by Sarah Sutton
Suddenly, Sheriff Brady stood in the doorframe, interrupting Tara’s train of thought. She stood with reading glasses now at the tip of her nose and she tilted her head downward to see above them.
“We have a list for you of the Mid-Atlantic trail crew,” she said and then turned for them to follow.
Tara and Warren followed her into her office and took a seat across the desk from her. She swiveled in her chair, reached for a piece of paper behind her, and placed it down on her desk in front of them. She pushed the list toward them.
“My officers narrowed it down by those who volunteer in the area and who’ve had access to four-wheelers,” she confirmed.
Tara reached for it and looked it over, but was quickly disappointed when she saw the length.
“There’s over twenty names on this list,” she said as she looked up from it. Knowing they had little time, Tara knew that a list that long could easily waste precious hours.
Warren peered over her shoulder.
“She’s right. We need to narrow it down,” he said as Tara placed the list back onto the desk.
Sheriff Brady shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s the best we can do.”
Tara’s frustration boiled. “There must be some other way to narrow down this list,” she insisted.
Sheriff Brady looked startled. “Agent Mills, like I said…”
But Tara quickly interrupted her. “Did you check for police records? Any illegal or concerning behavior?”
“We did and unfortunately we didn’t find anything too concerning,” she snapped back.
Tara took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just interviewing over twenty people could waste very precious time.” She paused and let a silence fall around them as she gained composure. “You said nothing too concerning?” Tara questioned with a steady voice.
Sheriff Brady spoke a bit softer too. “Well…there’s just one member who was arrested for hunting illegally, and he had some sort of altercation with some hikers.” She looked directly at Tara and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t think it raised any red flags for murder though,” she added pointedly.
Warren interrupted. “What kind of altercation?”
“Just a few hikers approached him when he was hunting one day. They tried to tell him why it was morally wrong. A fight broke out, we got a call.” She rolled her eyes again. “It was while he was volunteering actually. He was supposed to be grooming the trail.”
“Who were the hikers he got in the fight with?” Warren asked.
“Just a group of friends. I think they were two sets of couples.”
“What age?”
She took a deep breath, growing frustrated at the incessant questioning. “I don’t know, early twenties maybe.”
The same age range as the victims. Warren let out a frustrated grunt.
“You didn’t think that was something to tell us about?” he asked, but he didn’t let her answer before he threw another question at her. “Has he volunteered recently?”
The sheriff let out a long sigh. “Listen, like I said, I didn’t think that all made him sound like a murderer. But no. He spent a night in jail and had a hefty fine, but after that, I was told he was given another chance but he never came back to volunteer.” She shrugged.
Tara and Warren quickly glanced at each other and then back at the sheriff.
“How long ago did all this happen?” Tara asked.
The sheriff pondered for a moment. “I’d say about two weeks ago.”
He was sounding increasingly like a suspect.
“Can we get his name and address?” Tara asked.
Sheriff Brady rolled her eyes. “Sure,” she said. “But, just warning you, it might waste precious time.”
It was a direct hit at Tara. Tara was younger than this woman and Tara got the sense that she didn’t like Tara acting as if she knew more than her.
“His name’s Kenny McNamara,” she said as she wrote his address down. “He lives a couple miles from here.”
She handed Tara the note and in a matter of time, they were both out the door.
Chapter Seventeen
Tara and Warren stood on the doorstep of Kenny McNamara’s mobile home. The sun had just begun to lower itself into midafternoon, causing it to directly hit the aluminum siding. Tara knocked and upon contact, she could feel the intense heat.
They waited a moment, and soon the door opened to reveal a tall, muscular man wearing a tank top that was most likely once white, but now was a few shades off.
“Can I help you?” he asked over the hum of the air conditioner.
“Kenny McNamara?” Tara asked.
He nodded his head hesitantly.
“We just wanted to ask you a couple questions.” Tara held up her badge. “Can we come in?”
He thought for a moment as his expression fell into worry.
“Can I ask what this is about?” he asked as he looked from Tara to Warren. “I don’t quite see why you need to come in. Anything you ask me inside, you can certainly ask here.”
Tara’s suspicion heightened. “Well, I suppose so,” she acknowledged, as she tried to sneakily peek in between the doorframe and where he stood holding the door ajar.
She could see his living room, dimly lit, and given the lack of furniture, it looked larger than she knew it actually was. All she could immediately see was a couch and side table. She assumed the TV and air conditioner, both emanating sound, were on the other side of the wall, blocked by his presence.
“Excuse me!” he snarled as he caught Tara’s gaze into his home.
He stepped closer to the doorframe, pulling the door with him and closing the gap. She immediately shot her eyes back toward him.
“My apologies, sir,” she replied. “We were informed that you used to volunteer for the Mid-Atlantic trail crew, is that correct?”
His face turned a shade of red as he nodded his head.
“And is there a reason why you stopped volunteering?” she asked, already partially knowing the answer.
He was quiet and opened his mouth to speak but hesitated before closing it again.
Tara continued. “We already know you’ve been caught hunting illegally, and of the altercation on the trail. We are just wondering why you stopped volunteering.”
His eyes widened at the mention as if surprised by the forwardness.
“We heard that the group was going to give you another chance, but you declined to volunteer again?”
He stepped a bit away from the door frame again and leaned onto the door, too preoccupied with his own worry and thoughts to notice his guard being let down.
“I…uh…I just didn’t want to go back,” he answered as he looked down to his feet.
Tara gazed into the home as he spoke, careful not to raise his suspicion and checked back once or twice while he was speaking to make sure he didn’t notice.
“I guess I was a bit embarrassed,” he added.
Tara could see deeper into the mobile home and just through the dimly lit living room. The kitchen was flooded with fluorescent lighting. On the white floor, she spotted splashes of a darker substance. Her heart picked up speed and she glanced back at him again. He picked up his head just at the turn of her eyes and she threw another question at him just to distract him once more.
“Have you been caught hunting illegally before?”
He grew even more anxious at her question and she saw the door vibrate slightly as his hand began to show his nerves. He placed it down beside him and let the door rest on his shoulder, opening it just a millimeter more.
“I…uh…” he began as he looked back down toward his feet once more.
Tara took the opportunity and peered into the kitchen behind him. She stared at the dark dried spots on the white floor that under the fluorescent light showed hints of dark red. She was then immediately aware of what it was—blood.
McNamara’s eyes still pointed toward the ground as he continued to nervously fi
nd words.
“I’ve never been caught hunting illegally before,” he finished as his eyes darted left to right on the ground. “I…uh…”
Tara cautiously looked toward Warren and locked eyes before nodding her head toward the doorway. But Warren was unable to see what she was gesturing toward. McNamara’s body blocked his view into the kitchen, but he didn’t need to look inside to know that she saw something.
Tara placed her hand on her gun sitting on her hip and nodded at Warren.
“Mr. McNamara, may I ask why there’s blood on your kitchen floor?” she questioned.
He immediately looked up with an unmistakable look of terror.
“What do you mean?” he asked as he realized how far open the door had become. He quickly closed the gap again as he looked behind him and a blotchy rash broke out under the hair on his chest. “Oh that…that’s from cooking. Like I said, I hunt…” His body, now tense, shielded Tara from the view as well, while his eyes moved wildly around Tara and Warren. He was planning something, Tara could feel it.
“Mr. McNamara, please step outside,” Warren barked.
Tara got a better grip on her gun and slightly pulled it out of the holster on her belt.
“Why? I’m telling the truth!” he yelled as heat rose to his face.
“I said, step outside,” Warren repeated.
But Warren’s words only stirred his frustration.
“I shouldn’t have to do what you say. I didn’t do anything wrong,” he spat, his teeth now clenched with rage.
“Then there’s no reason why you can’t step outside.”
He considered Warren’s words for a moment, but then gritted his teeth.
“If I didn’t do anything wrong, then there’s no reason why I should have to.” He paused for a moment before leaning closer toward them, inches from their faces. “Get the fuck off my property!”
He tried to slam the door, but Tara forced her foot in the doorframe, letting it close on her shoe instead.
He looked down at it, fueled with rage as Warren placed his hand on the door.
“Don’t make this harder on yourself. Just step outside,” Warren repeated again.
He tried to slam the door once more, but Warren pushed back, and Kenny McNamara stumbled, losing his grip for just a moment. The door flung open, leaving the inside of his home fully exposed, and Tara looked toward the kitchen once more.
But just as Tara’s eyes wandered, Kenny darted, his shoulder slamming into Tara’s, almost knocking her off her feet as he sprinted past her.
Tara spun around and picked up running, right on his tail. He fumbled, pulling keys from his pocket as he raced to his car in the driveway. But once he reached halfway across the lawn, Tara closed in on him and grabbed hold of his arm.
He spun around, wild with fury, swinging his fist in the air.
She ducked, just barely as it grazed the top of her head, and she plowed into his abdomen, sending him stumbling backward until he fell flat on his back.
She hadn’t even noticed that Warren was right beside her, and he held McNamara down as Tara sat herself up and cuffed him.
He thrashed about wildly, cussing at Tara. When done, Warren pulled him onto his feet and Tara stood up, steadying her breathing. Warren glanced at her, checking to make sure she was okay.
“I’ll meet you inside,” he said to her as he forced McNamara forward, ushering him to the car.
Tara watched them from afar as Warren opened the back door and McNamara, now defeated, ducked his head and got inside. She was now more eager than ever to find out whose blood was on his kitchen floor. The man was clearly guilty of something or he wouldn’t have run.
She made her may back to the home and then into the kitchen. She was right; the substance was clearly blood. It streaked the floor as if someone were dragged across the ground.
Moments later Warren stood beside her. He took one look around and shook his head.
“Let’s get forensics in here immediately. Find out whose blood this is. We should head back to the station for questioning.”
Tara nodded and for the first time she wondered if this case could officially be over.
Chapter Eighteen
Kenny McNamara sat in handcuffs all alone in the interrogation room as Tara looked in on him through the one-way mirror. He sat hunched over, staring down as if he were trying to make sense of something upon the floor.
Tara heard footsteps and she looked up to see Warren entering the room.
“Anything?” he asked as he looked from Tara to Kenny through the glass that separated them.
Tara shook her head. He had been still the entire time she was viewing him. He just sat there, defeated. But there was something about his face that captured her. It was the way his muscles would tighten around his eyes and lips, and the slight shake of the head each time he had a thought. To Tara, it looked like confusion—like he was mulling over the events in his head, trying to make sense of why he was here. His eyes were red—almost watery. He was scared.
All of a sudden, she realized Warren was staring at her—his eyes moving from her to Kenny, trying to see what entranced her so.
“He seems scared to me,” she said before a pause, but in her mind she had doubts that he even understood why he was really here.
Warren leaned closer, studying the man in front of them.
“He seems nervous,” she added. “I would’ve thought the killer would be too confident for that.”
It went against everything she knew about serial killers. They were confident in their ability to get away with murder—a false empowerment. Of course every killer was different, but she had a feeling this killer, the one they were looking for, was emboldened beyond comprehension. He had taken everything at each scene, yet left only what he wanted to leave. He was manipulating, a game maker. He thought he was too good to get caught, otherwise, why leave anything at all?
“I don’t think the killer would show a nervousness like that,” she added.
It was the same nervousness and confusion he showed when they questioned him at his door, when his chest broke out in hives.
Warren still stared off through the one-way mirror and nodded his head.
“He certainly doesn’t fit a textbook definition,” Warren replied and Tara knew he felt it too. “But sometimes you can’t be too sure.” He then turned to Tara. “That’s how killers like Ted Bundy go undetected for so long.”
A silence fell around them. He was right—you could never be too sure—and only evidence would be able to rule him out.
Suddenly, Tara realized why Warren probably came into the room in the first place.
“Did forensics give us results yet?” she asked.
Tara’s words sent a jolt through Warren and he quickly lifted his eyes away from the Kenny.
“Not yet. They should have results soon. In the meantime, we should question him now,” he added as his eyes moved again to the suspect.
***
Tara and Warren entered the interrogation room and upon entry, Kenny McNamara immediately lifted up his head to reveal his furrowed brow and red, blotchy skin.
Tara walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from him. Warren took a seat next to her. She held a folder in her hand and as she placed it down onto the table, she could see Kenny flinch slightly at the sight of it. He darted his eyes from the folder to Tara and met Tara’s eyes briefly until he cowered and quickly shifted his eyes back down to the ground.
“You want to start by telling us why you ran?” she asked.
“I…uh…” He kept his head down, afraid to look up, and Tara could see the red rash begin to spread further out on his chest like a disease spreading through his body. “I’m not really sure why I did that.” He looked up at his own words. “It was stupid…so fucking stupid.” He gritted his teeth as he spit out the words and shook his head. “How much trouble am I in?”
“How much trouble are you in?” Tara repeated with surp
rise. It was an odd question for him to ask. If he were fully aware that he could be charged with multiple murders, he would know to assume the worst.
He just stared at her and when he didn’t respond she continued. “Whose blood was on your kitchen floor?”
“Whose blood?” he replied with surprise. “I told you, I was hunting.”
“And what were you hunting exactly?”
“Uh…” The overhead light shined down on him, drawing attention to the film of sweat glistening on his forehead. “It was a deer.”
“Is that the truth?” Tara questioned. “Because we are going to know either way very soon when the lab results come back.”
“Uh…” A bead of sweat dripped down the side of his face and he raised his shoulder, wiping his cheek into it. “All right, fine, fine…” he burst. “I hunted illegally.” He suddenly grew silent, afraid to go on, but then decided to speak again. “It was a mountain lion, all right?” He rammed his cuffs into the back of the chair. “Shit!” he yelled. “I’m in deep shit, aren’t I?”
“What were you doing hunting mountain lions?”
“I stuff them and sell them,” he said.
Tara shared a glance with Warren. She had a feeling he was telling the truth.
“Can you tell us what happened when you got in that altercation on the trail?”
“Not this shit again,” he muttered before taking a deep breath. “Just some crazy animal activists. I was hunting and they came up behind me like a bunch of idiots and starting telling me why I was morally wrong.” He rolled his eyes at the thought. “They even handed me a bunch of pamphlets and refused to leave. We got in an argument, one thing led to another, and I socked this chick’s boyfriend and she called the cops.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to be left alone.”
Tara knew Kenny McNamara was clearly violent, but he didn’t sound like someone who would have intent to kill. But she still needed to see if the victims looked familiar to him, so she pulled out their pictures from the envelope and placed them in front of him. He stared wide-eyed at them.