Maybe everyone else was right, and Larry Walker really was guilty. After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time Wyatt had made a mistake.
After moving to the desk, he powered up his computer and typed out an email. After hitting Send, he leaned back in his seat. His eye was drawn to the flash drive that held all of the information about the victims.
Assuming that Larry Walker really was the prime suspect, there had to be something that he’d missed. Why had Larry Walker never turned up during the investigation? He knew Everly’s prime focus was to find out who’d killed her brother—not examine Larry’s psyche, uncover what had driven him to commit all the crimes—but Wyatt wanted to know.
Wyatt inserted the flash drive into his computer and began opening all his files.
He recalled the initial reason they’d suspected the blackjack dealer all those years ago. It was the man’s intense interest in the case. In fact, they’d found his face in several photos that had been taken of crowds at a press conference.
Could Larry Walker have been in those crowds as well?
There were a dozen photos, taken at various times during the investigation, and Wyatt printed them all. Next, he scanned each picture for Larry Walker. Without question, the assumed killer wasn’t among those in the crowd.
Wyatt changed tactics and began with the first Las Vegas victim—the one with the connection to Larry via the apartment complex.
Just as a seemingly inconsequential argument had led to Axl Baker’s murder, had this man argued with Larry, as well? Was there some insult that had triggered Larry into a murderous rage? And if so, how would Wyatt figure it out all these years later?
He had transcripts of the victim’s voice messages sent and received. There were text messages, too. He read them again, even though every message had been scrutinized, and any mention of an altercation would have been flagged as suspicious.
After half an hour, he had nothing to show for his time.
Sitting back in the desk, Wyatt squeezed the bridge of his nose.
Gus was lying in the middle of the room. He lifted his head and looked at Wyatt before flopping back down.
Turning back to the computer, Wyatt opened the saved social-media account for Victim #1. He knew all the pictures before he saw them. There were smiling faces of happy people, oftentimes with drinks in hand. The identities of those in the photos had been tagged.
He moved on to the next picture—this one was a close-up selfie of the victim in a dark blue shirt. Wyatt expanded the picture, so that it filled the whole screen. In the lower left corner was a detail he hadn’t noticed before. What appeared to be the victim’s shoulder was actually the top of a head with dark brown hair. On closer inspection, Wyatt found the beginning of a forehead, just a sliver of flesh, at the very bottom of the picture.
A woman? For the moment, he’d assume so.
The photo had been taken at night, as evidenced by the dark surroundings. The backdrop was an adobe wall with an out-of-focus sign. Wyatt expanded the picture, focusing the screen on the sign. He increased the resolution. Only a few words were visible, but they were enough: No Swimming After Midnight. By Order of Grand Canyon Gardens Management.
Wyatt’s pulse increased. He had evidence that the photo had been taken at the same place Larry lived. It proved that the victim had been in proximity to the suspected killer.
His next question focused on the woman in the picture. Had she just been passing by and been caught in the photo? Or was the mystery woman supposed to be in the picture and later been edited out?
The sheet of paper Wyatt had scribbled on while talking to Davis had been shoved to the back of the desk, all but forgotten. One word was circled. Roommate. Beneath that he’d scribbled two more words: 1 Female.
Could this woman in the photo with Victim #1 be Larry’s roommate? It was a long shot, sure. But sometimes a long shot was the only one you got. Wyatt immediately formed a possible scenario—one that fit all the facts he knew. Larry had a history of violence against women. In Las Vegas, Larry had lived with a woman.
What if the victims weren’t connected directly with Larry, but his female roommate? Larry could very easily be a jealous boyfriend or, worse yet, a spurned lover. He knew it was a leap. Yet, Wyatt was ready to make that final jump.
He stared at the picture of Victim #1. Light brown hair. Blue eyes. Bright white smile. He opened another window on his computer and searched for Axl Baker. His professional website topped the search list. A picture of Axl checking his camera was on the first page of his site.
Light brown hair. Blue eyes. Bright white smile. Both men had similar looks and, moreover, they were the kind of guy that women found handsome. Wyatt knew that all the other victims were similarly good-looking, same age, race and gender, and therefore fit the victimology.
But then he remembered the cats. And the trophies from past killings, along with a list of everything that Davis had found.
Wyatt pressed down on the pen. Ink seeped from the tip, leaving a black stain.
Serial killers were ritualistic, he knew. They did things for a reason—and those reasons never change. If Larry had kept personal belongings from his victims in Las Vegas, why hadn’t he done the same in Pleasant Pines? Why change?
His house had been thoroughly searched last night. There were no hidden compartments. Nothing linked Larry to victims from Pleasant Pines, or elsewhere.
Then again, that really wasn’t the question Wyatt should be asking. Larry Walker didn’t fit the typical profile of a serial killer because he wasn’t one. He’d been set up, but by who?
If Wyatt’s instinct was right, it meant that the real killer was still at large in Pleasant Pines. It also meant that nobody—especially Everly—was safe.
Chapter 13
The sun began creeping upward, changing the sky from red and orange to a light blue. Shadows stretched across the mountainous roads as Everly drove into town. She felt emotionally drained, but she had more to do—namely, get her brother’s body home.
Using her cell phone, she contacted the airline and worked out the details for the transport of Axl’s body. Next, she contacted a funeral home in Cheyenne that advertised early morning hours. She hired them to take Axl to the airport. By the time she finished both calls it was 7:15 a.m. Even though it was early, Everly had several things to accomplish before leaving Pleasant Pines.
Finally, she needed to contact the sheriff and file the official paperwork that would release Axl’s body. She doubted that Haak would be in the office yet and it left her with some time to kill. Everly hadn’t been worried about food at Wyatt’s house and now, she needed some breakfast. Turning her car onto Main Street, she found the diner Wyatt had taken her to the other day, Sally’s on Main.
She tried not to think about Wyatt, or the pie he’d sworn by. The thought came to her, anyway, and she smiled.
Everly pulled into a parking space and walked to the front door. Taking a booth at the back of the room, she picked up a menu.
Sally, the waitress, approached with a coffeepot in hand. “Care for some high-test?” she asked.
Everly flipped over her cup. “Please.”
“What can I get for you?”
“Two eggs over-easy, wheat toast and a side of fruit,” she said.
Sally wrote down the order. “There was a lot happening at the inn last night. Do you know anything about that?”
“Too much,” said Everly.
“Will Wyatt be meeting you? It’s good to see him out and about. He’s alone too much,” she added.
Everly wasn’t sure if she should be offended that the server assumed they were a couple. Or if she should be sad that they weren’t. “It’s just me for breakfast. I’m heading back to Chicago this morning,” Everly said.
“Well, we hope you’ll come back soon.”
Everly smiled. “Thank
s.”
Sure, Pleasant Pines didn’t have the busy lifestyle or attractions that could be found in Chicago. But what it lacked in museums and shopping, it made up for in kindness.
That sense of community was rare. Beyond caring for Wyatt, had Everly fallen in love with Wyoming?
Maybe there was a middle ground for them after all. Perhaps they didn’t have to be either recluses in the boonies or live a fast-paced life in the big city. She pulled her phone from her purse and brought up Wyatt’s contact info. She’d slunk away without saying goodbye or even thank you. She owed him a call.
Without another thought, she hit the phone icon. The call went straight to voice mail. Damn. Everly sat up taller, refusing to lose her nerve again.
“Wyatt, it’s me.” She paused. “I hate how things ended between us. I wanted to apologize for leaving while you were out. I have a flight back to Chicago this afternoon but will be in town until Axl’s body is released.” Everly knew she was rambling. She let out a deep breath and tried again. “If you get this message...well, I’d like to see you. I’m at the diner now.”
Everly ended the call, just as Sally delivered breakfast. “Here you go, hon.”
She ate quickly, and when done with her meal, Everly checked her phone. Wyatt hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted. She didn’t know if he’d even heard her message. Or maybe he had heard the message but decided not to call her back. Maybe he didn’t really want her to stay in Wyoming. If that was the case, then it was best if she left town.
The waitress approached with the coffeepot. “Need a warm-up?”
“No thanks,” said Everly.
Meeting with the sheriff was the final thing that Everly needed to do. Once her brother’s body was released, she could take him back to Chicago. She was leaving Pleasant Pines, yet Everly knew that memories of the town—and Wyatt in particular—would stay with her long after she’d gone.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what time Sheriff Haak gets to the office?” Everly asked.
“He usually doesn’t show up until half past eight,” said Sally.
Everly glanced at the clock. She had almost another hour to wait.
“Anything else?” the waitress asked.
Sally seemed to know everything about everyone. “Any idea what time Darcy Owens goes into work at the inn?”
“Her shift usually begins at ten o’clock.” Sally shrugged. “I only know because she sometimes stops in to get coffee and a bear claw first.”
Maybe the cordiality of life in a small town was beginning to rub off on Everly. She felt compelled to thank Darcy personally before leaving town.
A quick internet search gave Everly an address for Darcy’s home. Sure, it was early, but without Darcy’s initial lead, she’d never know what had happened to Axl—despite Wyatt’s misgivings. After a quick visit, Everly would be done with Pleasant Pines and she wouldn’t look back.
* * *
Pleasant Pines wasn’t a large town, but Everly needed her GPS to find Darcy Owens’s house. The street was filled with small homes and neatly kept yards. Parking at the curb, Everly hoped that an uninvited visit wasn’t considered rude. After turning off her engine, Everly walked up the path and rang the bell.
A sheer curtain was drawn over the front window and lights were on in the room beyond. She waited. There was no answer. A carport was off to the side of the small house and a sedan was parked in the drive. Someone was home, she knew.
She knocked on the door. Her knuckles grazed the wood and the door creaked open slightly. Everly realized that the handle hadn’t been latched, and now, the door was ajar.
“Sorry,” she said loudly. “I didn’t realize.”
She heard a woman’s voice—it was faint, but distinct. Had she been told to come in?
“It’s Everly Baker,” she called out, “from the hotel. I wanted to thank you. Mind if I come in?”
There it was again—the woman’s voice, with a quick laugh. What had she said?
Everly pushed the door open farther. There was a small entryway, covered in linoleum tile. It was connected to a living room, decorated in light blue and sunny yellow. “Darcy?” she said. “I hate to intrude, but I’m leaving for Chicago in a little while and I wanted to thank you for all your help.”
Beyond the living room was another room. From where she stood, Everly could see a ceiling light ablaze and the edge of a counter. The kitchen?
Everly stepped into the house and shut the door. “Hello?”
She followed the voice. Like she had guessed from the entryway, the person was in a kitchen. The counters were pristine and white. The wooden cabinets gleamed in the overhead light. The only thing that seemed out of place was the cluttered kitchen table, and the TV that sat atop the refrigerator.
A morning newscast played, and two female anchors discussed the day’s weather. Everly immediately recognized the voice she assumed had belonged to Darcy.
No matter how friendly people seemed in Pleasant Pines, coming in to someone’s home without permission was rude—or worse, criminal. It probably didn’t really matter, though, as long as she could sneak away.
Then she saw it and froze.
The metallic taste of panic coated her tongue. She reached for it, but her hand was unsteady. Her finger grazed the cold, metal casing, and she lifted it from the table. Everly turned the camera around and looked at the bottom—there, just as she knew it would be, was an inscription.
To Axl on your 30th B-day
Capture the best of life
Love, Everly
For a moment, Everly was back in Axl’s hotel room at the Pleasant Pines Inn. This time, the memory was complete. In that moment, there had been a whisper of sound behind her and she had turned. In the mirror, she caught the glimpse of a figure. Without question, it was Darcy Owens.
“Everly?” Darcy Owens stood on the threshold of the kitchen. She wore a robe. Her hair was wet, and she held a towel. She looked stunned. “What are you doing here?”
Darcy’s gaze dropped from Everly’s face to her hands and the camera she held. The smile faltered, and Darcy narrowed her eyes.
“You,” Everly growled. Her face was hot, and she began to sweat. “It was you all along. You killed my brother. You killed them all.”
Wide-eyed, Darcy gaped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t? Well, I imagine that Sheriff Haak will be interested in why you have my brother’s camera in your house.” Everly stepped forward, ready to brush past Darcy.
The other woman blocked the way, trapping Everly in the kitchen. “I wish you hadn’t come here, Everly. Because you aren’t going to leave alive.”
* * *
After running the social-media picture of Victim #1 through several programs, Wyatt discovered a few important points. First, the photo had been cropped before being posted to social media. With his equipment, he couldn’t return the picture to its original form.
What he needed was a more advanced computer, like the one at Rocky Mountain Justice.
He opened his phone’s contact app. After finding Marcus Jones’s info, he placed the call.
Jones answered on the second ring. “Wyatt? What’s up?”
Wyatt paused. He knew they all assumed that Larry Walker was the killer. He knew that he’d followed all the clues, leading them to a perfect suspect. Yet, he also knew he’d been wrong.
His heart stilled.
Wyatt refused to hide anymore while terrified of making another mistake.
“Wyatt?” Jones asked. “You there?”
“It wasn’t Larry. He was set up.”
“If this is your idea of a joke,” said Marcus, “it’s a bad one.”
“I wish I was kidding, but Larry isn’t our doer.” Wyatt gave a quick rundown of the Las Vegas find, the hidden compartment with the mummified cat
s and the trophies from previous victims. He pointed out that nothing of that nature had been found in Larry’s Pleasant Pines residence.
“People change,” said Marcus. “Even sickos.”
“More than most people, serial killers are consistent. True, sometime circumstances vary from one kill to the next, but that has more to do with opportunity and the victims than it does the killer. Their modus operandi is pretty reliable. That’s been true of this killer, as well.”
“But he lived in that apartment,” said Marcus. “You can’t deny that the trophies were found in his home.”
“According to a neighbor in Las Vegas, Larry had a roommate,” said Wyatt. “No other tenants were listed on the lease, so we don’t have a name. We do know that the roommate was a female.”
“Tell me you have more on this case. Maybe another suspect?”
“I have a picture from the first Las Vegas victim. I think Larry’s roommate might be in the photo.”
“Can we get an identity?”
“Not with the way it is now. It’s just a little bit of a woman’s scalp. But I can tell that the photo’s been edited.”
“And you’re wondering if you can use RMJ’s equipment again?”
“Exactly,” said Wyatt.
“How long before you can get to the office?”
“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes,” he said and ended the call.
Wyatt saved what he had on the flash drive and shoved it into his pocket. He placed all the printed photos into a file folder and grabbed those, as well. He reached for his phone before slipping on his vest. He jogged to his truck and started the engine. The tires kicked up gravel as Wyatt raced down the driveway. He turned hard to the right as he hit the pavement. The big engine revved and the truck fishtailed as he sped down the road.
* * *
Everly was trapped. Darcy stood on the threshold, blocking the only exit. Everly’s heartbeat slammed into her chest and bile rose in the back of her throat.
Under the Agent's Protection Page 17