by Blake Pierce
Maybe that one was supposed to be next on his list, Kate thought.
Apparently, DeMarco had been thinking the same thing. “We have to assume the keys to homes that were not murder sites could have been next on his list,” she said. “We’ve just confirmed that the key marked Leander unlocked the home Bea Faraday was killed in. We’re headed over to Hammermill now.”
“So, it’s him, isn’t it?” Armstrong asked.
“I’m not ready to chisel it in stone just yet,” DeMarco said, “but it certainly does seem like it.”
Again, it was another beat where Kate and DeMarco were on the same page. Kate glared out of the window, knowing that Hammermill must be checked out just for the sake of protocol. But with every second that passed, she started to grow anxious, feeling that the man who had killed three real estate agents was currently sitting in the interrogation room of the Estes Police Department, guilty as hell and already captured.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The key that had been marked Hammermill did indeed unlock the door to the Hammermill murder scene. Once Kate had DeMarco confirmed this, they reconvened back at the police station, where Matt Redman was officially placed under arrest for the murders of Tamara Bateman, Dhayna Tsui, and Bea Faraday.
Kate watched Redman closely as Armstrong recited the charges against him, as well as his rights. He looked puzzled and clearly taken off guard. She’d seen many guilty parties attempt both looks at the same time and it usually came off as looking comical. But for just a moment, Matt Redman looked as if he had no idea where he was. He looked like he had just woken up in some place he had never been before, his brain trying its best to make sense of the situation.
Kate did not like that look. It appeared too genuine. Still, though, his arguments against the charges were pretty much non-existent. He simply stared at them, dumbfounded, and was finally able to get out a single question.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
And even then, at the end of the question, there was a degree of helplessness to his voice. It was not the sort of thing that could be faked very well.
Kate slowly made her way out of the room, with DeMarco on her heels. “It feels right,” DeMarco said. “He even looks guilty now that we’ve dropped the charges on him.”
“He does,” Kate admitted. But the look on his face had her second-guessing herself. It was not a great way to feel as she watched DeMarco place a call to Duran. She knew what DeMarco was doing; she was letting Duran know that they had a killer—mainly so Duran could then contact the governor so he’d stop breathing down the bureau’s neck.
Kate walked back into the small conference room they had been using as HQ. She looked at all of the notes on the dry-erase board, and the scattered papers on the desk. She sat down at the desk, stretching out her right leg. The knee was getting sore, the pain lessening but the effects of the injury starting to settle in. She tested the area with her fingers, finding nothing out of place, but tenderness throughout.
“I’m going to make you see a doctor for that.”
She turned around and saw DeMarco standing in the doorway. Slowly, she entered the room and closed the door behind her. “I’ve seen you like this before, you know.”
“Like what?”
“Worried that we’re not done even though it looks like we are,” DeMarco said, sitting down across from her. “And when I did see you like this, you turned out to be right. So what is it? About half an hour ago, you seemed to be comfortable with the idea that Matt Redman was our killer. But your expression and attitude make me think you’ve changed your mind.”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve changed my mind,” Kate said. “But did you see his reaction when Armstrong dropped the charges on him? He was legitimately shocked. I’ve seen suspects try to fake that look before. Some are quite good, but it still comes off as unauthentic.”
“Having those keys, though…”
“Yes, I know. But still, if we dig a bit deeper, is that really enough? I mean, we know he has a history of stealing things. What better way to break into a home to steal things than with a key?”
“So you think him having keys for two of the murder scenes is just a coincidence?” DeMarco asked, clearly surprised.
“I don’t know. But I’m willing to at least consider it as a coincidence. Think about it,” she said, well aware that she was now merely thinking out loud, putting her own thoughts into order as she sifted through all of them. “We know that he feels the people he has worked for were money-hungry. And the builders and contractors, too. Henrietta did say he also resented the real estate agencies, but nothing so strong that it would drive him to kill real estate agents. If he had a point to prove through murder, wouldn’t it make more sense to go after the men he had once worked for—or even the builders?”
“It could be his messed up way of ensuring the costs and values of the homes dropped a bit,” DeMarco pointed out.
Kate nodded, as it was a very good point. But even then, all of that did not fit the MO of a man who had, so far, committed nothing worse that petty theft and situational domestic abuse.
“If anything, though,” Kate said, “Redman having those keys really only supports his old chargers of theft. Of course, it also makes him a very likely suspect to the murders but…I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right.”
She watched DeMarco’s face as she took all of this in. Slowly, little seeds of doubt started to work their way into her expression, most notably at the corners of her mouth, where a very small frown was starting to form.
“Shit,” DeMarco said. She shrugged and sighed, leaning forward in her seat. “Well, if nothing else, we have an arrest on the records. Even if we’re wrong, it buys us a ton of time with the governor. But Kate…I can’t just assume we’re wrong on this. I mean…if not Redman, then who?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
But as she said that, an image popped up in her mind. She saw an old car, a man sitting inside of it—parked in front of a house that was for sale. She had started speaking to him for just a moment before she had been interrupted by the shouting match between Regina Voss, DeMarco, and some other local woman.
She hadn’t forgotten about the car or the man behind the wheel, but in the pursuit of Matt Redman, the car and its owner had become much less of a talking point.
What was that man doing there anyway? she wondered. She tried to recall the scant conversation she’d had with him but it was faint at best. She thought it might be worth making a call to see if they could pull the records for all black Tauruses in the area. It would be a needle in a haystack sort of search because she wasn’t sure what year the model had been, so they’d have to go back pretty far. She wondered if it would even be worth it.
Before she could latch onto it, there was a knock on the door. Armstrong opened the door and stepped inside with an apologetic look on her face. “Sorry,” she said. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“Not at all,” Kate said. “What do you need?”
“I thought you’d want to know that I just got off of the phone with the governor. He’s asked me to send over a report that he can use for a television news announcement. He also wants to know if the lead agent on the case is going to be available to be a part of it.”
“So he’s assembling a press conference?” Kate asked.
“In my opinion, yes. But he was very careful to not call it that.”
Kate grinned at DeMarco. “Like it or not, you’re the lead agent. So you have fun with that.”
Kate was happy to see that there was some excitement in DeMarco’s face. Kate knew it would be the first time the younger agent had been tasked with such responsibility—the first time her contributions to a case would be noticed by the public in any capacity. She was a good agent and as far as Kate was concerned, she deserved the attention.
Armstrong, meanwhile, seemed as if she was out of her element. She looked like she had wandered into a room she had never seen before and though sh
e wanted to help, she wasn’t sure where to pitch in. Kate wondered what her own thoughts were on the charges they had brought against Redman now that he had officially been arrested.
“Well, you have fun with the governor,” Kate said, playfully slapping DeMarco on the leg. She got up and started for the door where Armstrong was still standing, as if in some sort of daze.
“Where are you going?” DeMarco asked.
“Just to check on something.”
“Kate…if Redman isn’t our guy and we make this big announcement on television and to the papers…”
“I know. But maybe it won’t come to that.”
“What’s going on?” Armstrong said.
“Agent Wise is having second thoughts on the arrest of Matt Redman,” DeMarco said with as much good nature as she could muster.
“What?”
“It’s nothing to worry about right now,” Kate said. “You go on here as usual, as if we know for certain Redman is our man. I just want to follow up on a few things.”
Armstrong looked at both of them with some concern and then finally gave a nod before leaving the room. When she was gone, DeMarco looked to Kate and put as much intensity into her stare as she could.
“You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
“No.”
“How’s the knee?”
“It hurts a little. Sore. But I won’t be running or anything like that. I just want to check out one of the properties…the one I was looking into right before you got to experience the wrath of Regina Voss.”
“And then what?”
Kate wasn’t thrilled with how intimately DeMarco was grilling her, but she understood it. This was her case; she was the lead and she wanted to make sure every loose end was tied up and everything was taken care of. Having her partner wandering off on the verge of a press conference following an arrest would no doubt be making her uneasy.
“And then I’ll be back. I may try to talk to the agent representing the home, but that’ll be all.”
“Okay. Just…please try to be back in time for the press conference. The idea of standing up in front of live mics and cameras makes me nervous as hell.”
“I’ll do my best,” Kate said. “Thanks, DeMarco. You’ve done well here.”
DeMarco had time to only smile before Kate left the room. Kate let that smile sit on her mind for a while. She was beyond proud of DeMarco. Given enough time and tutelage, she was going to be an incredibly proficient agent—maybe with a career to rival her own. It made Kate want to stay true to her word, of getting back to the station before the flurry of lights and cameras showed up.
Kate made her way to the parking lot and got into the car she and DeMarco had been sharing for the last few days. She reached into the back seat for the folder they had kept most of their files and notes in, pulling out the list of available properties for sale in the Estes area. She scanned the list for the house in question—a five-hundred-thousand-dollar listing on Duffey Street—and was momentarily struck with a terrible bit of foreshadowing when she saw that Tamara Bateman’s name was listed as representing it.
Kate pulled out her phone and called Lakeside Realty. She thought the male vice that answered sounded familiar. “Lakeside Realty.”
“Is this Mr. Towers?” she asked.
“It is. How can I help you?”
“This is Agent Wise. I’m looking at the list of available properties in Estes again and noticed that Tamara Bateman was listed as representing the house located at 517 Duffey Street. I was wondering who might have picked that up.”
“That would be me, actually,” Brett Towers said.
“You think you have time to meet me out there?” Kate asked. “I’m working on a hunch here and would like to get inside.”
“Yeah, I think I can manage that. Can you give me half an hour?”
“Sure. If you can make it faster, though, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
They ended the call as Kate pulled out of the police station parking lot. The day was reaching its end and she had no idea how long it would be before the news crews started to descend on Estes. But she figured giving Brett Towers half an hour wasn’t going to be the end of the world. With that in mind, she turned her car in the direction of Duffey Street. The closer she got, the more clearly she could see that battered old car and the seemingly innocent man sitting inside of it.
And the clearer that image got, the more certain she became that in all of the commotion with Regina Voss on the street, she may have allowed something to slip through the cracks.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
She arrived at 517 Duffey Street fourteen minutes after leaving the police department. The car she had seen yesterday was not there. In fact, there were no cars parked along the street for a fairly good stretch of space. As Kate parked, she noticed another house farther down the street that was also for sale.
If houses for sale were somehow part of the killer’s motive, she sure had a hell of a whole lot to choose from in Estes, she thought.
She got out of the car and walked to the front porch. She was not at all surprised to find the door locked. The little lock box with the key inside sat just to the right of the door. As she observed it, it occurred to her that Matt Redman’s little stash of keys had not hidden one for a property on Duffey Street.
Curious, Kate left the porch and walked around to the back. She could tell the house was relatively new, though not an entirely new build. Still, the siding had recently been power washed and she was pretty sure the planted shrubs that ran halfway along the sides were all new and refurbished. She walked to the back of the house and looked across the large backyard. A flower garden sat along the back fence, as well as a strip of dirt sprouting something that she thought looked like dying tomato vines.
She came to the edge of an expansive back porch. Before climbing the stirs, though, she crossed a small cement patch that ran beneath the porch; it was a secondary patio of sorts, complete with an outdoor sofa and glass table. She tried the door there, apparently leading to a downstairs area. It, too, was locked.
She finally walked up the porch steps onto the gorgeous back deck. Like the siding, it had recently been cleaned. She saw that there were actually two entrance points to the deck—one through a set of sliding glass doors to the far right of the deck and then a doorway on the left. The door contained two thin windows, sitting adjacent to one another. Kate peered through the glass and saw a sparkling clean kitchen on the other side.
She tried the door and then the sliding glass doors, finding them all locked. She shrugged to herself, figuring it wouldn’t hurt her to wait ten more minutes for Brett Towers. She came down the stairs and started back around the other side of the house. At the back corner, a few plain shrubs had been planted.
And if not for the peculiar indentation in the side of one of the shrubs, she may have completely ignored the window that sat just above it. It looked as if something had fallen into it from the back or that it had been disturbed some other way. She walked to it, her instinct telling her that it wasn’t so much the shrub that she should be interested, but the window. She walked behind the shrub and looked at the window.
At first glance, the window was closed. But then she saw the scuff marks right around the corner of the frame. The window was installed low enough where she could see it clearly. The top of the window was over her head, but the bottom was about chest-high. She placed her palms on either side of the window and pushed upward as hard as she could. In doing so, she found that her hunch was correct; the dents in the shrubbery, the scuff marks along the bottom of the window—it all indicated that someone had jimmied the window open and crawled inside.
The window went up with a slight sliding noise. Kate found herself staring into what appeared to be just some small extra room—maybe an office or a study of some kind. There was no furniture, just carpet and a basic light hanging in the center of the ceiling.
S
he knew the logical thing to do would be to take note of it and wait for Towers. But she also knew that she had a very anxious partner back at the police station, waiting for her to return as soon as she could. She thought about the evidence they’d found of squatters in two of the crime scenes and wondered if she’d find something similar inside this house.
If the jimmied window was any indication, she was pretty sure she would.
Feeling only a little silly, Kate placed her hands inside the opened window, bracing herself against the frame. She pulled herself slightly up, to where her feet weren’t touching the ground, and slid inside. There was nothing graceful about it, and she nearly fell on her head when she made her way inside. In the end, she ended up partially falling into the house on her right side, once again dinging her injured knee.
She sat there, pressed against the wall, for a moment. She took out her phone and texted DeMarco the address where she was, adding: Back window to property jimmied open. I’m inside to check it out.
Kate quietly got to her feet and walked to the room’s only doorway. The door was open, revealing what appeared to be a downstairs den—the sort of area that might make a good man cave or craft area for a thrifty type. A single couch sat against the far wall. There was no way Kate could be sure, but she thought it was new. She thought of Matt Redman and some other movers working their way through the home, setting furniture up and opening up the spaces.
She stepped out into the room and looked around. There was no evidence of anyone having squatted here, though it would have been difficult unless the person had left anything behind. She made her way through the room, heading to the left side where a set of stairs led up to the main floor.
Taking the stairs as quietly as she could, Kate realized that the house itself was eerily quiet. There was not even the ambient hum of an air conditioner or a running refrigerator. As she focused on that quiet, looking for anything at all that might indicate movement elsewhere in the house, she realized that she could hear her own breathing as she neared the top of the stairs.