She decided to swing by the grocery store and grab a few cases of bottled water.
Can never have too much.
Mercy pushed her cart down the candy aisle.
She’d picked up four cases of bottled water and decided to grab Truman’s favorite black licorice twists. And maybe some chocolate. There was already plenty of food at her apartment and her cabin. She had everything they could possibly need in case of being snowed in or losing power. Her mental checklist was fully checked off.
The chocolate peanut butter cups caught her eye, and she guiltily tossed a Halloween-size bag in her cart. Feeling watched, she looked up and met the surprised gaze of Brent Rollins.
He had a giant bag of gummy bears in his hand. Four cases of water, identical to hers, were stacked in his cart along with many bags of gourmet coffee, bottles of wine, loaves of bread, several steaks, and a few boxes of sugary breakfast cereal.
Someone else is concerned about the weather.
“More snow’s coming,” Mercy said conversationally.
“We heard,” he said as he gestured toward his supplies.
“Gabriel still staying out there?”
“Yes.” Annoyance flickered on his face, making her bite back a smile.
I don’t think he cares for Christian’s houseguest.
She wondered who did the cooking. Brent was clearly a capable guy, but she figured he drew the line at working in the kitchen. They parted awkwardly, nodding at each other, and Mercy headed to checkout.
Stepping outside, she realized grocery carts won’t roll in unplowed parking lots. She brought her Tahoe to the front of the store and loaded it.
She’d just finished when Jeff called. “The prison can’t arrange the call today. Monday is the best they can do.”
“Their phones don’t work on the weekends?”
“That’s exactly what I asked. No one was amused. Where are you right now?” he asked.
“Just leaving the grocery store.”
“They moved up the snowstorm by several hours, and I heard the schools have already let out their students. Why don’t you take off the afternoon?”
“What about the case?”
“Have any other leads to follow right now?”
Mercy thought. “Not really. Ava and Eddie seem to be on top of it.”
“Then go home. Be ready to talk to Antonio Ricci on Monday.”
She ended the call. Her wished-for opportunity had just presented itself, and she made a decision.
She texted Kaylie.
Get out of dodge #3
Her phone was silent for a long moment. Then came the return text.
Understood
Mercy set down her phone, adrenaline racing through her veins as she started the vehicle. Her brain felt sharp and energized, eager for the challenge. She didn’t know where Kaylie was, but the teen knew to drop whatever she was doing and meet Mercy at location number three, the abandoned service station two miles outside of Bend. From there they’d follow a circuitous route to her cabin as if the main roads were clogged with traffic as in a real emergency. Mercy planned to leave Kaylie’s car hidden behind the station. Her Tahoe was best suited for the current weather, and she could chain up if needed.
They were overdue for an emergency dry run, and the snowstorm added an element of difficulty she couldn’t create on her own. Getting out of town in good weather had been a breeze. The important part was testing out the supplies at the cabin. Living there for a few days showed Mercy what was lacking and where she needed to improve. Last time Kaylie’s boredom had driven her slightly crazy, and she’d added more books and games to her stock. In a real situation, there would be nonstop chores to assign her niece.
As always, her stocked bug-out bag was in the back of the Tahoe. She had plenty of ammo in the bag, but no longer stored a weapon in it, not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands if someone broke into the vehicle. She had her service weapon and plenty of backups at the cabin. Her gas tank was full; neither of them ever let her vehicle’s gas level drop below half a tank. Mercy’s rule was to always have enough to get to the cabin. Kaylie’s vehicle was also ready with a week’s worth of supplies, and the cabin was stocked with a minimum of six months of food. For some nonfood items she had years of supplies, possibly decades.
Preparation.
No last-minute need to make an emergency trip to the grocery store or buy ammo.
Their priority was to get out of town as fast as possible.
Should I message Truman?
She decided to text him later. He wanted to go on one of her practice runs, but she knew he was on duty today and tomorrow.
She pulled a military-looking, handheld two-way radio out of her glove box. A backup measure in case the cell towers no longer worked. Kaylie had another in her vehicle. Turning out of the grocery parking lot, Mercy couldn’t hold back a grin. Her claustrophobia had lifted. Getting out of the city for the weekend was the right thing to do. Two birds with one stone. A practice run and a mental health weekend.
She was pumped.
THIRTY
“Ben got stuck in a snowdrift.” Lucas stuck his head through Truman’s doorway. “He helped dig a truck out of the snow out on the highway and then realized he was stuck too.”
Truman sighed. “Do I need to go get him?”
“I sent Royce. He wasn’t far from there.”
“You know the next call will be that both of them are stuck.”
Lucas grinned. “I hope so.”
“People need to stay home today,” Truman grumbled. “They’re making it worse for everyone else.”
“Most believe they can drive perfectly fine in the snow.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that as I’m shoveling out their tires? I swear people take it as a challenge.”
“They get bored sitting at home.”
Truman’s gaze sharpened on Lucas. His athletic young office manager had a hard time sitting still. “Once you get home today, stay there. No four-wheeling.”
“My phone’s ringing.” Lucas vanished without answering Truman.
“Don’t call me if you get in a bind this weekend,” Truman muttered to his empty office. A glance out his window showed the next round of snow had started. It was still light and pretty, but it would intensify over the afternoon.
His cell phone rang and Mercy’s name popped up on his screen. “Hey, gorgeous. All morning I’ve been thinking about last night.”
“You’re on speaker, Truman. Kaylie is with me.”
“Hi, Truman.” Laughter infused Kaylie’s tone.
“Hi yourself. I heard all the schools let out early today.”
“Yes!” exclaimed Kaylie. “An extra-long weekend. Maybe they’ll cancel Monday too.”
Every student’s hope when it snows.
“We’re headed to the cabin,” Mercy stated.
“What?” Truman pressed his cell against his ear. “Don’t you know how crappy it is out there? And it’s going to get worse. Say, aren’t you supposed to be working?” He glanced at the time. It was nearly one.
“Jeff gave me the afternoon off because of the weather forecast. Oh! And he found out Antonio Ricci is still in prison.”
“You’re kidding me.” Truman’s heart sank. He’d hoped their discovery would crack open the case. “Now what?”
“I have a phone interview with Ricci on Monday. Until then, things are a bit stalled. Most of the evidence hasn’t been processed at the county lab because half the staff couldn’t make it to work this week.”
“I know how that goes.” Truman’s tiny department was at the mercy of lab schedules. “But why are you going to the cabin today? I could have gone up with you next weekend.”
“I’ve been itching to do a dry run. And the snowstorm is a great test.”
He understood. For peace of mind, Mercy needed to know she could get to her cabin under any condition. “I don’t like it. We’ve had call after call of people getting stuck.”
“I’ve got chains, and sitting next to me is a young, strong back to handle a shovel.”
“Hey!” Kaylie protested.
“I also want to check the photovoltaic system I installed last fall. I need to see if the snow is blocking the solar panels.”
“Your roof is pretty steep. The snow shouldn’t stick.”
“It is,” Mercy agreed. “But we’ve had a crazy amount of snow recently.”
“You got your emergency bag?” he asked.
“Of course. And the one from Kaylie’s car too. Did you really need to ask me that?”
“I need my own peace of mind, you know. Try to call me when you get there.” Truman fought not to grumble, knowing the cell service was iffy. The thought of the two women challenging the storm made him uncomfortable. But no one could take care of herself better than Mercy, and she wouldn’t have invited Kaylie if she didn’t feel secure in her abilities.
“I love you,” she told him.
“Awwww,” said Kaylie.
“I love you too. Please be careful.”
“Of course.” Her tone was breezy, confident.
He ended the call and stared at the clock. With the crappy conditions, it would be at least an hour before he heard from her.
How am I going to focus?
“Boss?” Lucas shouted down the hall. “Detective Bolton on line one for you.”
Glad for the distraction, Truman picked up the phone and greeted the county investigator. “Don’t tell me you’re stuck in a snowdrift somewhere,” he said.
“Your department too?”
“All morning. And I don’t expect it to let up.”
“Nope. At least the snow keeps down the big crimes,” replied Bolton.
“What can I do for you?” asked Truman.
“I wanted to run something by you. Do you know if the FBI ever made heads or tails out of the array of slashes on the first two bodies?”
“As far as I’ve heard, they haven’t. Mercy would have told me.”
“Well, I’ve been playing around with the patterns and I think I have an idea.” He paused. “It could be nothing. I’ve been staring at these marks for a few days and my tired eyes have seen everything from circus elephants to airplanes.”
“I doubt they’re elephants.”
“Do you have a copy of the patterns?”
“No.” Mercy had told him about the similarities and penciled out the slashes for him, but he’d been no help.
“Hang on. I’m going to email you some sketches from both bodies.”
“What about Rob Murray?” asked Truman.
“It’s not the same. You saw that one. I think it was simply anger or panic and not planned out like the first two were.”
Truman refreshed his email on his desktop and opened an attachment. It showed outlines of two human forms with the slashes drawn in. The marks were nearly identical on both bodies, but they looked random to him.
“Scroll to the other drawings at the bottom,” directed Bolton.
Truman did. Someone had drawn in dotted lines, connecting some of the slashes.
“I think it’s a dagger or a sword,” said Bolton.
The slashes suddenly made sense. “I see that,” said Truman. “There’s a handle and the guard and then a long blade. I can’t unsee it now. It’s almost too obvious.”
“Okay. I was concerned I’d jumped to assumptions by drawing in the dotted lines.”
“They look logical to me. I don’t think you’re making any huge leaps.”
“I’ve been sketching a lot, connecting lines here and there. This is the first one that made sense.”
“What does it mean?” asked Truman. “I know there were a lot of knives and daggers in Olivia’s home. But what’s the point of carving the symbol into two victims?”
“A dagger can stand for betrayal.”
Truman was silent for a long moment. “You suspect someone is making a point. I think the people intended to receive the message are dead. I wonder if it has anything to do with the Sabins’ collection of blades.”
“I wish I knew if that crazy room of knives was Olivia’s or Salome’s collection,” said Bolton. “Killing Olivia with some sort of dagger or knife when she’s a collector could be a slap in the face, proving that the killer is stronger. If it’s Salome’s collection, maybe the killer was sending a power message through Olivia’s death by using a weapon meaningful to Salome.” He cleared his throat. “The sword is quite prominent in Wicca.”
The hair on Truman’s arms rose. “As a murder weapon? From what I read, Wicca is all about nature and energy. Not violence.”
“The sword is primarily ceremonial.”
“Maybe the patterns are simply to throw you off,” Truman speculated out loud. “Make the police waste hours trying to find the meaning.”
“Then they’ve succeeded.” Bolton colorfully cursed, echoing Truman’s state of mind.
“But what would the sword mean in Malcolm Lake’s death? You heard that Salome visited him the day he died?”
“I did. And I’ve already reviewed the video. It’s definitely her.”
“No one placed her near the judge’s home that night, and no one has proved she was somewhere else.” Truman ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “How the hell does Rob Murray tie into this?” The handyman’s sad apartment flashed through Truman’s mind. “The connection has to be through the Lakes, but I can’t quite see it. There’s been no tie to the judge, just his son.”
Silence filled the line.
“No alibi for Christian Lake, correct?” Truman asked softly. He liked the man, but his instincts weren’t always perfect.
“He had the time to get to Portland, kill his father, and come back to kill Olivia,” Bolton pointed out. “And I know those tire tracks at her cabin haven’t been confirmed, but it sounds like he could have been there.”
“But he was there after the murders. The tracks crossed all the police vehicle tracks.”
“That doesn’t prove he wasn’t there before. Killers often return to the scene of the crime.” Bolton’s sigh was loud over the phone. “I don’t know if this phone call helped me or threw a dozen other possibilities on the table.”
“I don’t want you missing anything.” Truman understood. Linkage blindness happened frequently. It was easy to steer all efforts toward one lead to the detriment of the other leads. The intense focus would make an investigator miss opportunities.
“I don’t want to either.” Bolton ended the call.
Why did he call me? He could have run his theory past Ava or Eddie.
Truman looked at the drawings again. Bolton’s connect-the-dots lines definitely looked like a weapon.
Why?
Boots sounded in his hallway, and David Aguirre stopped outside his door. “Got a minute?” The minister was covered from head to toe with a light dusting of snow. He pulled off his stocking cap, creating a minisnowstorm in the hall.
Truman stood and indicated a chair. “What’s up?”
David twisted his hat in his hands, a struggle on his face. “I don’t know if this is any of my business . . .”
“Why don’t you let me decide that?”
“When you were looking at those particular months in the church records the other day, you were looking for some sort of connection to Salome Sabin, right?”
“Honestly, David, I’m not sure. Since a woman looking like Salome had possibly broken into the church and we had another break-in at the library, I was trying to connect the two in some way. Whether or not Salome was involved remains to be seen.”
“Well, I assumed that’s what you were looking for. I knew she was a year behind me in high school, so I estimated her age and took another look at the records. I looked at later dates than you did.” He slid a ledger out of his jacket, flipped it open to a page, and handed it to Truman.
The book was warm from David’s body heat. Truman noted the dates on the page were nearly a year after the mic
rofiche film months. The name jumped out at him immediately. Salome Beth Sabin. Age two weeks. Olivia was the sole parent listed.
“She was baptized in the church?” Truman wondered aloud. “That surprises me a bit.”
“You never know what faith means to people. Olivia and I had our differences, but we also had a lot of beliefs in common. I suspect the baptism was very symbolic to her in some way.”
Truman stared at the baptism date. He turned to his computer, quickly accessed a database, and verified he was correct. “According to the DMV, Salome was born six months before this baptism date.” He looked up at David. “I can’t imagine the minister would mistake a six-month-old baby for a two-week-old. The baptism record has to be the correct date.”
“How did you know this baptism date didn’t make sense with her birth date?” David scowled.
“When everyone was searching for her, I looked up her driver’s license. I’d noted the birth date to see if she was the age I thought she was.”
“What’s the big deal about a few months?”
“Her father, Antonio Ricci, was sitting in jail during the twelve months before this baptism date.”
David’s face cleared. “Oh.”
Truman nodded. Is it relevant?
THIRTY-ONE
Morrigan is restless.
It’s a struggle to keep her occupied. We’ve been living in the same small space for three days now, and she wants to know why. I can’t tell her someone wants to kill me. And her. Today we played in the snow again. I’ve built more snowmen and made more snow angels than I have in my entire life. We started to construct an igloo, using a rectangular bin to form bricks. It’s challenging and time consuming. Exactly what she needs.
My hands in the snow connect me with its energies. I close my eyes, inhale the crisp scent, and taste the clean air. I pick up a handful of the snow and study the minuscule structures that make up the whole.
“What are you doing?” Morrigan asks me.
I show her the snow on my glove. “What do you see? Look deep.”
My daughter pulls off a mitten and tentatively touches the white fluff. “They’re so tiny. Itty bitty crystals.” She looks at the start of our igloo. “But they can form something so big.” She gently takes my handful of snow and adds it to a brick of our structure. She steps back and looks up at the snow on the pines, an entranced look on her face. I’ve seen it before at our home. She is an outdoor girl and loves to lose herself in the nature around her.
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