Flight

by Laura Griffin

  “Also, it’s a gunshot wound,” Brady said. “Not a knife wound.”

  “Thanks.”

  The chief looked at Miranda. “This is the person she saw on his bike the morning of the murders?”

  “That’s right.”

  “She’s sure?”

  “Yes,” Joel said. “And we confirmed it was him earlier this week. Emmet and McDeere interviewed both him and his girlfriend. Kendrick was at her place at the time of the murders—or so he said. He confirmed that he was riding his bike along the highway within an hour of when the bodies were discovered, but he said he didn’t see anything suspicious.”

  “So, we don’t have a reason to think this murder is connected to the others.”

  Joel looked at Brady. The chief didn’t really believe the crimes were unrelated any more than Joel did. This was his way of asking Joel to speculate. But Joel wasn’t ready to do that.

  “No official link, no.”

  Emmet walked up. “So, is it him?”

  “Alexander Kendrick,” Brady said.

  “He goes by Xander. Shit.” Emmet looked at Joel. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Emmet offered Joel a bottle of water.

  “Thanks.” He took it and glanced across the parking lot at Miranda.

  “Soon as we get official identification, I can go with you to notify next of kin,” Emmet said. “I already met the girlfriend, and we’ll definitely want to interview her again.”

  “Autopsy should be later today.” Brady looked at Joel. “You up for it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Brady pulled out his phone. “I’ll pin them down on a time. We can’t wait on this one.”

  The chief stepped away, and Joel walked over to check on Miranda as she slammed the tailgate of her Jeep. A paper mask dangled around her neck, and her cheeks were flushed.

  He offered her the bottle of water, but she shook her head.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I had some quick-dry plaster in my Jeep, but now I can’t find it.”

  “I’ve got some in my truck.”

  “You do? I need it.”

  He walked her across the lot to his pickup, looking her over. She’d been taking pictures for the last two hours in ninety-degree heat, and it was humid as hell.

  But he knew that wasn’t the only thing bothering her.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You look upset.”

  “I want to get this shoe print in the flower bed before it gets lost.”

  Joel dug his keys from his pocket and unlocked the chrome toolbox behind his cab. He rummaged through waders and fishing gear and found the jug of quick-set plaster. He handed it to her, and she started to walk away.

  “Miranda, wait.”

  She turned around.

  “Maybe you should take a break.”

  Annoyance flared in her eyes. “Why?”

  “You were injured in a fire just a few hours ago. It’s okay if you need to go home and get some rest.”

  She laughed. “Who’s going to collect evidence at this scene if I go home and rest? Evidence gets trampled on and rained on and blows away.” She gestured to the parking lot still crowded with emergency vehicles and curious onlookers. “It’s probably happening right this second, as we speak.”

  “We can call the county to help.”

  “No. This is my job.”

  He stepped closer. The frightened, vulnerable woman who’d cried on his shoulder earlier was long gone. For the last two hours, she’d been terse and defensive.

  “I’m just saying, you’ve been through a lot—”

  “Stop.” She held up a hand. “Please don’t do this. This is exactly what I didn’t want you to do.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want special treatment, okay? You can’t treat me different from everyone else.”

  “I’m not giving you special treatment.”

  “Oh yeah?” She tipped her head to the side. “Where’s Nicole, then? She’s canvassing the neighbors and taking people’s statements. She’s the one who found the body, and you didn’t send her home to take a nap.”

  Joel gritted his teeth. She was right, he hadn’t. But he also wasn’t worried that Nicole was somehow wrapped up in this case the way Miranda was. Joel didn’t like the fire tonight, and he sure as hell didn’t like another body turning up just a short time later. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on yet, but way too much of it had somehow involved Miranda.

  She glanced past him. “People are watching us. Don’t make a scene. Please?”

  The pleading look in her eyes tugged at him, and he knew she was worried about the same shit she’d been worried about when they were lying together sweaty and naked on her sofa.

  He took a deep breath, trying to tamp down his frustration.

  “I’m just doing my job, Miranda. I’m trying to figure out what the hell this is about.”

  “I’ve got a job to do, too.” She held up the jug of plaster. “Now, let me do it, okay?”

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  The sky was pale gray by the time Miranda pulled into her driveway. She eyed the bedroom window. She’d left the lights off, and her little cottage seemed to be asleep. She hoped Benji was, too. She didn’t want him to wake up groggy and disoriented with her not there.

  Miranda gathered her evidence kit and trudged up the stairs, pausing at the top to look out over the beach. No campfires or lanterns to the north. To the south, lights in the cottages and beachfront hotels were starting to wink on.

  Miranda cast a worried look at the glass door as she fumbled with her keys. Fear coiled tightly in her stomach as she unlocked the door and stepped into a silent house. She flipped the lock and dumped her things on the table before hurrying into her bedroom.

  Benji was asleep in his bed, just where she’d left him. He lifted his head from the pillow as she knelt at his side.

  “Hey, boy.” She kissed his head and stroked his back. “You still sleepy?”

  The swelling on his nose had gone down, but his eyes still looked droopy as he rested his head on his paws. His temperature felt normal, and Miranda breathed a sigh of relief as she ran her hand over his fur.

  She slumped against the nightstand. Home. Finally. She was exhausted. She’d been exhausted when she came home from the lighthouse, and that was before the trip to the clinic, and before Joel, and before the crime scene.

  She leaned her head against her unmade bed and thought of Joel. The memories were a blur, really. A good blur—exciting and erotic and even sweet at some points—but definitely a blur. She hadn’t yet had time to process what had happened. Her sleep-deprived brain wasn’t fully functioning.

  She thought back to the look on his face as he’d hovered over her in the dimness. Just remembering his heated, half-lidded gaze sent a ripple of desire through her.

  She shouldn’t have done it. She knew that. Her one impulsive decision had made her work life—and her personal life—infinitely more complicated. But she couldn’t bring herself to be sorry. It was too good. Just the memory alone filled her with a bone-deep yearning.

  Miranda sighed.

  She needed a shower. And food. She was sweaty and gross after five long hours of working a crime scene. But her limbs felt leaden and she couldn’t bring herself to move.

  Benji snorted softly but didn’t open his eyes. Miranda stroked his head.

  “It’s okay, boy. I’m home.”

  She pulled the comforter off the end of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. Then she curled up on the floor beside him. She needed a nap—just a short one—before she could do anything at all. She let her eyes drift shut.

  A faint ch
ime dragged her awake. She tried to place the sound. Sitting up, she pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Miranda?”

  She blinked down at the screen, shaking off the fog. She didn’t recognize the number. Her room was bright now and seagulls screeched outside the window. How long had she slept?

  She cleared her throat. “This is Miranda.”

  “It’s Mike Conner. Sorry to call you on a Saturday, but I didn’t think this could wait.”

  She sat up straighter as the words sank in.

  “It’s no problem,” she told the professor. “What’s wrong?”

  * * *

  * * *

  Denise brought in a box of doughnuts from the Beanery, but Joel couldn’t even look at food. He was too wired. He tapped his pencil on the table and stared at the whiteboard as he waited for Brady to kick off the meeting.

  “Let’s start with Joel.” The chief scooted in his chair. “Tell us about the autopsy.”

  Joel had spent the better part of the morning at the ME’s office. Their case had jumped to the front of the line after Brady made a few well-placed phone calls.

  “We got confirmation on the ID,” Joel told the group seated around the conference table. “Alexander Kendrick, twenty-three. His prints were in the system.”

  “Why?” Owen asked.

  “DUI from a few years ago. Other than that, he doesn’t have a rap sheet.” Joel flipped open the notepad in front of him, even though he knew the information by heart now. “Cause of death, single gunshot wound to the chest. ME recovered the bullet. He says it’s in decent shape.” Joel darted a look at the chief. “And we’re still waiting on the ballistic results from the other cases.”

  Brady surveyed the faces around the table. The group included detectives and several uniforms who’d been enlisted to help with the legwork—which was extensive now that they had a third homicide to deal with.

  “Where’s Emmet?” the chief asked. “Isn’t he taking the lead on the ballistics?”

  “He’s on his way here,” Nicole said. “I just got a text from him.”

  Brady looked at Joel. “Okay, what else?”

  “Time of death, based on the state of the body, eighteen to twenty-four hours before discovery, give or take. He said it’s an estimate.”

  “So . . . between midnight and six a.m. Friday morning, give or take,” Nicole said.

  “That’s right.”

  “We talked to people at the nature center,” Owen said. “Kendrick was seen by a co-worker leaving on his bike about fifteen minutes after closing, so around six forty-five.”

  “Who’d you talk to?” Brady asked.

  “One of the scientists who works in the lab there. Jason Freeman. He says he saw him leaving on his bike. Then Emmet and McDeere went to his apartment and interviewed him around nine, and that’s the last we know of his whereabouts until the body was discovered late last night. Also”—he flipped open a notebook in front of him—“we had another interview with his girlfriend.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Brady asked.

  “Me and Emmet.”

  “Okay. How was she?”

  “Seemed genuinely distraught. Said she had plans with her friends Thursday night, and she texted Xander a couple times Friday. By the time she got off work and hadn’t heard from him, she was starting to worry. She said she went by his place yesterday, but he didn’t answer his door, so she started pinging his friends to see if anyone had heard from him. She showed us the texts, so that checks out.”

  “We still need to confirm her alibi,” Brady said.

  Owen nodded. “I know. We’re on it.”

  Joel turned to look at the murder board, where he’d taped up half a dozen new pictures. The first was a driver’s license photo of Alexander Kendrick. Beside it was a series of graphic crime scene photos that Miranda had taken early this morning. Joel studied the shots, thinking about Miranda stoically working the scene just hours after she’d been caught in a fire and had an emotional meltdown.

  “What happened when he didn’t show up for work Friday?” Nicole asked. “Did anyone think to check on him?”

  “We asked that,” Owen said. “They assumed he was out sick and assigned an intern to cover the desk.”

  Emmet strode into the room. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, grabbing an empty seat by the chief. “I just heard back from my ATF guy. Our ballistics results are in.”

  Joel could tell from Emmet’s face that he had something important. “What’d you find out?” he asked.

  He took a deep breath. “The bullets that killed our two victims, and Mark Randall in Corpus Christi, and the oil company executive in Houston, were all fired from the same gun.”

  Silence settled over the room.

  Joel leaned forward. “All four victims. At three separate crime scenes.”

  “That’s right.”

  Joel looked at the chief. The stony expression on Brady’s face told him he was thinking the exact same thing Joel was.

  “You’re sure?” Joel asked Emmet.

  “Yes. He just emailed the report. You can read it for yourself.”

  Brady leaned back in his chair. “So, we’re dealing with a serial killer.”

  No one spoke, and the chief’s words hovered over them.

  Joel got up and walked to the murder board. “So we’ve got four linked deaths, all involving the same gun,” he said.

  “Five, including Alexander Kendrick,” Nicole added.

  “That one’s not confirmed yet,” Brady said.

  It was linked. Joel knew it. He figured Brady knew it, too.

  “And in all of those four linked cases, a feather was recovered on or near the victim,” Joel said.

  “What about Kendrick?” Owen asked.

  Joel shook his head. “No feather. But as Miranda pointed out, it was windy last night, and the body had been there awhile.”

  “What the hell do the feathers mean?” Emmet asked.

  “I don’t know,” Joel said. “But it could go to motive. We know at least two of the feathers are from endangered birds, so it could be some kind of message the killer is sending.”

  “Another link is that protest group,” Nicole said. “Alpha Omega Now. They held protests at the Houston oil company where the executive worked and at one of Mark Randall’s developments. And we think our two victims—Liz and Will—were members of the group.” She looked at Joel. “You went to the autopsy. Did you see—”

  “No tattoos,” Joel said. “But he might still be part of the group. We need to check with his friends and look at his social media accounts.”

  Chatter erupted around the table, as everyone reacted to the idea that they could be dealing with a serial killer.

  Joel turned to the board. He studied the photograph of the couple in the canoe. The damn image had been stuck in his head for days.

  “Okay, so assuming this group is somehow involved, I don’t get why Kendrick was targeted,” Owen said. “And the couple from Oregon. I mean, if we assume this is some kind of ideologically driven killer who is into environmental causes—then an oil company executive and a real estate developer would fit the motive. But the couple in the canoe—they were members of the protest group. And Kendrick worked at a nature center. Why would he be targeted?”

  Joel didn’t understand it either. He stepped over to the satellite map of the island where someone—probably Nicole—had put tiny orange stickers at each of the death scenes. They now had three.

  “Maybe we’re making it too complicated,” Joel said, staring at the map. “Maybe it’s all about location.”

  “How do you mean?” Owen asked.

  Joel turned around. “Maybe Kendrick was targeted because he was a witness to the double homicide Monday. Miranda reported seeing him
near the marina right before the bodies were discovered. Just look at the map. Kendrick lives here.” Joel tapped the Driftwood Apartments. “He was riding his bike home from his girlfriend’s place not long after two people were murdered here.” He put his finger on the orange dot representing the canoe crime scene. “It’s possible he saw something—maybe a vehicle or a person—leaving the marina after the murder happened.”

  “But we interviewed him,” Emmet said. “He said he didn’t see anything suspicious.”

  “Maybe someone thinks he did,” Joel said. “He was in the area. The timing works. Maybe he didn’t actually see anything, but someone saw him and decided to get rid of him. So in this case, no feather. This was about eliminating a witness, not making some ideological statement.”

  Joel glanced around the table. Everyone looked skeptical.

  “That’s pretty damn cold-blooded,” Nicole said. “You’re talking about ending someone’s life because they might have witnessed a crime?”

  “Every one of these is cold-blooded,” Joel countered. “We’ve got a guy who gets a bullet in his chest as he’s on his way to work. Another who gets whacked while he’s fishing off his boat dock.” He gestured to the murder board. “And another two victims barely old enough to buy beer who get gutshot while they’re watching the sunrise from a goddamn canoe. Whoever’s doing this has ice in their veins.”

  “Or maybe they’re crazy,” Emmet said.

  Joel turned to the board. Crazy or not, it didn’t matter. Anyone who would commit a murder—let alone four—to make a statement had no boundaries. They were dealing with someone cold and ruthless. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a man in the chest—or start a fire—to get rid of a potential witness.

  Joel’s stomach filled with dread as he studied the map and thought about Miranda. He couldn’t shake the feeling that every strange thing happening here was somehow connected.

  “Joel?”

  He turned around. The chief was watching him, along with everyone else.

  “If we’re going to do this, we need you on board,” Brady said. “You’ll still be the lead, but we’d have more resources. I think it’s clear we need them.”