by Dani Pettrey
“I saw them.”
“When was this?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “About three months back. Lisha and I were up in New Bern for the weekend, and I spotted Chase and Kasey walking down by the river. They were holding hands, then Chase leaned over and gave her a kiss.”
“Did you tell Ed?”
“I should have, but I knew it’d break his heart to find out she was dating him. Everybody knows Chase is only after one thing.”
“Then how did Ed find out?”
Jayce shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know” was the remainder of Jayce’s answers, and in this case, she truly believed he didn’t know.
She waited in the hall until Mason exited the interrogation room Erik was being held in. Frustration blanketed his face, irritation sparking in his eyes.
She linked her arms across her chest. “That good, huh?”
Noah exited the interrogation room he’d been in with Lucas.
“How’d it go, boss?”
“He gave up Gwyneth and admitted to removing the bolt, but he swears he had no idea Greg would be out there and that he had nothing to do with Chase’s death.”
“We need to go speak with Ed Scott right away,” Rissi said.
Mason looked to Rissi. “Ed?” He tucked his chin in. “Why?” His eyes narrowed. “What did Jayce say?”
“You’re not going to believe this.”
SIXTY-TWO
Rissi brought Mason up to speed in the car as they headed to the Scott residence. They didn’t have any hard evidence—nothing but Jayce’s confession—so unless they got a similar confession out of Ed, they weren’t much closer to determining the cause of Chase’s death.
Hadley called, his timing nearly perfect.
“Hey, Hadley,” Rissi said. “You’re on speaker. Please tell us you found something.”
“I have, indeed. There wasn’t stingray venom in Chase Calhoun’s blood, and with the time since death and the fact the vial of blood was cooled for a sufficient amount of time, I can say with almost one hundred percent certainty that a stingray was not the cause of death.”
“Is that finding sufficient proof?” Mason asked, praying it’d hold up in court.
“I’d say so, but there’s more,” Hadley continued. “I did find poison in his system, which is probably where the white foam around his mouth in his mask came from.”
Mason frowned. But he’d just said—
“But it wasn’t stingray venom. It was arsenic.”
“Arsenic?” Rissi said.
“Afraid so, and though his body was badly burned, I still managed to recover a piece of metal that was lodged in Chase’s rib—the tip close to his heart. It looked almost like a barb.”
Stingray tails were most definitely not made of metal, so what had he been stabbed with? “So you’re saying . . . ?” Mason asked.
“Chase Calhoun was stabbed in the heart with a metal weapon that I’m betting had arsenic in the tip.”
“Wouldn’t the arsenic paralyze him?”
“Most definitely.”
So Ed, if it was Ed, dove down and stabbed Chase with a poison-laced barb, rendering him paralyzed. “Sounds like he wanted to be up close and personal when he took his life, but he needed Chase to be unable to communicate topside.”
“The topside crew reported hearing him grunt,” Rissi said. “That must have been when he was stabbed. Do you have anything else for us?”
“No, that’s it for now.”
“Thanks, Hadley,” Mason said. “Call when you learn more.”
“Will do.”
Mason followed Rissi along Ed Scott’s landscaped stone path leading to his front door. Such attention to detail, every pebble in place and not a single weed.
Rissi knocked, and a woman answered—about Ed’s age with soft auburn hair cut short and behind her ears. The woman from the picture in Ed’s bunk. “Yes?”
“I’m Rissi Dawson, and this is Mason Rogers. We’re with CGIS. We’d like to ask you some questions about your husband and your daughter.”
She hung her head. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
Rissi looked at Mason before entering.
“Please take a seat,” Mrs. Scott said, gesturing into the living room. Rissi and Mason sat on the floral sofa, and she sank into the first living room chair she reached. “When he didn’t come home, I knew he did it.”
Rissi looked at Mason, then back to Mrs. Scott. “Did what?”
“Killed that monster for what he did to Kasey.”
Mason looked to the picture on the mantel of the girl. She looked like a younger version of Mrs. Scott. “Kasey is your daughter?”
“Yes.” She burst into tears.
“Here you go,” Mason said, handing her a handkerchief from his back pocket.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Scott sniffed.
“Can you tell us what happened?” he asked in a gentle voice.
She nodded, tears streaming down her face. She lifted the handkerchief, dabbing her eyes with it.
“I’m sorry,” Mason said. “I know this is difficult . . . but a man’s dead.”
“Who deserves to be.” Her entire frame shook.
Mason looked back at Rissi, his surprise echoed in her eyes.
“Why does he deserve to be?” Mason asked. Chase dating their daughter must have been upsetting, but enough to murder the man?
She sniffed in puffs of air. “Because he . . .” Another sob racked her body. “He . . . raped our baby.”
Bile burned Mason’s throat.
As Noah entered Brooke’s house with coffee and croissants for all, Emmy held up an evidence bag with a long blond hair in it. “We found this caught in the top hinge of the pantry door.”
“Brodie doesn’t have long hair,” Brooke said, coming down the stairs.
Noah’s gut clenched. Someone else was definitely stalking her.
“We also found a black glove in the woods behind your house,” Logan said. “We flipped it inside out, and Em found a match.”
“That quick?”
Em smiled. “The fingerprint scanners are mobile nowadays.”
———
An hour later, Noah entered the interrogation room with a folder and a cup of coffee.
Tony Krenshaw was six-foot-two, two hundred pounds, with blond hair that fell below his shoulders.
Noah set his coffee on the table separating them and pulled back a chair with a squeak as it tracked across the floor.
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Krenshaw? Water? A soda?” He didn’t want to offer anything hot that he could chuck at Noah. Sadly, other suspects had helped institute that rule.
Krenshaw’s gaze remained locked on the video camera mounted in the upper righthand corner of the room.
“Mr. Krenshaw?” he asked again at the man’s distracted silence.
No answer.
Noah narrowed his eyes. Something was off with the man. He shifted his gaze to Krenshaw’s fidgeting hands and zeroed in on the torn skin surrounding his nails, the deep scratches along his forearms.
“Mr. Krenshaw,” he said again, his tone more pointed.
Finally, Krenshaw pulled his bleary gaze from the camera and fixed his bloodshot eyes on Noah.
“Mr. Krenshaw. I’m going to ask you a series of questions. I need you to do your best to answer them. Okay?”
He nodded, scratching his misshapen nails along the skin from his wrist to his elbow.
Noah turned to the two-way window and signaled Caleb to the door.
Caleb opened the door, and Noah indicated for him to wait there.
“Please excuse me one moment,” Noah said, standing.
Krenshaw’s empty gaze rested on his fingers as they dug into his skin.
As Noah strode toward the door, Caleb stared past him at Krenshaw. “Everything okay?”
Noah shook his head.
Caleb handed Noah a printout. “Logan dug up some helpful informa
tion. Krenshaw’s wife died after a Coast Guard team was called to an accident at sea.” He exhaled. “Brooke was the medic.”
Noah scanned the report and turned his attention back to Caleb. “We’re going to need a psych eval on Mr. Krenshaw. See if Margo’s on call. She’s the best.”
“Will do,” Caleb said with a nod.
“See if you can get her here fast. I’m worried this guy’s going to hurt himself. We’ll need someone watching him at all times.”
Caleb studied the man over Noah’s shoulder, his brows hiking up. “Agreed.” He took a sharp inhale. “I’m just glad we got him when we did. He clearly needs help.”
Noah knew exactly what Caleb was thinking, and he agreed. A mentally unstable man had been in Brooke’s house while she was there alone.
He deeply feared what could have happened, what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did.
A wave of queasiness sloshed through his gut at the possibility.
He closed his eyes to utter a prayer of thanks that God had led him there just in time, and that Brooke was safe in the station.
SIXTY-THREE
Thankfully, Margo was on call and at the station in under an hour.
Given Mr. Krenshaw’s state, Noah had followed protocol and waited to continue speaking with him until after his full psych eval.
Unable to listen in because of doctor-patient confidentiality, Noah met Margo as she stepped from the room.
She handed him her assessment.
“What do you think?”
“You were right. He’s mentally unstable. I’ll need more time with him, but my initial assessment is that his grief over his wife’s loss intensified his depression that he’s had since he was a teen. As can happen when we get older, his age, grief, and time decreased his meds’ effectiveness, and he stopped taking it because he didn’t believe it was making any difference. Unfortunately, left untreated his condition worsened, and he’s entered a state of psychosis. He needs to be hospitalized and treated in a psych ward.”
“Of course,” Noah said, his heart aching for the man and his situation.
“His hair is a match,” Logan said, coming up behind him.
“So there is no doubt he was the intruder in Brooke’s home.” Noah turned to Margo. “He’ll be charged with breaking and entering, harassment—the list goes on.”
“I understand,” Margo said. “Charge him, and when he’s arraigned, I’ll recommend in-patient treatment.”
Given the man’s loss and mental state, Noah took no pleasure in reading the man his rights as he made a formal arrest, but he was relieved Brooke’s tormentor would be securely behind bars.
Krenshaw waived his right to a lawyer, so Noah began his official questioning.
“Why were you in Brooke Kesler’s home last night?”
“To punish her,” Krenshaw said.
Noah swallowed as fear over what could have happened tracked through him. “Punish her for what?”
“Killing my Sally.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, but Medic Kesler didn’t kill your wife,” he said, not sure how much was actually getting through to the man. “She was the medic who tried to save her.”
Krenshaw slammed his fisted hands on the table, shaking the cup of water Margo had left behind. “She failed, and Sally is dead.”
“But it wasn’t Medic Kesler’s fault. She did everything she could to save your wife.”
“Wrong! If she’d done everything, Sally would still be alive. She killed my wife, so she deserved to be punished.”
“That’s why you left her threatening messages?” Which now made sense in light of the accident report. Krenshaw believed Brooke had killed his wife, and he planned to do the same to her.
“Yes,” he seethed.
“And left the black widows in her car?”
“Yes, but she eluded their venom. So I had to go back.”
“Last night?”
“Yes.” His legs bounced in an agitated beat.
“And what did you plan to do?”
“End her life like she ended Sally’s.”
The thought of Krenshaw succeeding squeezed the breath from Noah’s lungs.
After taking down his full confession, Noah led a cuffed Krenshaw from the room.
Caleb met him in the hall. “I’ll take him to a holding cell while you put in for his arraignment.”
Noah nodded, watching Caleb lead Krenshaw away.
Thank you, Lord, for protecting Brooke.
“What’s wrong?” Brooke asked as he entered the break room.
“His charges just got upped to include attempted murder.”
Brooke’s face slackened. “What? He was going to kill me?”
“Come here.” Noah tugged her into an embrace.
“Did he say he was there to kill me?” she said against his chest.
“Hey,” he said, tipping her chin up. “Look at me.”
Her gaze locked on his, her eyes trusting.
“Krenshaw is going away for a long time. You’re safe now.”
She shifted. “I remember his wife. I saw the newspaper article about her death.” She looked down at the ground. “I tried to save her . . . But what if . . .”
“Hey.” She stepped back from his embrace, and his arms suddenly felt empty. “Don’t play that game. Everyone knows you’re one of the Guard’s best medics. You have the reputation of giving one hundred and ten percent all the time. You’re gifted, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Thanks,” she said, shuffling her shoe along the floor. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“I was happy to.”
“I think I’ll go home. Take a hot bath, watch a good movie.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
Rising on her tiptoes, she placed a kiss on his cheek before waving good-bye.
He remained rooted in place—his entire being transfixed on that kiss. What was happening to him and his self-proclaimed bachelorhood?
Rissi sat silently beside Mason as they drove upstate to Ed Scott’s fishing cabin.
Ed had told his wife before he’d set anything in motion that one day they’d come for him, and to avoid embarrassing her by being hauled out of their home of twenty years in front of their neighbors, he’d head upstate. Somewhere private. Somewhere peaceful.
As soon as they had Ed in custody, they’d have to find and talk to Kasey, whose whereabouts Lena Scott hesitated to share. Perhaps Ed would be more helpful in that endeavor. In the meantime, Caleb was tracking down Kasey’s location, but given the circumstances, Noah had asked that Emmy be the one to question her. It was a good call. She was the right team member for the job.
Mason reached out and took hold of Rissi’s hand.
She shifted, looking out the window. Mason rubbed her hand with the pad of his thumb.
He took a deep inhale and released it slowly.
I know you are in control, Father. You have a plan. You can take something as ugly as what this evil man did to Kasey and bring restoration. That’s what I pray for, Lord—renewal and restoration for Kasey and this family.
Ed’s cobalt F-150 sat parked in front of the log cabin, the lake spread out in front of it.
Ed sat on a pier, a fishing rod in one hand, a beer in the other.
“Took you long enough,” he said as they crunched their way through the fallen autumn leaves.
Mason exhaled. How could he arrest the man when, had Mason been in the same place, he would have been tempted to do the same thing? If anyone ever laid another hand on Rissi . . .
Adrenaline burned through his veins. He wouldn’t do it. Judgment was the Lord’s. But he’d be tempted. This wasn’t going to be an easy arrest.
Rissi’s hand landed on his back. She didn’t have to say anything. She knew.
He nodded and headed down the pier.
The weathered boards creaked beneath his footfalls.
“I’m afr
aid we’re going to have to arrest you for the murder of Chase Calhoun,” he said.
Ed held up his beer bottle. “Mind if I finish this first?”
Mason looked back at Rissi, and she nodded her agreement.
“Sure,” Mason said.
“Want one?” He indicated the blue cooler by his Adirondack chair.
“On duty, but thanks.”
“You can at least take a seat.”
“All right.” Mason waited until Rissi joined them and was settled in an Adirondack chair before taking a seat.
“It’s a beautiful sunset,” Ed said, as he cast his line over the rippling water.
Mason looked at the orange and purple streaks across the sky. “It sure is.”
“Outside of Lena and Kasey, I think that’s what I’ll miss most. Not getting to see the sunset from my cell.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police when it happened?” Mason asked. No report had ever been filed. He’d checked.
“Kasey was mortified. She refused.” He washed down a swig of beer. “That monster turned my beautiful girl into a shell of herself. If killing him is what it took to make her feel safe again, I have no regrets.”
SIXTY-FOUR
Mason escorted Ed through the station door. He’d seen no need for cuffs. The man had been the most compliant prisoner ever—had waived his right to a lawyer and written out his confession in the back seat of Mason’s car.
He’d done what he believed was right and understood the consequences.
Mason could sympathize with Ed’s thinking, but he still had to believe, or at least pray, if something like that—God forbid—ever happened to someone in his life, he would remember he answered to a much higher authority.
The admonition from Romans 12:19, saying that the Lord alone has the right to take revenge, resonated in his mind.
“Daddy!” A young woman Mason recognized from the graduation picture on the Scotts’ mantel ran to Ed.
He engulfed her tiny five-two, maybe one-hundred-and-ten-pound frame in a bear hug.
“I’m so scared for you, Daddy.” Tears streamed down her freckled face. “I should have gone to the police.”
He brushed her strawberry blond hair from her eyes. “He’s gone now. You don’t ever have to be afraid again.”