by Susan Lund
"That's good, that's good," Nash said and rubbed his chin. "We should be able to identify whoever it is quickly, if it's a girl who's had a missing person report filed and depending on whatever else they can find in the cabin that might identify the victim."
"We can track the missing girls in the area and cross reference to Kincaid's route and schedule. Maybe one of them will match. Then we've got the bastard for another murder."
"Speaking of which, what are your plans for charging Kincaid?"
"The prosecutors are building their case and will be filing charges once they have a solid foundation. But I'm pretty sure we got him for at least five girls. Maybe more. But it's going to take time—the prosecutors aren't going to move until they have a couple of cases solid."
Chief Joe nodded. "That’ll be very satisfying."
One of the techs came over to where they stood watching.
"Looks like we definitely have another set of remains," he said and waved them over into the woods a few feet. There, under some overgrown brush, was a skull.
"When the techs got out here, they noticed some ground had been partially dug up and just went deeper,” Nash said.
"If the killer didn't dig deep enough, scavengers could smell the decay and dig to find the buried body. Then they would scatter the bones. We're lucky we found the other bones so close. Sometimes, they're carried too far from the original site and are never found."
Nash nodded. He stood with his hands on his hips. "I have some uniforms searching the area around the cabin, checking for other evidence."
"Good," Chief Joe said and took out his cell from a pocket in his jacket. “We’re gonna be paying a lot more overtime.” He spoke into it while Michael and Nash walked back to the cabin.
"How are you feeling? Shoulder healing properly?"
Michael shrugged. "Still sore, but that's to be expected. The docs don't know if I'll get full range of motion back."
"You can learn to shoot left-handed."
"I can," Michael replied. "We'll see. I might go into profiling instead of field work."
Nash nodded.
Michael liked being involved in the cases, but what was really absorbing him was trying to figure out just who, of the four possible suspects, had done the killing. Ron McClintock seemed like an unlikely killer, despite the fact that he’d worked the same route as Kincaid or Hammond and had actual evidence in his house. John Hammond was a quiet man who could very well have been a serial killer, and Michael understood why Nash and Chief Joe were both so willing to pin the murders on him. But he'd only mentioned one girl, and he was clearly distraught at being found out. That didn't square with what Michael knew about serial killers. Most didn't feel remorse, although a few he’d read about seemed eager to confess. When caught, they were either silent or they were defiant. They didn't usually cry.
No, it was looking more and more like Kincaid was the leader. He'd killed a young girl on camera to keep her silent, although Michael was sure it was an accident and he hadn't meant to kill the girl—at least, not at that moment.
Kincaid. He set off all of Michael's alarms. He was cold and calculating underneath the false front of religious conversion. He was a criminal, he had been involved in violence, and had even been involved in the sex trade as a pimp and pornographer. But he didn't kill Melissa—the most recent girl to go missing.
Melissa was a head-scratcher.
She fit the victim profile, but she hadn't been killed by Kincaid.
There were three other girls who fit the victim profile and had gone missing between Zoe and Melissa in neighboring counties. Kincaid didn't do them either.
That left Garth.
Garth was a cipher to Michael. He worked with his father in the local delivery business. He obviously hadn't known about the porn shop being run out of the old station or he wouldn't have let Serena run down the stairs to the filming room in the bay.
Did he join his father in the business afterwards, and take up killing? Or did he just keep silent, aware of his father's perversions but keeping mum to protect the family name? Was that why he had been so upset, calling his father a 'son of a bitch' when the two were barricaded in the house close to the police station?
If so, there were three men who knew of and were potentially involved in the cases. In Michael's mind, if John had known about Kincaid, he’d kept quiet, perhaps blackmailed because of his involvement in the porn business and the deaths of both Janine and Patrice. If Garth knew, he’d also kept quiet, maybe out of loyalty to his father.
Whatever the case, the four men were involved, each in their own way.
Which one of them was the real killer?
If Michael were to put money on it, he would have to conclude it was Daryl Kincaid with John as the submissive partner. Perhaps John had kept killing after as part of their business selling snuff films.
That thought made him shiver in revulsion.
The three men watched the techs for another few moments, discussing the route Kincaid had probably taken to get from either Paradise Hill or Kennewick to the cabin. There were deliveries along Route 12 that took Kincaid close to the cabin, so he could have stopped in anytime he was on a trip. The trip took an hour and a half, taking Route 82 and I-90 passing through Yakima, or another twenty minutes if he took the secondary roads.
"Well, what do you say we go get some food?" Chief Joe said, patting Michael on the back. "If we leave now, we'll get back to Paradise Hill in time for Joe's lunch special. If I'm not mistaken, it's hot beef sandwich. The wife and I meet Eugene there every Saturday."
Michael frowned internally. He had no interest in spending any time with Eugene, for lunch or any occasion.
"I should get back home. I have some work to do with Tess on her article."
"Okay, but the offer's open."
Michael nodded, glad that he had an excuse for avoiding the man. He was certain Eugene knew that Michael couldn't stand him. It would make for a very uncomfortable meal if they were both present. No need to ruin what would be a family event by tagging along.
Chief Joe talked about the cases on the drive back to Paradise Hill, trying to figure out who did what and when. When they arrived back in town and Chief Joe dropped him off back at the house, Michael wished he could keep the conversation going, but he just couldn’t tolerate Eugene. Besides, they really couldn't talk too much about the cases—not about anything that wasn’t already public knowledge.
"You sure you won't tag along and have lunch with us? Eugene loves sitting in on discussions of the cases. He really wishes he could have gone into law enforcement, but he was too busy earning a living for him and your sister to go back to school and join the force."
"No, but thanks anyway. I’ve already promised Tess I’d take her out for lunch. If you want to talk about the case later, just give me a call. I can come down to the station if you'd like."
"I just might at that, but maybe I'll take the rest of the day off. It is Saturday, after all. Even us chiefs of police deserve a half-day off, don't you think?"
"Absolutely."
"Since I'm here, I'll pop into Ron's house and see what's up with the technicians. Take care of yourself, young man."
"I will."
Michael walked up to the front door and then turned to watch Chief Joe drive over and park in front of the McClintock house. Michael went inside and after removing his coat and boots, he went to where Tess sat at the dining room table working on her article, typing away furiously at her laptop.
"How was your trip?" she asked when he bent down to kiss her.
"Good," he said and sat beside her. "Found two sets of bones buried outside the cabin. Bloodstains in the bathtub and what looked like the murder weapons or weapons used to dismember the victim. Pretty gruesome."
"Oh my God," Tess said, her expression horrified. "What monsters."
"You got that right. Real monsters."
He sighed and settled in, taking a sheet of paper from Tess and reading her notes while
she peppered him with questions.
Despite the fact he had been advised not to get involved, he couldn't help himself. For Michael, being directly involved in the case was as necessary as breathing.
Chapter Six
Eugene waited in the booth by the window, impatient for his father and mother to arrive. He checked his watch and saw that they were fifteen minutes late. It was common for his father to be late—sometimes the job required the old man to cancel at the last minute—but so far, Chief Joe hadn't texted him or called, so he assumed they were on their way.
Finally, when he was just about ready to call, he saw the sedan drive up, his father's uniform hat visible through the windshield. The old man got out and waited at the curb for his wife. Wearing a scarf around her head against the cold, she struggled to get out of the car. Then she finally made it to Chief Joe's side, and together, the two walked into the diner.
He smiled and waved at them, just like a good son would, when they entered the diner. They came right over, removing their coats and hanging them on the coat rack attached to the booth.
"Sorry we're late, but I just got back into town from Lake Hayden," Chief Joe said. That almost made Eugene laugh out loud with glee, but he held it in.
"Lake Hayden?" he said, putting on an absentminded tone. "Why were you there?"
Chief Joe and his mother slid into the booth and grabbed the menus. "The cabin," his mother said, her eyebrows raised meaningfully. "You know. Daryl Kincaid's cabin." She practically whispered his father’s name, like she didn’t want to remind him of his unfortunate birth parents.
"Ahh, that's right," Eugene said and shrugged. "I forgot. Did you find anything interesting?"
"Did we find anything?" Chief Joe said, his face bearing an expression of smugness that made Eugene want to smack him.
Eugene already knew the answer to that—of course the authorities had found something. Something that would put Kincaid away for the rest of his natural life, Eugene hoped.
"We found a crime scene, complete with a couple of victims, what appear to be murder weapons, and lots of trace evidence.”
“Wow," Eugene said, his eyes wide with affected wonder. "Isn't that something? I always knew he was a crook, but I never would have imagined he was a killer. Do you suppose someone else used it without him knowing?"
Across from Eugene, Chief Joe shrugged. "Anything's possible, but given that the cabin's on his route, and he owned it, it was probably him. There was no sign that it had been broken into. Maybe him and John Hammond both did it."
"Jeeze Louise," Eugene said, meeting his mother's gaze. "Isn't that a kicker? Would you have thought they were capable of being killers, Mom?"
His mom leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know, I never liked either one of them," she said. She never had a good word to say about either John or Daryl. "They were no good in high school and I guess they were no good after."
She'd been one of their contemporaries and had gone to school with both men. Eugene wondered if she’d had a crush on John Hammond.
"You’d never peg John for a killer, though," Eugene went on. "Maybe Daryl, because he was always a criminal, but John? No." Eugene shook his head.
Across from him, Chief Joe closed his menu and smiled at Samantha, their waitress, who had come over to take their order.
"Hi, Chief and Mrs. Hammond. Eugene," she said and gave Eugene her biggest smile, a pot of coffee in her hand. "The usual?"
"The usual," Eugene said. "I never get tired of Martha's food." He glanced at his parents and they were nodding in agreement. Every damn Saturday, they all ate the same damned thing.
"Eugene, you going to the range tomorrow or do you have the boys?" Samantha asked, and he could tell how eager she was to see him. Her father owned the local shooting range and Eugene often flirted with her when he went there. She worked on Sundays.
"I am free and easy as a bird," Eugene replied, closing his menu. He'd been going to the shooting range every Sunday he didn't have the boys and had been cultivating her interest despite not being the least bit interested in her. She'd be a useful dupe if he needed cover, so he encouraged her just enough to give her hope.
"I'll see you there," she said with a big smile.
He pointed an imaginary gun at her and winked when he pulled the trigger. "Not if I see you first," he replied with a huge smile.
She laughed and walked away, a sway in her hips.
There weren't too many single employed men in town.
When she disappeared behind the counter, Eugene turned back to Chief Joe.
"So, what's next in the case? Charging Daryl Kincaid with murder? He's the only one of them left alive."
Chief Joe nodded and folded his arms. "Prosecutors are getting evidence and building a case. When they have enough, they'll charge him. He won't be going anywhere for the rest of his natural life."
Eugene hoped they did the DNA tests quickly. The girls whose remains were located at the cabin were from Hayden, in neighboring Idaho, a border town in a state that had the death penalty. If Idaho prosecutors wanted, they could extradite Kincaid and he'd get the needle. There was enough evidence that it should be an open and shut case.
Daryl had been at the cabin the night before Eugene had taken both girls there, and it was on his route that week, so he’d had the opportunity. Given the dates and the fact that he owned the cabin, it was pretty much an open and shut case.
As for Eugene, he'd been across the state on a trip to Seattle that week, as everyone knew, staying at the Best Western on the edge of town. He'd been there to attend a conference on entrepreneurship because he was interested in starting his own security business. Even had a badge, showing that he'd signed in and picked up his materials.
Then he'd driven the four and a half hours it took to get to the cabin in Idaho, taken the girl from the playground, and that was it. A quick trip to the cabin, play some games, and drive back to Seattle and his hotel room. He had planned it all out so carefully, based on the knowledge of how police got their leads and how they decided who might be a suspect and who didn't even make the list. Twice, he’d employed that technique, using the cabin for his hunting.
Nobody was the wiser. Two girls, six months apart, different parts of the state. He'd buried the body parts in graves next to the cabin, and had neglected to clean up well—at least, not to his own standards—but he'd also made sure not to leave any of his own DNA at the scene. He'd been there on and off as a kid, when Daryl had taken him there for a weekend of fishing, so his prints might be there—but only from when he was a kid, if they hadn't been degraded or cleaned.
Thing was, no one ever cleaned the place. The cabin had been in Daryl's family for several generations, since Grandpa Kincaid had moved from Idaho to Paradise Hill. As far as Eugene knew, no one used it at all. The remote location had come in handy the year before Daryl had gone to prison, and Eugene hoped police and the Feds were smart enough to find all the evidence leading directly to Dear Old Dad Daryl, the perverted son of a bitch.
Yeah, that had been a very productive year. He got the girls, he tied them to Daryl, and he even got to attend two different business conventions and make contacts, which he hoped to use when needed, in case anyone ever asked him for his whereabouts on those particular weekends.
Everyone back home had congratulated him on attending the conventions, encouraging him in his desire to become a small business owner. His connection to Chief Joe meant that local business owners and many homeowners were his first customers, allowing him into their premises to install his security systems. He had great access to all their property, should he ever want to snoop on them or use their locations.
It was pretty sweet, having Chief Joe as his adoptive father. Everyone treated Eugene with a deference he knew he didn't deserve, but what the hell. It made his life a hell of a lot easier.
And it ensured no one ever put him on their list of suspects.
"How's your sandwich?" his mother asked him, watching as h
e cut into the beef sandwich smothered in mushrooms and onion gravy.
"The best," he said and smiled at her. "I never get sick of it."
"How are you doing?" she asked, her voice low. He knew she wanted him to find another wife, and worried that he was alone.
"I'm doing fine, Mother. Thanks for asking.”
"Samantha seems pretty friendly," his mother added, nodding at him suggestively. Like he needed to be reminded what a woman's attention looked like.
"She's a very nice young woman," Eugene said.
Chief Joe glanced over, like he was just as interested in whether Eugene was getting any.
"We're not seeing each other, if that's what you two are thinking. But I might ask her out one of these days. She's a bit young, though," he said, and frowned. "I can't even take her to the bar."
"She's a lovely young woman," his mother said firmly, as if he needed to be encouraged to pursue her, despite her being just nineteen—half his age. "There's more to life than drinking."
People were so biased. Because it was him, his mother wouldn't mind that Samantha was only nineteen. Anyone else and she'd frown in disapproval.
"I talk to her on Sundays at the range," Eugene said, wanting to encourage his mother so she'd shut up. "We have fun. She's a sweet girl."
"She is," his mother said with a smile, finally satisfied that he was actually considering dating the girl.
God, Kirsten would be so damn jealous if he actually dated Samantha. He could practically see her face. Hell, all of their faces. They all thought he was a bit of a loser, having been left by Kirsten for that wimp of a husband, Phil.
If they only knew, their heads would spin.
They talked a while longer about the town and the latest cases Chief Joe was working. His mother couldn't get her head around the idea that Ron McClintock had been involved in any wrongdoing.
"Ron was such a nice man," his mother said, chewing thoughtfully on her food. "I just can't believe he would kill anyone. He took in stray cats and used to donate to the Humane Society every year."