Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls)

by Melinda Leigh

  “No.” Hannah remembered the evening at Carnival. The lights and music had been irritating. But she’d never reacted with dizziness. Maybe that neurologist hadn’t been entirely wrong. She sneezed again. Or it was allergies?

  He grabbed a metal folding chair and opened it in front of a computer monitor. “That’s something you and Brody have in common. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in a bar.”

  Random comment? Or not . . .

  Hannah scanned the room, her belly cringing. Magnetic whiteboards held dozens of images of a teenage girl with long dark hair. In some of the photos, she was looking away, her body projecting discomfort, as if she didn’t want her picture taken. In other shots, she clearly didn’t know she was being photographed. Handwritten notes accompanied each shot. There were pictures of other people as well, and Post-it notes or index cards full of scrawled annotations. A date in red ink headed each group of photos.

  It was a timeline of Chet’s daughter’s disappearance, and the progress of his investigation.

  Hannah brought her gaze back to Chet. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” He leaned over and pressed the on button of the computer tower under the desk. The computer hummed to life. Behind them, a printer beeped.

  “Why haven’t you been up here?”

  Chet dropped into the chair. His gaze followed the timeline. At the very end, he’d scrawled “Happy Birthday” in blue. “Last March was Teresa’s eighteenth birthday.”

  “So you stopped looking for her?”

  He stared at his timeline, his eyes moving from entry to entry, the scrawled notes becoming neater and more detailed as his investigation wore on. “Teresa hit puberty, and she changed. She was a pretty normal kid until then, maybe a little shy. But from the age of about twelve, she became increasingly unstable and erratic. Her mood swings went far beyond any normal range, even for a teenager. The doctors diagnosed her as bipolar. We managed her condition with medication for a couple of years, but the drugs had side effects, and it was hard to get the dosage just right, the way her hormones were all over the place. She was nauseous and lethargic and didn’t want to take the meds. With the medication, she felt sick. Without them, she was uncontrollable. School was out of the question. My wife attempted to homeschool her, but really, her full-time job was keeping Teresa safe. Eventually, she ran away, from us, from the medications we were forcing her to take.” He paused for a few breaths, his eyes roaming over the photos strung around the room.

  “She’s an adult now. She’s no longer a missing child. I can’t make her come home. Even if I got her here, I can’t legally make her take medication. I can’t make her do anything. An adult is free to do as she pleases, even if that means living on the street and eating out of Dumpsters. Unless a person is dangerous to herself or others, and that is damned hard to prove, this is a free country.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Chet pulled a pair of reading glasses from his chest pocket and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt. “Last March, on Teresa’s birthday, I closed the door on this room and promised myself I’d never open it again. I took two weeks of vacation and spent the time hammered on Johnnie Walker. I went to The Pub, turned into my alter ego, Drunken Asshole Man, and picked a fight with the biggest guy in the bar. Luckily for me, he wasn’t a drunken jerk. The bartender called Brody to come and get me. It wasn’t the first time, but I’d been sober for almost a year. My last bender had been right after my wife died. No one was arrested, but word got round, and the captain found out. He gave me my last warning. No drunks on his force. He warned me that I wouldn’t get another break.” He sighed, the exhalation sounding shaky and painful. His eyes met hers. “You don’t have to look so glum. I was coming up on the mandatory retirement age anyway. This week’s stint of stupidity just moved the date up six months.”

  Hannah frowned.

  Chet held up a palm. “The chief’s not a bad guy. He’s running a police department, not a rehab center. I either need to act like an adult and deal with my shit in a responsible manner, or I have no fucking business being on the police force.” He grimaced. “Please excuse the language.”

  “I’ve heard worse in multiple languages,” Hannah said. “And how can you possibly move on after this week?”

  “When the DNA results come back, I’ll have to.” Chet stopped rubbing his glasses. “Closing the door on this room didn’t do anything except let me not deal with my problems. I haven’t even answered the e-mail in the account I set up for the search for Teresa in six months. I didn’t return calls from my contacts. That is denial, pure and simple.”

  “Brody doesn’t think it’s her.”

  Chet’s shoulders slumped. “Brody is an optimist.”

  Hannah wanted to assure him that the dead woman wasn’t his daughter, but who was she to say? Hope was a balancing act. Too little left a person unable to hang on. Too much made bad news unable to bear. She had a clear memory of her father telling her that her mother would be fine. That everything was going to be all right. She could beat the cancer. He believed it in every corner of his soul. In turn, Hannah had believed him, even though the doubt in the oncologist’s eyes told her otherwise. “I wish I could tell you to have faith, but it feels like empty advice. I tend to expect the worst.”

  “Then we have something in common.” Chet rubbed his eyes, put on his glasses, and turned to face the computer. The monitor had illuminated. Icons lined up in neat rows on an enlarged photo of his daughter at a much younger age, maybe five or six, with a smile that didn’t indicate the devastating mental illness that was to come. “Now let’s see if we can do something to help somebody. I’m starting to feel useless.”

  “Where do we start?” she asked.

  “Did you bring the composite sketches?”

  Hannah pulled the drawings from the manila envelope and handed them to Chet.

  “Brody called the cop in Vegas and got him to send the fingerprints they lifted from the rental car.” Chet opened an e-mail. “We have three sets of possible fingerprints, we have a name, which may or may not be the girl’s real name, and a rough idea of what she looks like.”

  “That doesn’t seem like much.”

  “It isn’t, but what we do have is time. I happen to have scads of that to kill, so there’s no harm in trying.” Chet looked at her over the rims of his glasses. “You have anything better to do?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “Now we have two things in common.” Chet pulled a stack of index cards from his drawer. “Let’s start with a timeline.” He dated the first card. “Tell me what happened.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brody stepped out of the courtroom, pulled out his cell phone, and turned it on. He scrolled through his messages and paused on one from Vinnie Schooler, a forensic investigator with the CSI division. Nodding hello to a passing assistant prosecutor, he walked to the end of the corridor and returned Vinnie’s call.

  “Hey, Brody. I got something for you on your Jane Doe case.”

  “Something good?”

  “I think so.”

  Brody pivoted and strode for the exit. “I’m just leaving the courthouse. I’ll stop by in three minutes.”

  The majority of the county municipal buildings were located in a large complex. Brody drove a quarter mile down the road, passed the ME’s office, and parked in front of the CSI unit. Vinnie was waiting for him. Olive complexioned, with black hair and eyes, he looked Sicilian enough to be confused with a Corleone. Vinnie sported a five o’clock shadow by noon.

  “Thanks for calling.” Brody followed him down to the forensics lab. “What do you have for me?”

  “Hair. Some of these samples were found on the victim’s clothing. Others came from the body.” Vinnie crossed to the countertop. He opened a cardboard box and removed a slide. He held it between his fingertips. A single strand of long brown hair w
as coiled on the slide. “That’s the victim’s hair.” Vinnie exchanged the slide for another. “This is a different person’s hair.”

  The sample was short and blond. Brody stepped away from the counter. “Be nice if we had a suspect to match that to.”

  “That’s your job.” Vinnie removed another slide.

  “Can you extract DNA?”

  “Possibly. But that’s not all I have for you.”

  Brody glanced down at a short black hair between the thin sheets of glass. “More hair?”

  Vinnie shook his head. “Dog fur. We found fur from at least six different dogs. We haven’t analyzed them for specific breed yet,” Vinnie grinned. “But either she really loves dogs . . .”

  “Or maybe she works with them.” Ideas reeled through Brody’s head. She could work for a dog groomer, vet, animal shelter, or she visited some place where she was exposed to numerous animals.

  “That’s all I have for now.” Vinnie stepped away from the microscope. “But I’m still sorting through the trace evidence. I’ll call you if I come up with anything else that’s interesting.”

  “Thanks.” Brody left the lab and went back to the police station. He knocked on the chief’s door.

  “Come in,” the chief answered.

  Brody pushed through.

  Chief Horner leaned back and gave Brody his full attention as he succinctly explained what Vinnie had found.

  “Let’s get this done quickly,” the chief said. “Pull a patrol officer to help you chase down this lead.”

  “Who would you like me to use?” Brody asked.

  “Officer Dane came to mind first.”

  “Any specific reason?” Brody rested a fist on his hip.

  “As the first officer on scene, she’s the most familiar with the case.” The chief nodded. “Do you think she’s detective material?”

  A small tinge of sadness eased through Brody. The chief was considering Chet’s replacement. As much as he’d rather work alone, he had to be realistic. He needed help. Chet’s career was over, and the second detective slot needed to be filled. Someone was getting promoted. “I do. Her attention to detail is excellent.”

  “She is very thorough.” The chief picked up a packet of papers on his desk. “I have to clear my morning to read her reports.”

  Brody nodded. “Yes, but all those details are important when a case goes to trial two years after an arrest.”

  The chief sighed. “You’re right. Lance is my other top candidate.”

  “Lance is also a solid cop. Thankfully, that’ll be your decision. My job is to identify that body.” Brody kept his distance from department politics.

  He exited the chief’s office. Stella had been on night shift this week. Officers rotated shifts on a biweekly basis. She’d probably be asleep. But he had no doubt the prospect of helping with an investigation would wake her up.

  He called her on her cell phone and explained the situation. “Are you game?”

  “Yes. Definitely.” Her voice shifted from groggy to excited in an instant. “When do you want me to start?”

  “How fast can you get here?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Half hour.”

  In thirty minutes, she met him in the small conference room. She held a cardboard drink carrier in one hand and a bakery box in the other.

  “With my thanks.” She handed him a coffee.

  “No need to thank me. But I’ll take the coffee.”

  Stella opened the box. “Apple cider donut? They won’t last five minutes once I put them out there.” She jerked her thumb at the doorway.

  “Can’t say no to one of those.” Brody took a donut.

  “I already had two.” Stella went out into the main room and set the box on the counter.

  Brody ate the pastry in two bites.

  “What are we doing?” Excitement shone from her eyes.

  Brody handed her a sheet of paper. “There are thirty-seven vets, kennels, groomers, and dog trainers in Randolph County. We’re calling them all to see if anyone is missing a young female employee. If we don’t come up with anything, we’ll expand our search to the surrounding counties.”

  “How far down the list have you gotten?”

  “Just started.”

  Stella dropped into the chair and tucked an escaped strand of long black hair back into the severe knot at the base of her neck. “Give me the bottom half of the list.”

  By lunchtime, they had thirty-six negative responses and one line with no answer. “This is starting to seem pointless.”

  Brody stood and stretched. “Let’s take a break. We’ll grab a sandwich and stop at this kennel where no one answered the phone. Then we’ll attack the next county this afternoon.”

  Brody unlocked his county sedan. “You want to eat first or run out to the kennel?” he asked over the roof.

  “Let’s do the kennel. I’m still full of donuts.” Stella got into the passenger seat.

  He started the car. “You ate six.”

  “And they were fantastic.” She patted her belly. The soft chatter of the radio underscored their conversation.

  Brody drove to the highway and eased into the right lane. Afternoon traffic was light. “How far is it?”

  Stella consulted the address. “Two miles.”

  A minute later, Brody slowed at the sight of lights flashing ahead of them. An SFPD cruiser had pulled over a minivan.

  “That’s Lance,” Stella said as they passed. “The turn is just ahead.”

  Brody eased his foot off the gas and turned onto a narrow one-lane country road. An empty field ran along the left side of the road. To the right, trees and underbrush grew close to the pavement.

  “There it is.” Stella pointed to a break in the foliage. A sign nailed to a tree read Scarlet Creek Kennels. The metal gate stood open. Brody turned onto the dirt lane. A tan mobile home perched on an incline. Shrubs surrounded the foundation. Behind the house, barking erupted from a brown one-story building resembling a barn. Dogs barked from a dozen long, narrow runs. A few run-down outbuildings dotted the property.

  Brody parked in a gravel rectangle next to the kennel and used his radio to report their location. He and Stella crossed the gravel lot and went through the open door to the barnlike building. A large open space housed rows of dog runs. In the open space in front of the kennels, colored nylon leashes hung on wall pegs. Hallways led in both directions. A sign with a gold arrow directed them down a hallway to an office.

  “Hello?” Brody called out.

  The dogs that had been outside rushed in, leaving the heavy rubber dog doors flapping. Barking echoed in the space. Inside the runs, piles of feces dotted the concrete. He walked to the closest chain-link gate. A black lab whined and wagged on the other side. Two stainless steel bowls sat empty.

  “Remind me never to board my dog here.” Stella stuck her fingers through the chain links of a kennel gate. A wiggling spaniel on the other side licked her fingers.

  “I don’t like it. Something is wrong here.” He scanned the runs. “No one has cleaned these kennels for at least a couple of days. Water bowls are low or empty.”

  The din in the kennel dimmed as some of the dogs settled.

  “Let’s see if anyone is in the office.” Brody led the way out of the main kennel area. The door closed behind them, muffling the noise. Following the “Office” sign, they turned down the corridor. Brody glanced in open doorways as they walked. Storage rooms held dog food and grooming supplies. One room contained a washtub and a stainless steel grooming stand. The office door was open. He knocked on the jamb and poked his head inside. No one sat behind the metal desk.

  They went outside. The same being watched feeling that had bugged Brody outside Hannah’s this morning whispered across his nape. “I don’t like it.”

  Stella shrugged. “M
aybe no one’s home.”

  “I think somebody’s here.” Brody could feel eyes on him. “Call for backup. Maybe they’ll open the door for a uniform.”

  Dispatch reported back that a unit was en route.

  “Probably Lance.” Stella leaned on the car. “We’ll need to get the SPCA officers out here to see to those dogs.”

  “As soon as we know the property is clear, we can make sure they all have water.”

  When Lance arrived, he got out of his patrol car, and Brody filled him in on the situation.

  They went up to the door. Stella rang the bell, and Lance hung back, his gaze scanning the windows. No one answered. Brody thumped on the door with his fist.

  “Police,” he called.

  A creak sounded from inside the house.

  “We need to ask you a few questions,” Brody yelled.

  Craning his neck to peer into the front window, Lance moved sideways.

  A gunshot cracked. Glass broke. Lance’s body jerked and folded to the ground.

  Stella shouted into the radio on her collar, “Officer down.”

  Hannah closed her eyes and retold the story. Her hand stroked the dog sitting at her side. Though she tried to stick to the facts, panic crawled around inside her as she detailed the last minute of the attack, Jewel being dragged out of the rental car. Sweat broke out on her back. Chet got up and went downstairs. Floorboards squeaked and water rushed. He came back a minute later with a glass of ice water in his hand.

  He handed it to Hannah. “Sounds like you did everything you could.”

  Unsure if she could swallow in her tight throat, she took a very small sip. The icy liquid soothed. “It doesn’t feel that way.” Her mind rewound to last spring. She pictured Carson being chased and the fire at Lee’s house. It hadn’t felt like she’d done enough then either.

  “Never does, after the fact.” Chet squinted at her. Guilt puckered his brow. “I’m sorry I acted like an asshole last night. You got pulled into another dangerous situation because of me.”

  “Brody sent me outside. It was my choice to go back into the bar.”