by Sarah Sutton
As they stopped at a red light, Tara turned her head to see a flow of people entering and exiting a bagel store.
“Maybe we should ask in there?” Tara said as she pointed out the window. “It looks like a place to grab a quick bite…might attract some hikers.”
Warren glanced in its direction, nodded his head, and quickly put on his blinker before pulling off to the side of the road and parallel parking in a nearby spot.
As they walked to the shop, Tara could already smell the fresh-baked bagels as the aroma trailed down the street, and she watched as passersby caught the scent, several of them stopping in their tracks before making the decision to go inside.
When they entered, the place was bustling—orders being called out left and right, the constant ring of the cash register opening and closing—and Tara was suddenly glad they stopped there. It was a popular spot, which she knew increased the odds that the victim may have stopped there.
“Let’s start with her,” Warren said to Tara.
She followed his gaze to see a female staff member standing at the end of the long counter, away from the rest of the store. She held a phone to her ear as she quickly wrote on a pad of paper in front of her. Tara nodded and a second later, they stood in front of her.
They waited as she continued to hold the phone to her ear, her eyes suddenly looking up at their presence. When finished, she placed the phone down swiftly and flipped a paper over on the pad.
“What can I get you?” she asked as she held the pen in her hand, ready to scribble down their order.
Tara looked around, making sure they were out of earshot of anyone in the shop, and then suddenly flashed her badge.
“We actually wanted to ask you a couple questions,” she said.
“Oh!” the woman responded as she placed her pen down on the counter. “This isn’t about those missing hikers, is it?” she asked. “It’s been all over the news.”
“That actually is why we’re here,” Tara replied as she placed the pictures of the victims down on the counter. “If you’ve seen them, it could help us piece their timeline together,” she added.
“Yes, of course,” the woman responded.
She looked down at the pictures on the counter, picking them up one by one before placing them back down.
“I’m usually pretty good with faces,” she said as she placed the last photo down on the counter. “I saw their pictures on the news, but they definitely didn’t come in here.”
Her words were disappointing, but Tara knew there was still more to ask. “Is there a manager we can speak to? We’d like to take a look at the cameras.”
The woman nodded. “You’re looking at her, Follow me.”
They followed her to a back room, and moments later, they were scanning through the video footage. But, after examining all the days prior since the first two hikers went missing, it was evident that the cameras didn’t capture anything of substance and it was clear that none of the victims stopped in there.
Tara finally looked up. “Is there any other place hikers might’ve stopped to eat?”
The woman thought for a moment. “Yes, actually. You could try the deli down the street.”
The woman gave her directions and after Tara thanked her, she and Warren were soon out the door.
***
A few moments later Tara and Warren entered the deli. It was a small space, with barely anyone in it, but a man stood behind the counter. He wore a white apron over his large round belly, his bald head shining under the overhead light. He was making a sandwich as he talked and laughed with the only customer in the store.
The deli was unusually warm, and Tara wondered if that’s why it was so empty.
“Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked, as he placed more toppings on the sandwich in front of him.
Tara could now see that it was sweat that caused his bald head to glisten so.
“Sorry if it’s a bit warm in here. Our AC just broke,” he added.
“It’s fine, we won’t be long.” Tara approached the counter. She held out her badge and the man looked up at it and then turned his gaze toward the customer with a look of concern. Tara could tell that the two men knew each other fairly well.
“What’s this about?” the man asked. “Don’t tell me Tommy’s in trouble.” A sudden flash of terror crossed his face.
It was not a response Tara expected and she briefly met eyes with Warren.
“We’re actually not here about that,” Tara replied, skeptically. “Who’s Tommy?”
The man let out a long sigh. “Thank God! I don’t think I could handle any more,” he said before a pause. “Tommy’s my son,” he added as he finished the sandwiches and wrapped them up. “He’s been having a tough time with me and his mom’s divorce.”
Tara nodded. “How old is your son?”
The man shook his head, realizing he was creating an inaccurate picture. “He’s only fifteen,” he confirmed. “He’s harmless, I’m just a bit on edge. He’s been getting into some fights at school.”
His explanation sounded a bit contradictory—he didn’t sound exactly harmless if he picked fights—but Tara knew that he wasn’t a suspect since it would be unlikely that a fifteen-year-old could remove an adult body from a crime scene without leaving more evidence.
She nodded before pulling out the pictures of the victims and showing them to the man. “Do any of these people look familiar to you?”
The man placed the sandwiches in a bag.
“Here you go, Dan,” he said as he held it out over the counter. “Take care of yourself and tell Becca I say hi.”
The customer thanked him and gave his best wishes as well, before grabbing the bag and walking out of the store.
After the customer left, the deli worker reached for the pictures but paused once he saw the images of the first two victims.
“They look familiar,” he said, as he stroked his chin, trying to recall where in his mind he knew them from. “They’re a couple, right?”
Tara nodded as she anxiously waited for him to elaborate.
“Yeah, they came in here,” he added. “Probably about a week ago.”
“Did they mention anything to you, like where they were going or who they might’ve met?” Tara asked.
The man shook his head. “I think I just opened up. They ordered a couple sandwiches and left.”
Tara’s heart sank. Again, no lead.
Tara asked a few more questions, trying to determine if anyone who came into the shop seemed suspicious, but the man only confirmed that he never had a strange feeling from anyone, and that he was the only person who worked there. It was a family-owned business, and when he couldn’t work, they were closed. After exhausting her efforts, Tara thanked him, and they were soon out the door.
They stood outside on the sidewalk and Tara turned to Warren, who now had a look of defeat on his face.
“We gotta find a lead somewhere, we need something.” He stared off into the distance. “It can’t be a coincidence that they all stopped here in Hanover, and that the victims were in their early twenties.” He paused for a moment. “The killer could be targeting women—maybe the boyfriend of the second victim just got in the way.”
Tara knew what he was suggesting—that they weren’t random killings.
“You think they were targeted?” she asked.
“You don’t?” Warren snapped, with a look of surprise.
But Tara shook her head. To her, it seemed more likely that they were crimes of opportunity—that the killer had picked an area where he would hunt and then hunted down whoever walked through there next, just like a hunter would come upon a deer in the woods.
“I think it would be pretty hard to target a victim based on age and gender,” she started. “If our theory is right about the compasses pointing to where he will strike next, then how would he know that a woman in her early twenties is going to walk through there?” She paused for a moment. “It could be months bef
ore a hiker meeting that criteria hikes through that area.”
“Well, maybe he’ll wait months then,” Warren suggested as he turned to her fully. “Or maybe he’s trying to throw us off. It’s more common that a serial killer has a specific target,” he added. “It could be that he’s targeting these women for sexual needs, gets rejected, and then hunts them down.”
It was certainly a valid thought, but Tara still wasn’t too sure. To her, it seemed more probable that the killer had some reason for targeting the Appalachian Trail in the first place, and had pent-up anger toward hikers, for whatever reason.
Either way, they both knew they could spend all day stopping in stores, but so far, they had nothing, and they couldn’t afford to waste any more precious time.
“Let’s interview the woman who found the body,” Warren suggested. “See if she heard anything, or came upon anyone.”
Tara agreed. The cops already interviewed her, but they now knew from interviewing the camping store owner, they weren’t always thorough.
They made their way to the car and Tara could feel a dribble of sweat down the back of her neck. It was an unusually hot day, but she wondered if it really was just the heat, or if this case was finally beginning to take a toll on them.
Chapter Fourteen
Tara and Warren weren’t in the car long before the home they were at days earlier appeared amongst a row of houses. As they pulled into the driveway, the sound of laughter caused Tara’s head to turn.
Two young children were kicking a ball around in the yard, where days earlier an active crime scene was held, and it gave Tara a sudden eerie feeling. As the children noticed the car, they stopped, and their eyes moved briefly to the porch, where their mother sat. Reassured by her presence, they began to play again as the mother made her way down the steps. Tara and Warren both stepped out into the driveway.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
She stood a few yards from them as if careful not to get too close. There was a hesitation in her voice and step that Tara assumed was most likely from the trauma of the days prior.
“We’re with the FBI,” Tara confirmed as she held out her badge.
At the mention of FBI, the woman flinched as if it were a word she didn’t want spoken, and she glanced over toward her children. They had now stopped playing, instead listening to the conversation, and the woman spoke again.
“Can we talk on the porch?”
Tara agreed and followed her onto the wraparound porch. Once out of earshot, she spoke again.
“Look, I already told the cops everything,” she said as she glanced back out to the yard at her kids. She lowered her voice. “I really don’t want to have to relive what I saw.”
Tara knew she had to approach this delicately. “I can certainly understand,” she said. “We won’t keep you long.”
The woman nodded hesitantly. She knew she couldn’t avoid their questions, and she braced herself for them.
“The trail runs right by your house, correct?” It was a question Tara already knew the answer to, but it was a good way to ease her in.
The woman took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, it runs very close.”
She pointed toward the edge of her property, where days earlier Tara and Warren followed the sheriff into the woods—where there were probably still remnants of blood upon the forest floor. She knew this woman would probably never look at these woods the same.
Tara’s eyes followed the row of trees. The house was the last one on a dead-end street, the trees wrapping around the side of the house and curling around the back. She wondered if neighboring houses sat just as close to the forest.
“Does the forest line your neighbors’ backyards as well?” Tara asked.
“Mhm…the trail only runs by my property though.”
Again, she traced the trees along the side of her house with her finger, but then she stopped a moment when she heard one of her kids yell out in frustration. Her eyes darted across the front lawn to where her children were now arguing. She tried to ignore it, but it was soon clear it was only escalating and she asked Tara and Warren to give her a moment as she walked off the porch.
When she was out of earshot, Tara spoke to Warren.
“Anyone from these houses would have easy enough access to the trail,” she said, and Warren nodded.
They both knew all it would take for a neighbor to access the trail would be to trudge through a few yards of the forest that they could enter right through their backyard.
The woman walked back over to them. “Sorry about that,” she sighed.
But Tara didn’t skip a beat. “Do you get along with your neighbors?”
The woman looked down toward the other houses, pondering the thought.
“Yeah, we get along with mostly everyone,” she said, her eyes continuing to scan the other homes.
The word almost stuck in Tara’s mind like a splinter. She knew she was on the verge of something.
“Is there anyone you don’t get along with?” she questioned.
The woman sighed and rolled her eyes. “Just some grump down the street.” She shrugged.
“Why’s that?” Tara asked.
She rolled her eyes again. “He’s just always walking through my yard to get to the trail.” She shook her head at the thought. “I don’t really like people doing that, but he seems to think he has some right to access it this way.”
Tara knew something of importance was just a few words away.
“Did it ever result in an argument?” she asked.
“Mhm.” The woman nodded. “He wouldn’t get off my property—he said people like me didn’t deserve to live here. He even went as far as to threaten my life—said I didn’t deserve to live, which I felt was a huge overreaction.” She shook her head at the thought. “It was this whole big thing a couple months ago. The cops came and everything.”
“Has he been through your property since?”
She shook her head with relief. “He’s not allowed to anymore. We have a restraining order since he threatened me.”
At her words, Tara shared a quick glance with Warren, and she knew he thought it too—maybe the altercation took him over the edge.
“Have you seen him since?” Tara asked.
But the woman only shook her head again. As far as she knew, the restraining order had kept him away.
Tara asked her where he lived, and after she gave them directions, Tara and Warren stepped off the porch.
***
Tara and Warren stood on the porch of the man’s house. Tara lifted her fist and knocked on the door—it was the second time she had done so—and again they waited as Tara rested her hand upon her gun on her hip.
“I’m comin’!” they heard.
The voice shook with age, causing Tara to look toward Warren—they were both surprised to hear the voice of an old man—and her hand relaxed.
The man slightly opened the door. But even the door was a weight too heavy for him and he just leaned against it, with his cane in the other hand.
“What do you want?” he growled.
Tara held up her badge. “We’re investigating the murder that happened a couple houses down.”
The man’s lips curled in disgust. “I don’t know nothin’,” he sneered.
“We just want to see if you heard anything. We’re asking all the neighbors,” Tara insisted.
It was a lie, but Tara knew this man would never let them in if he felt targeted.
His face relaxed as he let out a grunt.
“Come in,” he sighed as he let go of the door and hobbled across the floor.
They followed him into a living room, where a musty smell lingered in the air. The man took a seat on a chair and motioned for them to sit on the couch across from him.
“Just move all that over,” he said as he pointed with his cane to a few newspapers strewn about the couch.
Tara carefully pushed them aside and sat on the edge as Warren did the same.
“Well, what do you need to ask me?” he growled.
Tara shifted a bit closer to the edge of the couch.
“Were you here when the murder happened?” she asked.
“Yes,” he confirmed as he pulled a footstool closer and used both his hands to reach down and pick up his leg.
He placed it on the stool, and Tara wondered how this man could even go for a walk, let alone murder someone. She already knew in her mind that he wasn’t the killer, but wanted to see what he knew.
“Did you hear anything that day?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I heard the sirens and later learned what happened on the news,” he said.
Tara looked down at his leg. She had a hard time believing that this man walked through the woods often, like the woman said.
“Do you walk the trail often?” she asked skeptically.
He let out another grunt. “Not since that bitch put a restraining order on me,” he snapped. He then lowered his voice. “I used to walk to help my leg, but my arthritis has gotten a lot worse—it’s getting harder and harder to get around—and now that I can’t access the trail easily, well—” He looked off into the distance, trying to ease a sudden rush of anger. “It’s probably her fault my leg seized up,” he finally muttered.
Suddenly, Warren’s phone rang.
“I gotta take this,” he said to Tara as he got up and stepped outside. Tara watched him go for a moment, wondering what it could be. Maybe another development in the case.
She turned back toward the man, who stared at her waiting for her to continue, and she finally pulled out the pictures of the victims, flashing them in front of him.
“Do any of these people look familiar to you?” she questioned. She stood up and handed them to him.
He flipped through each one and then shook his head.