George lifted his head and looked past her toward Rachel. Rachel made an annoyed sound.
George’s ears turned red. “Uh.”
“Check his house? Check the places he frequents? Come on, George.”
He dropped his face into his hands and mumbled, “I panicked. I had no clue what else to do.”
“How about start with following protocol,” Rachel said.
George lifted his head. “I did! I ran the meeting even though he wasn’t there!”
Ann held up her hands. “Children, please,” she said in her authoritative voice. They both snapped their attention to her.
“So, the town thinks their sheriff is missing. Big deal,” she said to diffuse the tension between Rachel and George. “When he shows up, they’ll be relieved. Honest mistake.” She shrugged.
George nodded. Rachel sat down and returned to her game of solitaire.
Ann sidled toward George. “We need to go to his house.”
George looked at her with big sad dog eyes. He nodded.
“You drive.” Ann pushed open the door.
They climbed into the department vehicle, an old Jeep Cherokee, and George drove the minute and a half to the sheriff’s house. McMichael’s truck was outside. George jumped out and dashed to the front door. He pounded his fist against it.
“Sheriff?” George yelled. “Frank? Are you in there?”
Ann surveyed the area outside the house and went through her mental checklist for footprints, tire tracks, anything unusual. Unfortunately, the snow had covered any signs overnight in a smooth blanket of white. She circled around to the side of the house and peeked in the first window. A recliner lay on its side, and a floor lamp had been knocked over.
She unzipped her jacket and inhaled through her nose and out her mouth a few times.
“George,” she called. He appeared around the corner. “I think something’s happened.”
“What?” Panic in his voice. “What happened?”
“I need you to stay calm.” Even though everything inside her wanted to scream and run away, she’d mastered presenting a calm front. “There are signs of a possible struggle. Are you familiar with how to perform a block search?”
He nodded. “Sheriff McMichael did the same thing at Ruthie’s.”
“Good. Is there a kit in the vehicle?”
He nodded.
“Go get it.” Ann moved around the side of the house to the back, scanning the ground, the bushes, the house.
The screen from the back window lay on the ground partially covered with snow. The curtains inside the open window fluttered in a short-lived breeze. Ann’s throat tightened, and she worked to accumulate enough saliva to swallow.
Based on the position of the screen, the perp had exited the house through the window.
“Ann? Where are you?”
“I’m at the back. Just stay there.” She examined the sill. No pry marks around the edge of the window, though a piece of metal flashing jutted out from the frame. A small amount of some kind of fiber stuck to it. She moved slowly, scanning the area, around to the other side of the house. The first room and the back window were the only signs of anything amiss that she noted right away.
At the front of the house, she told George what to do, but his eyes were wide and glassy, and she didn’t think he understood her. Damn kid was going into shock. Whoever gave him the idea to get into law enforcement?
“I need an envelope and some tweezers,” Ann said.
He nodded but didn’t move. Ann took the kit from him, set it on the front porch, flipped it open, and got what she needed. She went back to the window, pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, and collected the fiber. At the front, the doorknob turned, but the door didn’t budge.
“The deadbolt’s been thrown,” Ann said.
“Oh, here.” George held out the Jeep’s keys. “It’s the brass one.”
Ann took the keys. “Why do you have—never mind.” She unlocked the door.
Inside, she found the same dark brown, almost black, crispy substance McMichael had found at Ruthie’s house. She collected as much as she could.
In the first room, the recliner and lamp were tipped over as she had observed from outside. The television was on. A side table held the sheriff’s sidearm, a Colt .357 Magnum. Ann’s palms sweated, and a prickling chill raced over her body. Whoever abducted him probably caught him off guard and overtook him before he could grab his gun. It was likely someone he knew.
They needed to check phone records to see if anyone called ahead of time. They needed to get the samples tested against those from Ruthie’s house. The fiber from the window, too. This was all more than a small-town Sheriff’s Department could handle.
She took a deep breath. The air in the room held a faint scent of rancid meat.
Something touched Ann’s ankle, and she cried out. An orange feline stared up at her, its tail swishing. His purr vibrated against her leg while he snaked around her ankles.
“Hey, kitty.” She crouched and held out her hand. The cat bumped his head against her palm, arched his back, circled around, and did it again. She picked him up. “George,” she called.
He appeared in the doorway with the look of a frightened child.
“Take the sheriff’s cat and put it in the car.”
“Remington?” He held out his arms, and Ann handed him the cat. “Hey, Remy.” He scratched under the cat’s chin. Then he gazed into the room. “He’s gone, isn’t he? I can’t be the sheriff, Ann.”
“Just go put the cat in the Jeep.”
Ann stared at McMichael’s gun. How did the attacker get McMichael out the back window? Why did they leave that way? What about the crunchy substance? Was it like a calling card?
On top of collecting trophies, serial killers often left hallmarks. Modus Operandi.
The Stabber’s MO—Ann took a deep breath—was to leave a page from a book with some letters missing. No title, no author, just a seemingly random page. When Ann came onto the case, her knowledge of ciphers, due to her dad’s love of the word puzzles in Harmony’s community paper, clued her in. The missing letters revealed the cipher and the number of letters in the key phrase. The solutions, coupled with intel from a literary scholar Ann spoke with at the University of Denver, helped Ann figure out where to find Elizabeth.
But this couldn’t be a serial killer. Not in safe, unpretentious Harmony.
They’re just abductions, missing persons.
The rational side of her brain tried to pipe in, but Ann knew better. McMichael had been in law enforcement since she knew him. Deputy for her dad, then sheriff for the last ten or so years. They both served their time in the Navy well before Ann was even born.
Ann went back through the house but paused at the entry to the dining room. An envelope and a few pieces of paper lay on the table. She stepped closer. It was a subpoena filled out in McMichael’s neat handwriting. She used the tip of her finger to shuffle the pages apart.
He had checked the box for “produce.” In the description it said, “Phone records from Colorado Telecomm; 6 months from the date of this request for the party listed below.” Ann’s eyes jumped to the next section where her dad’s name, Bram Logan, was listed along with his phone number, address, and email. McMichael wanted to obtain her father’s phone records, just like he said he would, but something happened to him before he had a chance to mail this. Was it somehow related?
Her mind, usually teeming with activity, went blank. She tucked the document and envelope into the interior pocket of her coat and went back outside. George leaned against the Jeep, stroking Remy.
“When will we get the results from the lab on the substance from Ruthie’s house?” Ann asked through her constricted throat.
He shrugged.
Ann rubbed the back of her neck. “We need to dust for prints and note anything that seems out of place,” she said. “Pay special care to the window in the back. You can do that, right?”
George nodded and put Remy in the Je
ep.
When they finished processing the house and surrounding area, Ann said, “Let’s seal it up and get back to the station. We’ll talk about what to do next there.” She paused. “You can break the news to Rachel.”
George gulped. “Please, Ann,” he said. His face contorted. “You gotta tell her. I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can, and yes, you will.”
On their way back to the station, Ann had George drop her off at the post office three buildings down. She stuffed the subpoena into the envelope and sent it on its way before walking down the block to the station.
George still sat in the truck. He got out when Ann approached.
“I didn’t want to face Rachel alone,” he said in his sheepish way.
Ann followed George inside. Rachel read a magazine at her desk but dropped it and stood when they came in. Her face held expectance instead of her usual disinterest.
“What’s the word?”
George came in with Remy.
“Is that Remy?”
“George,” Ann said.
He hid his face in the cat’s fur. Rachel took Remy from him. George slunk away, disappearing down the hallway.
“Rachel,” Ann said. “I’m sorry. He wasn’t home.”
Rachel sank into the chair. The cat purred and bumped his head under her chin. “What does this mean?”
“There were signs of a struggle,” Ann said. “We think he may have been abducted.”
“Who would do such a thing? This town loves him. He has no enemies—well, I mean, not ones that would kidnap him. That’s what you’re going to ask, right? If he has enemies?”
Ann nodded. “Is there anyone else we should inform?”
“How can you be so methodological about this?” Rachel asked, emotion creeping into her voice. “He’s not just a misplaced sock. He’s a person.”
“I know this must be hard for you,” Ann said. It was hard for her. McMichael was like family. But she shoved the feelings down deep to maintain a professional front. “Maybe you should go home.”
“Are you reciting something you learned in your big bad police academy?” Rachel grabbed her things with one hand and held Remy in the other. She pushed past Ann. “Show a little heart, Detective.”
Everyone handles things differently.
She had to stay emotionally distant or risk breaking in two. Rachel slammed the door on her way out.
“That had to be hard,” George muttered from behind her. Ann closed her eyes. It was cake compared to Bruce’s wife and Elizabeth’s parents.
Something inside her cracked open a little. She took in a quick gasp of air and held it until the despair went away. She released the breath and turned around.
George watched her with wide open eyes. She looked past him toward the lockers. Not now. She had a fire to prevent and George was waiting for guidance. Heat flamed through her, dampening her armpits. She paced back and forth, aware of George watching her every move, waiting for her to supply all the answers to their dilemma.
Two missing persons with completely different profiles. Both disappeared within a day of each other. Strange crispy substance. No weapons. No blood. No bodies.
She stopped in front of George. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to call the state police and Colorado Bureau of Investigations and request assistance.”
George let out a long breath. “We?”
“Yes, we. You don’t think I would turn my back on this town, do you?”
George shrugged. “You’re here on vacation—I didn’t think you’d want to get involved.”
She couldn’t very well leave her town in the hands of incompetent George Riley.
Damn you, McMichael. Why couldn’t you defend yourself?
“As the sheriff’s only deputy, you are now Acting Sheriff,” Ann told him, though she suspected he had to know that.
“Oh . . . kay?” George’s voice held an uncertain edge to it. Maybe he didn’t know.
“My role is consultant.”
“How about I swear you in as my deputy?”
Ann shook her head. No way. If the town knew she was involved, they would expect miracles from her. It would be another chance to fail. A chill replaced the heat flashing through her body. Queasiness settled in her gut. She sat and rubbed her temples. Then she leaned back and gripped the arms of the chair.
“I will help in a limited capacity. I do not want to be actively involved, and I don’t want anyone outside of you and me to know I’m involved,” she said. “You have questions, you ask. You find anything you have the faintest idea might be important, you tell me.”
She stood and faced George and clapped her hands on his shoulders, an awkward gesture given he was over a foot taller than her.
“George, this is your time to shine. To prove to the town you are capable and can do your duty to serve and protect!”
His eyebrows slid to the center of his forehead, giving him a sad puppy look. “But I’m not—I’m a failure. Failed right out of the police academy. McMichael only gave me this job to help me prove to my dad I’m not a complete loser. He never liked my dad.”
Jeezus.
“You aren’t a failure.”
I am.
“You are a man on the edge of becoming a hero. Are you ready to be a hero, George?”
He shook his head and dropped into a chair. This pep talk was not going as planned.
“Think of Marcie,” she said. “Don’t you want to keep her safe?”
George perked up at the mention of his underage girlfriend. “Of course I do,” he said. “She means the world to me. I’m going to marry her someday— as soon as her parents see I’m not just trying to get into her pants.”
What a sap.
“This is your golden opportunity then. Town heroes are greatly rewarded.” She swore she was channeling Tony Robbins or some other motivational speaker. “Think about it. I’ll be right down the hall.” She strode to the lockers and glared at the dial on her dad’s. If only they were secured with keyed padlocks. She could pick a padlock. Hell, she could cut a padlock. It could take her hours to guess the right combination. What could it be?
She twisted the dial and tried her birthday, his birthday, her mom’s birthday, mom and dad’s anniversary again . . . What other dates were important?
On a whim, she tried the day she graduated from the police academy.
It worked.
Ann’s heart gave a couple of hard beats. The threat of tears stung her nose. Her dad’s combination—the day she graduated. She closed her eyes. Now that she was finally here, apprehension filled her. What would she find inside? The fear of disappointment made her pause.
“Ann,” George called from the office area. The sound of his heavy footsteps preceded him down the hallway. “I’ve come to a decision,” he said. Ann turned around.
“I’ll do it. I’ll do it and prove myself to Marcie’s parents so I can marry her.” He dipped his chin in a single nod, finalizing his decision.
“Fantastic. You know you didn’t really have a choice, right?”
“Yeah, serve and protect. It’s my duty. I have to embrace it.” He took a deep breath. “If not for Marcie, then for Sheriff McMichael and Ruthie.”
He made it seem so easy to decide to stand up to his reservations and fears. Ann wondered if his ignorance was a blessing.
“Great. Your first task as acting sheriff is to call state police and CBI,” Ann said.
“As acting sheriff, I think we should keep this investigation private until we have more details,” George said.
“Nope. We follow protocol. We need help. Go call them.” She pushed him out the door toward the desks. “Tell them we are requesting assistance in the disappearance of two individuals, one of whom is a law enforcement officer.” She turned back to the lockers.
Before anything could happen to distract or disrupt her, she opened the door.
Her dad’s Smith & Wesson M&P 9 semiautomatic pistol—the same gun
she preferred—hung from a hook by its belted holster. She reached a hand out to touch it but thought better. An old t-shirt lay in the bottom. That was it. His gun and a shirt. She sank to the floor, picked up the tee, and sniffed it, but it didn’t smell like him anymore. She dropped it into her lap and peered into the locker again.
The shirt had been covering a metal lock box. Excitement surged through her. She pulled the little key out of her pocket and stuck it into the lock.
Chapter 30
Teresa stepped into the clinic. Metal bells clattered and clanged against the glass. A sign on the desk said, “Please take a seat. We will be with you in a moment.” It was punctuated with a grotesque smiley face.
Derrick had to let their receptionist, Whitney, go after the baby died. He couldn’t afford to keep her on. It was a zone of contention for them. Teresa always thought he charged too little, but he didn’t believe in inaccessible healthcare.
She didn’t let those thoughts ruin her mission. The front desk would be perfect for her now. On cue, the phone rang. Teresa hurried around and answered it.
“Thank you for calling Hart Medical. This is Dr. Hart. How may I help you?” she said cheerily into the receiver.
“Uh . . . hi. I was just checking to see what time my appointment is? I didn’t get a reminder call.”
Teresa nodded, confirming that this could be her job. Derrick was far too busy to manage the office and business side of things without her. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
You were too upset about losing—everything.
Her smile dropped from her face.
The voice on the other end said, “Hello? Can you hear me?”
“Yes. I can help you with that,” Teresa said. “What is your name?”
After helping the patient, she took the appointment book to the records room and pulled the charts for the next day. She sat in her old office and started making calls.
Derrick walked past her office to the waiting room.
“Huh.” It was a confused sound. He walked right by her office again, stopped in his tracks, and came back. She watched this take place while the dial tone droned in her ear. She hung up.
“Oh, hey,” he said. “That was you who came in?” His cheeks flushed. “Uh—”
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