He was talking about the task force. It was way past time to put aside the turf wars and bring in some help.
Joel nodded. “I’m all in.”
* * *
* * *
Miranda stepped into the police station, and the sympathetic look from the receptionist told her that news of last night’s fire had made the rounds.
“Oh my goodness, how are you?” Denise got to her feet and hurried around the counter to give Miranda a hug. “I can’t believe it about the fire. How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” Miranda forced a smile. “No injuries, thanks to some helpful bystanders.”
Denise darted a worried glance at Miranda’s bandaged arm.
“Nothing serious, that is. Just a scratch.” Miranda looked through the glass partition, but she didn’t see Joel or any of the other detectives in the sea of cubicles.
“I stopped by to talk to Detective Breda,” Miranda said. “Do you know if he’s here?”
“Joel or Owen?”
“Joel.”
“He’s out right now. Would you like to leave him a message?”
The door behind her opened and Nicole walked in, accompanied by a uniformed officer Miranda hadn’t met.
Nicole stopped and peeled off her sunglasses. “Miranda, hey. How’s the arm?”
“Fine,” she said, wishing she’d thought to wear a long-sleeved shirt. “I came by to see Joel, actually, but I understand he’s not in.”
“He’s on the mainland with the chief. Anything I can help with?”
Miranda hesitated. She’d wanted to give this information to Joel, but Nicole was up to speed on the social media angle. And Miranda didn’t want to sit on this lead.
“You have a minute to talk?” Miranda asked.
“Sure, come on back.”
“There are doughnuts in the break room,” Denise said, returning to her chair. “Somebody better eat them. I don’t want to have to take them home.”
“Thanks, Denise,” Nicole said, holding open the door. Miranda smiled at Denise and followed Nicole back through the bullpen, scanning the room for anyone she recognized, but everyone she knew appeared to be out.
Maybe they were home asleep after being up all night.
“Pretty quiet around here,” Miranda said.
“Everyone’s following up on leads,” Nicole said. “The first forty-eight hours are crucial.” She stopped beside a cubicle and tossed her baseball cap on the desk. “But why am I telling you that? You know.” She smiled and gestured to the desk chair. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.” As Miranda sat, Nicole dragged a chair over from the neighboring cube.
“What a night, huh?” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Nicole smelled like sunblock, and Miranda guessed she’d been out either knocking on doors or conducting interviews outside. “We haven’t forgotten about the arson case. Don’t worry. It’s just that everyone’s a bit sidetracked with this new homicide.”
“You guys must be overwhelmed.”
“A little.” She made a face. “A lot, actually. But we’re hoping to get some help. Chief Brady and Joel are at the sheriff’s office right now. As of this afternoon, we’re forming a task force and bringing in some additional resources.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“Yeah, I’ve only been suggesting it since Monday.” She rolled her eyes. “But, hey, better late than never, right?” She nodded at the folder in Miranda’s hand. “So, what brings you in?”
Miranda set the folder on the desk, which was cluttered with paperwork, coffee mugs, and a yellow stress ball. Nicole moved the mugs aside.
Miranda looked at her. “Joel told you all about that protest group, right?”
“Alpha Omega Now,” Nicole said.
“We think both Elizabeth Lark and Will Stovak were members.”
“Based on the tattoos.”
“And their social media posts,” Miranda added. “I’ve been trying to learn more about them, but it isn’t easy. Evidently, their group is loosely structured. I think that’s by design. They don’t want to attract the attention of law enforcement, so they don’t seem to have a designated leader, and their public-facing communication is pretty cryptic.”
“Okay.”
“But I have a colleague who works with the FBI gang unit in San Antonio and he turned up an interesting lead. He believes the person running things is a guy named Trevor Keen. He’s from Denver.” Miranda pulled out a printout of an article from the Denver Post.
“‘Protest Halts Mining Project,’” Nicole said, reading the headline. “This was in Denver?”
“The protest happened three years ago in a town east of Denver where a private company had gotten permission to mine in a federally protected forest. This was one of Alpha Omega’s first protests, and this guy Trevor was their spokesperson. He’s quoted several times in the article. Since then, looks like he’s been keeping a lower profile. But according to my friend, the FBI has him in their records as an affiliate of the group.”
Nicole pivoted to her computer. She tapped the mouse to wake it up and clicked into a new screen.
“You have a middle name?” she asked.
“No,” Miranda said. “But he’s from Colorado, like I said. And three years ago, he was twenty-four, according to the news article.”
Nicole entered some information and waited. A mug shot appeared on the screen, and Nicole scooted her chair in. “I got him. Trevor James Keen, twenty-seven. Looks like . . . he’s got a sheet, but nothing too serious. An arrest for criminal trespass and vandalism. And a public intox.” She scrolled through some more information, then went back up to the mug shot and enlarged it. The man had dark hair, blue eyes, and a tan that suggested he spent a lot of time outdoors. “Check out the ink.”
She pivoted her computer screen for Miranda to see. On the man’s shoulder was a tattoo of the infinity serpent.
“Same as our two victims,” Nicole said. She tipped her head to the side and studied the mug shot. “Nice-looking guy. I’d definitely remember if I’d seen him at the protest last week. Was he there?”
“Not sure. But he was in Lost Beach almost two weeks ago, when he posted a picture from White Dunes Park. And then this morning he posted from Padre Island National Seashore.”
Nicole’s eyebrows tipped up. “That’s only an hour from here. He posted from there this morning?”
“Yep.”
Miranda watched Nicole and knew exactly what she was thinking. This guy easily could have been on the island when all three of the murders happened.
Not to mention the fire.
“Damn.” Nicole turned to look at her screen. “What else did you get?”
Miranda pulled a handwritten list from her folder. “That’s about it for Trevor Keen. I only found that one article that quoted him. But I got more info on Alpha Omega Now.”
Nicole leaned in.
“I didn’t print all of the news stories, but I made a list of dates and places. Here are the most recent ones.” Miranda cleared her throat. “Two years ago, they protested a drilling project near Yellowstone. Then they protested a logging company in East Texas, followed by an oil-and-gas company in Houston. That’s the one you discovered.”
“EastTex Petroleum,” Nicole said. “The CFO was later murdered in his driveway.”
“How much later?”
“About eleven months after the protest.”
“Okay. Next protest I found was at a development in Rockport that was built as part of the wetlands swap program.”
“Mark Randall’s project,” Nicole said.
“Right. Then last fall they were in Houston again at the headquarters of a cruise line.”
Miranda looked at her notes again. “Then . . . earlier this spring they were out in Sedona, Arizona, where they assembled a
flash mob to protest a resort that was going in near a nature reserve. Last month, they were at Joshua Tree National Park in California, where they were protesting a highway project. Then this week they turned up here.”
“Sounds like they really get around.”
“Those were just the incidents that generated media coverage I was able to find. Who knows what else they’ve been doing.” Miranda closed the folder.
“Mind if I make a copy of that?”
“You can have the whole file. I’ve got it saved on my computer.”
Nicole picked up the stress ball and squeezed it as she stared at the mug shot on her computer screen. She looked deep in thought. Or maybe she was just dazed from lack of sleep.
Miranda checked her watch. She glanced at the reception area, but still no sign of Joel. She had been apprehensive about coming to talk to him, but now that he wasn’t here, she was eager to see him. It made no sense.
“Miranda?”
She snapped her attention back to Nicole, who was eyeing her with concern.
“Are you all right?” Nicole asked.
“Yes. Why?”
She hesitated a beat before responding. “Joel’s worried about you. We all are.”
Miranda’s stomach knotted. “Why?”
“Because. The fire. And your injury. And then you were up all night working another death scene.” She shook her head. “This new homicide is . . . well, it’s pretty unnerving. Especially coming so close after the other two.”
Unnerving. That was one word for it.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.” Miranda forced a smile. “Just a little sleep deprived, like you.” She checked her watch again and stood up. “I need to go. Can you relay all this to Joel?”
“Sure. Thanks for the help.”
“No problem.” She started to walk away.
“And Miranda?”
She turned around, and Nicole looked worried again.
“Be careful.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Joel watched the line of storm clouds rolling in off the Gulf. Just what they needed. A Saturday rainstorm would clear the beaches and fill up the bars early, and by sundown they’d be dealing with more than the usual number of drunken hotheads.
Joel focused on the road as he crossed the causeway. Driving typically helped him think, but today everything was a chaotic mess inside his head. He was trying to unravel three homicides, two cold cases, and a fire. Somehow all of it fit together—he felt sure—he just didn’t understand how. The only thing he knew for certain was that somewhere along the way, Miranda had gotten tangled up in everything.
Guilt needled at him. He never should have hired her. From an investigative standpoint, it was a win, no question. Miranda had a keen eye for detail and good instincts. Without her, Joel wouldn’t have half the leads he was currently pursuing. Her idea about the feather, which he’d initially thought was pretty out-there, now seemed to be central to the case. But whether through her work on the case or her proximity to the original crime scene, she’d caught the attention of someone dangerous. A person who apparently would go to any lengths to silence a potential witness.
It was only a theory at this point, but there was something to it. Joel didn’t believe in coincidences, and he didn’t buy into the notion—as much as he wanted to—that the murders and the fire were unrelated.
The lighthouse came into view. Joel’s gut churned as he spotted the sooty black streak above the window. Miranda could have been killed last night if those bystanders hadn’t jumped into action.
This situation was his fault. She’d repeatedly rejected his job offer, but he’d pressured her. And now she was deep into this thing, and Joel didn’t know how to get her out. He was in a state of constant tension, and he knew he’d stay that way until he made an arrest.
His phone buzzed from the cup holder as he turned onto the highway. Nicole.
“Hey,” Joel said.
“How’d it go at the sheriff’s office?”
“They’re lending us two deputies. They’ll be here tomorrow for the team meeting.”
“Two? That’s it?”
“Plus, we’ve got the FBI looped in, which might help speed up some of the evidence.”
Joel rolled to a stop at the intersection in front of the Sand Dollar Inn. A group of girls in bikini tops and shorts rushed across the street, followed by a pair of guys carrying coolers. With the rain coming, they were moving the party inside, apparently.
“Well, at least we have help now,” Nicole said. “You think they’re lending us good people?”
“We’ll find out soon enough. What’s going on there?”
“We finally got the phone dump on Lark and Stovak.”
“It’s about damn time.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m going through it now.”
“Anything useful?”
“Not yet. And Miranda came by with some interesting info.”
Joel’s stomach clenched. “What kind of info?”
“She’s been doing some research on Alpha Omega Now. She’s put together a timeline of their protests over the last few years. When you line it up with the murders we know about, it’s pretty compelling.”
The murders they knew about. Joel wasn’t the only one who’d realized there could be additional victims they weren’t aware of yet.
“She left a file for us,” Nicole continued. “You should go through it. She turned up a name for some guy who may or may not be the leader of the group.”
“Of Alpha Omega Now?”
“Yeah, she consulted a co-worker who’s got an in with the FBI gang unit. This is a name they have on file in connection with the organization. We definitely need to look at him. His name’s Trevor James Keen, and he’s from Colorado. I just sent you his mug shot.”
Joel checked his phone as a text landed.
“What’s on his sheet?” he asked, studying the picture.
“Nothing major. Trespassing, vandalism, public intoxication. You can look at all this when you get in. Wouldn’t hurt to loop the feds in, see what else they might have on him. But, listen, get this.”
Joel’s shoulders tensed.
“He was here in town within the last couple of weeks,” she said. “And he was on South Padre Island this morning.”
“Where’d we get that?”
“Miranda checked out his social media posts.”
Joel gritted his teeth. Once again, she was way more involved than he wanted her to be. “We need to get a bead on this guy, ASAP. We need a vehicle description—”
“The chief already put Emmet on it,” she said. “Brady called from the road, so I filled him in on this.”
“Good.”
“So, are you almost back?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Okay, I’ll probably go get dinner, and then I can go over this stuff with you. See you soon.”
Joel ended the call and drove through downtown, scanning the sidewalks for anyone who looked like Trevor Keen. As if he might just be strolling down the street with a surfboard under his arm, waiting to be hauled in for questioning.
Was he their guy? Just because he’d been on the island and was affiliated with Alpha Omega Now didn’t make him a murderer. But the timing raised a red flag. He was on the island before the first two murders and he was within an hour’s drive around the time a third body showed up. It was worth checking into.
Joel passed the pastel-colored beach houses of Caribbean Sands and slowed as he neared Miranda’s driveway. His spotted her Jeep parked in front of the house and battled the urge to swing by and see her. He wanted to. Miranda had been stuck in his mind all day, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her warm body and her smooth skin and the way she’d fallen asleep with her head tucked against his chest.
Joel definitely wanted to see her, but he needed to pursue this new lead more than he needed to get distracted.
Joel neared the turnoff for White Dunes Park and spied a lone woman at the top of one of the dunes. He tapped the brakes as he passed her.
Miranda. What the hell was she doing?
Joel watched in the rearview mirror as she lifted her camera and took a shot, then trudged down the dune toward the beach.
Joel swung into the next park entrance. He passed a black pickup with a surfboard strapped to the top and a white convertible loaded with teenagers who were about to get soaked. The gravel road turned to sand. Joel drove between the dunes and hung a right onto the beach.
Miranda was walking north now, away from her house. She stopped and faced the water, lifting her camera. Joel slowed as he neared her, and she turned around.
He rolled down the window as she walked over. She wore snug-fitting yoga pants and a loose T-shirt. He noticed the bandage on her arm.
“Hi,” she said.
“What are you doing out here alone?”
She gave him a quizzical look. “Working. Why?”
“Get in.”
“What?”
“Get in and I’ll give you a ride home. It’s about to pour.”
Annoyance flickered across her face. “I’m not done yet. And anyway, I can walk.”
As if on cue, the rain started coming down.
“Get in, Miranda.”
She glanced at the sky and stuffed her camera under her T-shirt. She looked at him again, and Joel clenched his teeth to keep his cool.
Another quick look at the sky and she walked around the front of his truck. She climbed in and slammed the door.
“I don’t need a ride. It’s, like, a tenth of a mile.” She turned to look at him. “And I don’t need you bossing me around, either.”
“Too bad.”
He put his truck in gear.
“Too bad? What the hell does that mean?”
He shook his head.
“Forget it. Let me out. I’ll walk.”
He didn’t stop.
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