by Blake Pierce
“What sort of evidence?” Armstrong asked.
As DeMarco started telling her, a young officer Kate assumed to be Jimmy entered the office with a large map in his hands. He was already unfolding it for them, placing it on the table. He did so a bit clumsily, covering the files that were already there.
“Thank you, Jimmy,” Armstrong said in a way that indicated she wanted him out of there as soon as possible.
Jimmy nodded, looked at both Kate and DeMarco (his eyes lingering a bit longer on DeMarco), and then took his exit.
“I repeat,” Armstrong said, noting the way Kate had looked at Jimmy, “it’s a quiet little town. We don’t necessarily need the roughest and toughest.”
The three women snickered as they got to their feet and situated themselves around the map of Estes. The streets were laid out perfectly, the crisscrossing oddly peaceful in Kate’s mind.
“Here’s Hammermill,” Armstrong said, pointing with a marker. She placed an X on the street and said, “This is the site of the most recent murder. And here,” she said, scanning the map and then placing another X, “is the site of the first murder. Leander Drive, about six miles away.”
Kate looked at the two X’s, knowing it was too soon to really take a pattern away from the location. Of course, she hoped they could find their killer before any sort of pattern could start to emerge.
“I’d like to—” Kate started, but was cut off by her phone. She checked it, saw that it was Allen, and nearly ignored it. But given the way her job had affected their relationship, that was the last thing she needed to do. She had to show him that he was a priority in her life…even when he called out of the blue and interrupted important meetings.
A bit reluctantly, she kept the phone out and looked to DeMarco and Armstrong. “Excuse me a moment, would you?”
She stepped out into the hallway and took a few steps away from the conference room door before answering. When she finally did, she tried her best not to sound as irritated as she felt. “Hey there.”
“Hey yourself,” Allen said. “I thought I’d let you know I’m all checked in. I met with one of the guys from the company I’m out here to see and he already has the next three days planned out. But already…based on just one conversation, he says he has a good feeling about this.”
“That’s great.” But really, even she could hear the distance in her voice. And if she could hear it, she knew he could hear it.
“Sorry…you’re busy, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Two murders, no leads.”
His sigh coming from the other end of the line might as well have been him uttering a curse at her. “Sorry I bothered you.”
“That’s a nasty tone,” Kate said.
“I didn’t mean for it to be.”
“How’s the meeting going?” she asked, wanting to seem supportive and not sound like she had no time to be on the phone.
“It’s okay. I’m just nervous. Things have gone well so far but…you know what? Let’s just wait. You’re busy and…”
“I am. But that’s okay.”
“It’s just that if this meeting goes well, I could retire with a very nice chunk of change through a sizable bonus. You know that, right?”
“I do. And I want only the best for you and hope you get it. But I have things going on here, too.”
“Yeah, I’m used to that and…you know what? It’s not worth arguing about. Let’s just touch base when we’re both back home. Sound good? You live your life, I’ll live mine, and we’ll keep them just as far apart as we possibly can.”
“Allen, you—”
“Gotta go,” he said.
And just like that, the call was over. Kate stared at the phone for a moment, trying to remember if there had ever been a moment in their relationship where Allen had actually hung up on her. The anger that flared up in her was only momentary, dwarfed by the guilt of choosing work over him yet again.
She pocketed her cell phone and headed back into the conference room. Armstrong and DeMarco were still standing over the map, Armstrong running her finger along a certain route.
“Sorry about that,” Kate said.
“No worries,” Armstrong said. “What were you saying before you stepped out?”
Kate had to throw her mind into reverse just to grasp the train of thought she had been on. When she found it, the emotions regarding Allen slid away quickly, throttled by the excitement of figuring out the puzzle of this case.
“I was going to say that I’d like to get a list of available properties that are located between the two houses where the murders occurred. If this squatter theory holds any weight, I’d say the chances are good that he or she is scanning that particular area.”
Armstrong nodded, apparently liking the idea. “That’s a great start…but why that area? Why would the killer—or even just a squatter—be interested in that area?”
“No clue,” Kate said. “So I guess that’s one of the things we need to figure out.”
CHAPTER SIX
It took about twenty minutes for the three of them to pick the properties from the much longer list the three local agencies had provided the police department with. Another ten minutes, and Armstrong had marked each location on the map. In the area sitting between the two homes, there were eleven homes for sale and two for rent. As Kate and DeMarco prepared to head out and start investigating each property, Armstrong compiled a small force in the station. Armstrong would lead this group in finding out how old each property was, and how long they had been on the market. She also sent two other officers out to help shorten the search of the properties for Kate and DeMarco.
The clock had inched by noon as Kate and DeMarco arrived at the first house on the list. It was located a mile and a half away from the brand new build that Bea Faraday had been killed in. This house was not a new build and was described in the real estate listing as having been built in 1995. Located in an older subdivision, it was not nearly as expensive as the two murder scenes. Like the others, though, it was decorated for the lakeside or beach, with lots of driftwood, sand dollars, and teal-colored décor.
But that was all they found there. While there was a basement area that had been recently cleared out, there was no indication that a squatter—or anyone else, for that matter—had recently been there.
The second house on the list was just three blocks away from the first. It was a large property that was rented out over the summer and, until recently, had been lived in during the off-summer months. Lakeside Realty currently represented the property, having placed it on the market four days ago. Based on the absolutely ridiculous price, Kate did not find it hard to believe that no one had showed any real interest in the place just yet. It wasn’t even on the lake. She wasn’t sure what the real estate strategies were when it came to the land developers in Estes, but it made no sense to Kate.
With five bedrooms, two office spaces, an enormous finished basement, and a crawlspace beneath, the property took far too long to look over. But they were thorough, checking every room and potential hidden space. But, as with the first home, there was nothing there.
As Kate and DeMarco got into the car, DeMarco’s phone rang. After checking the display, she looked to Kate. “It’s Armstrong.”
As DeMarco answered the call, Kate listened in. The conversation was brief, and although she only heard DeMarco’s end of the conversation, she was able to piece it all together.
“Well, you’re going to have to tell them to wait…yes, I understand that. No, I don’t think we need to suspend all real estate transactions for the time being…Thank you. Yes, we’ll touch base by the end of the day.”
DeMarco ended the call and reclined her head against the headrest of the passenger seat. “It’s been exactly two hours since we asked for full access to the listed homes and two of the real estate companies are asking if they can schedule showings yet.”
“Business and money trump human safety every time,” Kate said. “It’s sad, but true. Now�
��ready for the third house?”
“Sure,” DeMarco said, pulling up the address. “By the way, two of Armstrong’s guys have checked over three houses. Nothing worth noting at any of them. I’m really afraid this is going to turn out to be a waste of time.”
“By ruling each listing out, it’s not wasting time…it’s knocking a to-do off of the list. And in a smaller community like this, we’re going to have to do quite a bit of the heavy lifting.”
She almost added, Don’t get so discouraged, but decided against it. She didn’t want to come off as some cheesy coach.
Instead, she guided the car out of the driveway and toward the next property on the list.
The third home they checked over was almost exactly between the two crime scene homes. The house stood on a stretch of land that seemed to run between two small subdivisions. It was on the side of the quaint stretch of road that led to several of the lake’s loading areas and docks; the backyard was decorated in beach grass, giving it the appearance that it was not a lake that waited not too far away, but the ocean. The house itself was rather quaint, nothing special but very warm and cozy.
DeMarco unlocked the real estate agency’s hide-a-key box on the front porch and unlocked the front door with the key that was sitting inside. The house was fully furnished—the first of its kind Kate had seen since arriving in Estes—and had been recently cleaned. She could smell the chemical scent of cleaning spray and a subtle undertone of bleach. She wondered if Mary Siebert or any of her co-workers had been the ones to clean it.
From the front door, they stepped directly into the living room. There was a built-in fireplace to the far right, and a huge sliding glass door that looked out to the backyard. To the left, there was a spacious kitchen and a hallway that branched off of it. They checked the immediate spaces and then, finding nothing, went into the hallway. Only a single bedroom sat along the small hallway and it was empty—the single room in the house that was not furnished. The carpet had obviously been cleaned recently, but the slight indentations of past furniture could be seen here and there.
They took the wide flight of stairs off of the hallway to the second floor. DeMarco was in the lead, and Kate followed a few stairs behind her. She was not paying very close attention, assuming this would play out just like the previous two properties. When searching countless homes, all of which were unoccupied, it was far too easy to fall into a formulaic sense of security.
But then DeMarco stopped, nearly at the top of the stairs, and shouted: “Hold it!”
At first, Kate thought the demand was being directed toward her. But the two words were immediately followed by the sound of fleeing footsteps, pounding along the second-floor hallway. DeMarco went running in pursuit, leaping up the last few stairs. Kate followed as fast as she could, coming to the top of the stairs just in time to see DeMarco take a hard left turn into the first bedroom in the upstairs hallway.
Unsure of what exactly DeMarco was going after, Kate drew her sidearm. Just as she reached the doorway, she heard a thud, the unmistakable sound of someone being punched. She heard DeMarco cry out just before she entered the room. When Kate stepped inside, she saw DeMarco on the floor, getting up. On the other side of the room, a man was ducking out of a window.
“Freeze,” Kate said, pointing her Glock in the man’s direction.
But the man had no intention of stopping. As his one remaining leg started to be pulled out of the window, Kate considered putting a round in his knee. But even she knew that was a bit over the top—for now. If she shot the man and it turned out he was nothing more than a squatter or someone who had broken into the home just for the hell of it, the aftermath could be very bad for her.
Instead, Kate dashed to the window and, without even thinking about it, followed after him. There were no curtains or blinds, so she could see the man perfectly as he neared the edge of the roof. He glanced around, then apparently saw something to the right. As he started darting in that direction, running cautiously along the slightly slanted roof that overhung the front porch, Kate recalled seeing a two-car garage attached to the house.
Kate stepped out onto the roof, having to holster her weapon to get out without stumbling over the window frame. As soon as she was out, her entire body froze for a moment. She saw the yard below her, the bright green grass and the street beyond. But once her eyes and brain decided that she really wasn’t that high up at all (maybe fifteen feet), she chased after him. It wasn’t until her feet were moving that she realized just what the hell she was doing. Fifteen feet or not…if she slipped and fell, she had a fairly significant drop waiting for her—a drop that, at her age, would at the very least break something.
But by the time this realization sank in, she was already halfway across the roof. And the man, standing at the edge and looking down to the separate, lower section of the garage roof, was the one who now appeared to be frozen.
“I’d think long and hard about that,” Kate said.
It was as if her voice broke him out of his frozen state. For a moment, it looked like he might leap down onto the garage roof. But at the last moment, he changed his mind and dropped to his hands and knees. He moved fast, sliding his legs over the edge to dangle over the garage roof. But Kate was faster as she rushed forward.
She reached him before he was able to drop safely to the garage roof. She grabbed the one remaining arm that was clutching the roof and tried to pull him up. When she realized he was a bit too heavy for that, she locked his arm under her right arm and then, taking a deep breath and making sure not to look down, she jumped down into the garage roof.
It was less than a four-foot drop but she was still somehow convinced that it was at least twenty. When her feet hit the garage roof, the man’s arm was still trapped between her right arm and her side. Her knees jarred a bit and there was a slight stinging pain in her right knee. But the adrenaline rushing through her controlled all of that.
By jumping, she had wrenched his arm painfully around, bringing him to his knees. Because the garage roof was much less angled than the porch roof—almost straight in the center, in fact—she was able to easily stand and push him down. He fought against her, but not much; it seemed as if he was much more scared of heights than Kate was.
“Want to tell me why you were running?” Kate asked.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the man said. He appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He wore a black T-shirt and a pair of old tattered cargo shorts.
“Running away, punching my partner, and then jumping out onto a roof to escape would indicate otherwise,” Kate said.
“Kate?”
Kate looked up and to the left, still holding the man’s arm and pushing him lightly down onto the roof. DeMarco was hanging half out of the window, an amazed and puzzled look on her face.
“We’re good,” Kate said. “I’m going to let him decide…I can either toss him off the roof or he can come back inside with me.” She pressed down on his arm a bit more. He tried to fight but, at the same time, also pushed back from the edge of the roof, which waited less than two feet from them. “Your choice,” Kate said.
“Inside,” he said, gritting his teeth from the pressure Kate was applying to his arm. “Just get me off of this roof!”
“Excellent choice,” Kate said. She yanked him up by the same arm and twisted it up behind his back. “Now get moving.”
***
When Kate and DeMarco brought the man to the station, Armstrong did not seem all that surprised. In fact, she looked at the man the same way someone might look at an irksome swarm of flies that was ruining a picnic.
Even before the suspect could be hauled into a room for questioning, Armstrong joined them in the hallway, hands on her hips and steel in her eyes.
“Where’d you find him?” Armstrong asked.
“A house on Edgecrest Street,” DeMarco said. “Throws one hell of a right hook.”
“You look like you know him,” Kate said suspiciously.
“Oh yeah, I know him,” she said. “Come this way, please.”
Armstrong led them down the hallway and into a very small office space that apparently served as an interrogation room of sorts. Kate led the man by gently pushing him along. His hands were cuffed behind his back and he proceeded without any hesitation. It was almost as if he had been through all of this before.
When all four of them were in the room, Armstrong closed the door behind them. As Kate sat the man down in one of the room’s three chairs (there was no desk or table), Armstrong leaned against the door.
“Ladies, this is Greg Seamster. Sort of a vagrant. He and I see a lot of one another…don’t we, Greg?”
“Sheriff, I swear, I didn’t do anything! I just needed somewhere to stay!”
Ignoring Greg, DeMarco looked to Armstrong for confirmation. “What sort of a record does he have?”
“It’s a long one. Breaking and entering, loitering, petty theft, public intoxication.”
“Homeless?” Kate asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s why I was in the house,” Greg said. He was desperate sounding, almost like a young kid getting defensive. Kate thought there was a chance there might be some sort of mental disability at play.
“Greg, we’ve been over this,” Armstrong said. “It wasn’t your house.”
“But no one was living there! I wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“That’s true,” Kate said. “But you did throw a punch at Agent DeMarco. She’s a federal agent and you attacked her. That’s rather serious, Mr. Seamster.”
“Sheriff,” DeMarco said, “I take it this isn’t an isolated incident?”
“No. Unfortunately, we’ve caught Greg housing down in places he shouldn’t on several occasions. Sometimes on people’s porches, in a car one time, and yeah, a few times in a vacant rental property. But I have to tell you, Agents…he’s never done anything that would lead me to believe he’d the one we’re looking for.”