackberry pressed to his ear. “Confirmed. Send a team now.”

  A gust of breath whooshed out of Riley at the sight of a steel drum lying on its side in the hole. Emery’s folded-up body was in there. Riley knew it without a doubt. Her bottom lip trembled as she looked up at Emery, whose frown matched Riley’s.

  “I’m sorry,” Riley said, eyes welling with tears.

  Me too, echoed in her head, and then Emery was gone.

  CHAPTER 26

  Nina, Riley, and Olivia stood back and watched as a forensic team arrived. Riley told the other two her theories about who had killed Emery, and who had aided in her capture. Otherwise, they quietly watched the professionals at work. Once the steel drum was out of the ground, a few members of the team collected things like soil and flora samples, while someone else was given the task of getting the drum open. It didn’t take long to confirm that a body was inside. She knew the police, FBI, and forensic specialists would be tasked with using things like DNA and dental records to make a positive identification, but when a piece of yellow fabric was extracted from the drum and placed in an evidence bag, Riley had all the confirmation she needed.

  The local police were called, and Nina, Riley, and Olivia all were asked to give statements. While Riley spoke to someone, Special Agent Samson sidled up next to her.

  Addressing the officer, he said, “Because of the sensitive nature of this case, we ask that you do all you can to make sure the names of these three women don’t get passed along to the media. We’ll need their expertise as we work through the case, and their anonymity will be crucial.”

  The officer nodded. “Understood.”

  Samson, covered in a fine layer of dirt, nodded at them both and walked back to the crime scene.

  It felt like hours later when they finally headed back to the entrance of the wetland park. Riley knew Emery was safe with these people, and that they’d all work tirelessly to identify her. She still whispered a goodbye to her anyway, unsure if Emery was gone for good, now that her body had been found.

  This time, when they reached the parking lot, it was packed with cars—a news van among them. Lee cursed under his breath and ushered Riley, Nina, and Olivia into the SUV before the news hounds had a chance to make their way over.

  A small crowd of fifteen or so looky-loos had materialized, too, all huddled together in the middle of the lot. Riley wondered if some of them had arrived intending to take a walk in the wetlands, only to be told by the police standing at the mouth of the hiking trail that the area was closed. Would others hear the news of a body found in the park, and try to take other paths into the area? Had someone posted about it on social media?

  Lee was on his phone again by the time they were all inside the SUV. “The media caught wind of it already. We need more officers down here to help maintain the integrity of the site.”

  Samson pulled out of the parking spot and eased back the way they’d come hours ago. As Riley stared out the window—Nina seated in the middle this time—her attention snagged on a man. There was nothing outwardly interesting or standout about him, but she found herself unable to look away. Instead of focusing on the anchorwoman who was just emerging from the news van as the others around him were doing, the man glared daggers at the passing SUV—perhaps upset that he couldn’t see who was inside.

  He lifted a camera to his face and snapped a picture of the retreating vehicle. Nina and Olivia didn’t react, though they were deep in conversation.

  He was in his thirties, but the hood had been pulled up over his head, masking his hair color. Had his eyes been blue?

  Hours later, Riley, bone-weary, walked out the doors of the Albuquerque International Sunport, her duffel bag hung from her shoulder. Nina and Olivia were driving back together and had already made their way to the parking garage. Riley knew she could have hitched a ride with them, but she needed a bit of distance.

  Riley’s smile was so wide it hurt when Jade’s car pulled up at the curb. Jade darted out of her car, her head of curly brown hair flapping as she ran, and tackled Riley in a hug so fierce, it almost knocked them over.

  Riley laughed, hugging her back.

  “It’s all over the news, girl!” Jade said, pulling away. In her best news anchor voice, she said, “Today, thanks to an anonymous tip, the body of a young woman who went missing in 2005 was found in the Rio Bosque Wetland Park.”

  Riley wondered how long the “anonymous tip” thing would hold. She knew the request had come from the FBI, but how much more sensational would this story become if it was revealed that the “anonymous tip” had come from a trio of psychics?

  Jade said, “There aren’t any real details yet. Tell me everything on the way to Michael’s.”

  “Michael’s?” Riley asked.

  “We played rock, paper, scissors on a video call to decide who got to pick you up,” Jade said, looping her arm through Riley’s and dragging her toward her car. An airport attendant had already grown incredibly irate that Jade had left her car idling at the curb. “He was so bummed about losing that I told him I’d deposit you on his doorstep in exchange for hearing the story first on the way.”

  Riley burst into tears.

  “Oh, babe,” Jade said, stopping abruptly to stand in front of her. She cupped Riley’s face in her hands.

  The attendant blew his whistle. “You have ten seconds to move your vehicle or it’s getting towed!”

  Jade shot a glare over her shoulder at him. “My best friend is going through some shit!”

  “Find someone who cares, lady!” the guy yelled back. “Five seconds!”

  Jade groaned very loudly, which made Riley laugh, only for that to dissolve back into tears. “Okay, let’s go. You’re all right. You want a cheeseburger or something?”

  Riley sniffed, letting Jade pull her the rest of the way to the car. “Can I have onion rings, too?”

  “You can have whatever you want. I’m not the one who has to make out with you later,” Jade said, pulling open the passenger side door. Riley slid in, eyeing the back seat that was positively jam-packed with wedding supplies. When Jade got in on the driver’s side, she strapped in, flipped off the guy on the corner—who blew his whistle at her in reply—and pulled out onto the road.

  They grabbed burgers, fries, and onion rings from a drive-through and then hopped on the highway toward Los Lunas. It wasn’t until Riley had tearfully inhaled all her onion rings that she started to talk, telling Jade about Bruce Trager, how Emery had been lured out to the park under false pretenses, and how the asshole had not only murdered Emery, but had stuffed her body in a steel drum and then buried it in the middle of the park.

  “God, this is so awful,” Jade finally said, her voice catching. “And you think that’s how this guy got Brynn and Shawna, too?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know who came to who with the stalking idea, but Bruce had been paying Anders for information on these women. They were both photographers.”

  “What are the odds?” Jade asked, shaking her head.

  Riley’s Cheesy Deluxe had been halfway to her mouth. She lowered the burger. “Slim to none … I bet that’s how they met. They could have made a connection through their love of photography first, and then later found out that their stalking and homicide hobbies intertwined.”

  “Match made in hell,” Jade muttered.

  Riley took a bite of her burger, chewing slowly. A few tears tracked down her face again. “I don’t think he stopped at Emery. I think he got better. And I think Anders kept helping him. Anders is in New Mexico but I don’t know where Bruce is, assuming he’s still alive. Anders wants those cameras back because he doesn’t want any of this tied back to him.”

  “Too bad there was only film in the one camera,” Jade said. “I wonder if there was anything hidden in that storage unit that people missed somehow. It’s just so weird that the cameras and desk were the only things in there. Maybe he used that space to write up his dossier on whatever w
oman he was stalking.”

  “There was the bomber jacket, the mug of coffee, and the lantern, too,” Riley said.

  “And that hideous camera bag,” Jade said.

  Riley had completely forgotten about that. “Did you ever look in that thing?”

  “Nope,” Jade said, glancing over her shoulder for a second. “This car is a mess. I honestly don’t think I’ve touched much back here in weeks. The bag is probably still in here. Maybe under your seat?”

  When they arrived at Michael’s half an hour later, Jade pulling into the long driveway of his duplex, Riley practically threw herself out of the car before Jade had parked it.

  “Hey, ladies,” Michael said, stepping out onto his porch.

  “Hi. Love you. Nice to see you,” Riley said, yanking open the back passenger side door and squatting so she could see into the abyss of Jade’s back seat. She moved a cardboard box full of what looked like kid-size gold laurel leaf tiaras. What in the hell was she going to do with those? Clearly, Riley had fallen off her “Keep Jade in line” maid of honor duties in the midst of trying to solve another cold case.

  Riley shoved an arm under the passenger seat, blindly flailing around until her fingers brushed coarse fabric. She pulled the bag free. Hurrying around to the trunk, Riley plopped the bag on the closed door.

  Michael came over and Riley angled her face up for a kiss even while only having eyes for the camera bag. It reminded her of a fabric lunch container. The bag was square with a lid that flipped back, and a clip in the front. Inside, the bag was divided into sections. On the right, in the biggest compartment, two smaller bags had been wedged into the hole. The other slots, she imagined, were for things like extra lenses and canisters of film.

  She checked the smaller bags first, which were basic carrying cases. She checked zippered outer pockets, inner Velcroed ones, and dug fingers into small mesh-covered spaces. Nothing.

  “What’s she doing?” Michael whisper-asked Jade.

  “Looking for clues?” Jade ventured.

  Riley got to work rummaging around in the bigger bag. Nothing in any of the side or inner pockets. There was a zippered pouch in the lid of the case. Empty. The partitions in the bag were made of a squishy slate gray foam. She pulled all of those out, revealing a flat rectangular base, which allowed the bag to keep its form. It was Velcroed down and she needed more force than she would have expected to pull it free. She discarded the rectangular piece on the trunk, sure she’d find something lying on the bottom bag. More nothing. Dammit.

  “Oh shit,” Michael said, and picked up the rectangular bottom Riley had tossed away. He flipped it over, revealing a white envelope that had been affixed with several layers of packing tape.

  “Oh shit,” Jade echoed.

  Handing the square back to Riley—which was about the size of a mortarboard—Michael said, “I’ll go get a box cutter” before hurrying into his house. Baxter gave a yowl from behind the screen door.

  “What do you think is in there?” Jade asked, holding fast to her own elbows.

  Riley absently shook her head.

  When Michael returned, Riley watched as he carefully made a cut along the edge of the envelope where it had been fastened to the square. Once he’d freed the envelope, he handed it to Riley.

  The moment she took it, an image slammed into her. A desk sat in front of her—not the industrial one from the storage unit, but a standard office desk. One of the cameras from the unit, the Minolta, Riley thought, sat on the desk to the left of a man’s arm. She recognized the blue and white logos running along the neck strap. A computer screen took up most of her view. The man’s hands were on the keyboard, and Riley watched as he typed out a message in a white box. I don’t care what you do with the information I give you, but Brynn was a mistake. Choose the ones who don’t have parents with fat checkbooks and you’ll succeed for a lot longer. And the longer you succeed, the longer I get paid. Win-win. Be smarter.

  The flash of memory ended and Riley placed a hand on the trunk of Jade’s car to steady herself.

  Michael placed a hand on her elbow. “Okay?”

  She nodded. “Uhh … do you have gloves by any chance?”

  Michael took off again, returning with a box of latex gloves.

  Riley cocked a brow at him.

  “What? Sometimes I change my own oil.”

  Pulling out a pair, Riley strapped them on, then used the box cutter to carefully cut one side of the envelope open. She figured if Anders had licked the envelope to seal it, his DNA might still be on the flap, so she wanted to leave it as intact as she could. Inside the envelope were negatives that had been cut every fourth frame. Lifting one, using the light from Michael’s porch light, she peered at one of the squares.

  She instantly recognized Brynn Bodwell. Anders had photographed her getting into her car at the parking lot of a school; tying her shoe as she sat on a bench, clad in running gear; and as she walked her beloved dog Ruthie. There were more negatives of Shawna in this batch, too.

  Riley felt sick to her stomach again. “I think Detective Howard was right.”

  “About what?” Jade asked softly, arms folded tight across her chest. Given how pale Michael had grown, they’d been able to see what was on the negatives, too. They had put it together that the bag sitting on Jade’s trunk belonged to a man who played a role in the death of at least three women.

  “When Shawna was killed, the police were so convinced that Rodney Elgin was the murderer, they had tunnel vision,” Riley said, slipping the negative back into the envelope. “They never really considered anyone else. After Brynn’s murder became national news, Anders told Bruce that Brynn had been a mistake. She was too high profile, from a too-rich family. He told him to go after targets people would care about less.”

  “So he went back to Black women,” Jade said, tone hollow.

  “Black women with fewer family ties. They usually get labeled as runaways, or women who’ve made ‘poor life choices’ so they’re lower priority. Same with sex workers. Like they brought it on themselves. It wouldn’t be the first time someone targeted people they thought wouldn’t be missed. The Green River Killer chose sex workers and runaways, murdering at least forty-eight women before he was caught. Samuel Little killed ninety-three people over thirty-five years, specifically targeting sex workers, runaways, and Black women because he believed they mattered less, so no one would come looking for them.”

  “I don’t even know what to say to any of this,” Michael said.

  “Not much to say other than this Anders guy is as much of a piece of shit as Bruce is even if Anders didn’t kill them,” Jade said, heat darkening her light brown skin.

  “He gave him the tools to find them,” Michael agreed.

  Riley clearly looked shell-shocked, so Michael grabbed Riley’s belongings out of the car while Jade hugged Riley goodbye and told her to call her in the morning. After Riley put the envelope of negatives in a zippered bag from Michael’s kitchen, she took a long hot shower and then curled up on the couch with him and Baxter. He put on a movie, but she was so exhausted, she fell asleep almost immediately.

  Though her sleep was restful and dreamless, when sunlight poured in through the blinds in Michael’s living room, she’d awoken with one thought on her mind: she was going to do whatever she could to take Anders down. Because where they found Anders, they’d find Bruce Trager.

  November, 2021

  The day the news broke that a body was found in the Rio Bosque Wetland Park, I was sitting in my car at a park where Carter Quincy played with his kid. Emery’s name hadn’t been revealed yet, but it would be coming soon. I hadn’t contacted The Client, hoping he wouldn’t hear about it wherever he was in the country, until I had made more progress.

  An email from him came in shortly after a breaking news alert from one of the national channels popped up on my phone.

  YOU SAID YOU WERE HANDLING THIS! How the fuck did anyone find her? Who is this anonymous tip? What the hell am I
paying you for if this has gotten worse since you started, rather than better? Do something, Anders, or I will DESTROY you. If I go down, you’re going down with me.

  I didn’t know what he expected me to do! Carter did nothing of note, met no one of note. If anything, his behaviors had grown even less interesting since his trip. The man was already dreadfully boring to begin with. My leads had dried up. I was doing the best I could.

  They haven’t identified her yet. That will take some time. Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.

  I needed to talk to Carter alone, away from witnesses, away from his family. He needed to tell me who his source was so I could fix this. I left the park and went to Carter’s office at the Taos Daily Journal.

  I strolled up to the receptionist’s desk, placed my hands on the faux wood and said, “I would like to speak to Carter Quincy.”

  The lady at the desk was on the phone and held up a finger. I stood to full height and peered through the glass wall to my left, behind which sat several people in cubicles. People didn’t move about, waving papers above their heads announcing they’d just gotten a lead on their newest story. They looked like zombies.

  “I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, redirecting my attention. “Mr. Quincy isn’t in the office today.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  She was in her mid-thirties, and attractive enough if one liked mousy brown hair, pencil-thin lips, and sweater sets. I did not. When she eyed me warily, she became even less appealing. “Who did you say you were again? Did you have a scheduled appointment?”

  “Yes. We were supposed to meet here this afternoon but, as you can see, I’ve been stood up. If you could give me his personal cell phone number, I’ll get out of your hair.” A personal number would allow me direct, discreet access. It would make it easier to lure Carter away, to get him to meet me in a secluded location so we could chat.

  “You can find his contact information on our website. It’s t-a-o-s—”