Beneath the Ashes

by Dea Poirier

  “You’re here for Austin?” he confirms.

  We both nod, hanging on his every word.

  “She’s going to be fine. She needed some stitches on the back of her head, and she has a minor concussion. Looks like her back hit the ground first, and her jacket hood popped up to cushion the impact of her skull. I’ll release her to go home in twenty-four to forty-eight hours. She’ll be sore for a few days, though.”

  I exhale sharply. “Are you sure?” I ask.

  The doctor lets out a low laugh that makes it clear he’s humoring me. “Yes, I assure you—she’ll be fine.”

  After we finish up with the doctor, I pull Sergeant Pelletier to the side. “We need to make sure someone stays with her twenty-four seven.”

  “I was planning to. We’ve already got a couple of officers here on a rotation checking things out. I’ll be sure someone stays outside her room at all times.”

  “Good,” I say.

  “She’s going to be pissed when she finds out. She won’t want resources wasted on her.”

  “It’s not wasted,” I say automatically. “She could be in danger.”

  He raises a brow. “I know that, and you know that. She, however, is going to think it’s a crock of shit.”

  I shake my head but say nothing because I know I would do the exact same thing. “I’ve got to stop by her place,” I say.

  “For what?” he asks.

  I don’t know if Sergeant Pelletier knows about her daughter or not, so I try to keep it general. “I’m going to go check on something for her.”

  “Do that, and then get some sleep. It’s almost four a.m.”

  Though I want to argue, I know better. He isn’t the first sergeant to tell me to get some sleep. And if I’m honest, I am dragging ass. My eyes ache; my limbs are heavy. After I check on Harper, I really do need some sleep.

  By the time I make it to Austin’s trailer, dawn whispers along the horizon, turning the inky sky purple where it touches the horizon. Cold air still clings to the night, turning my breath into a cloud. My cheeks ache as a cold wind whips against them.

  There are no lights on in the trailer, and I hate that I might wake Harper. But I really don’t have much choice. I rap my knuckles against the door, starting soft, then growing louder when I don’t hear any movement in the house. Finally, the door creaks open, and a bleary-eyed woman Austin’s age peers out at me.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, her words stretched with sleep.

  “I’m Austin’s partner,” I start.

  She looks past me as if searching for Austin. She takes a step back, and I swear all the blood drains from her face. It hits me what she must think, that I’m here to tell her Austin is dead. I look down, expecting that she’s seen blood on my clothes, but they’re too dark to show any stains.

  “She’s okay,” I say in a rush.

  She grasps her heart and takes a breath so deep I can hear it. “Come in,” she says, opening the door a little wider. The front door leads straight into the living room. Inside, the walls are a pale yellow. Pictures of a little girl hang everywhere, a timeline of her aging from a newborn into a five-year-old. The pictures are accompanied by swirls and butterflies that have been painted along the walls. Against the left wall there’s a plush blue sofa, and to the right is a TV in an entertainment center, packed from top to bottom with children’s books.

  The living room opens to a kitchen and small dining area. Beyond that, a hall stretches back to where I guess the bedrooms can be found. The woman motions toward the couch, and I take a seat.

  “I’m Sam,” she says. Sam has a wide face with small, close-set eyes. They’re light blue, almost gray, which looks striking against her black hair. She’s tall and lean, all arms and legs.

  I introduce myself, though I get the feeling she already knows who I am.

  “She’s mentioned you.” She perches on the edge of the sofa, teetering as if she plans to hop up any second. “What’s happened?”

  “There was an accident with an ATV. She hit her head. She needed stitches. But she’ll be released from the hospital later today or tomorrow at the latest. There’s no permanent damage,” I say.

  She listens intently the entire time I talk, nodding with nearly every word.

  “Can you watch Harper until she’s released?” I ask.

  “Of course. I live two houses down. It’s no trouble. I’m just so happy she’s okay.” She sniffles, and I know she’s on the verge of breaking down. Her pale face is splotchy, her eyes glassy.

  “We are too. Thank you,” I say as I shove up from the couch. But as I do, the soft padding of footsteps catches my attention. A little girl with long brown hair steps from the darkness in the hall, rubbing her eyes with one hand, a little stuffed dinosaur in the other.

  “Mommy?” she says, looking between Sam and me.

  Sam hops up and closes the distance between her and Harper. She scoops the little girl up and pops Harper onto her hip. “Your mommy is busy at work. So it’s going to be you and me for a couple days, kiddo. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” She says it in a high voice, like she’s so excited, all her earlier sadness hidden away.

  “Yay!” Harper calls as the two of them spin in the hall.

  “I’ll get out of your hair,” I say. I slide one of my business cards onto the kitchen counter, making sure Sam sees me do it. “If you need anything, just call me.”

  “I will, thank you,” she says.

  I climb back into my car, my limbs heavy as the adrenaline fades. I grip the steering wheel to try to keep my hands from shaking. The sun edges over the hills, turning the few scattered clouds pink and gold as I turn onto Route 1.

  By the time I get back to the hotel in Camden, I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I fall into bed next to Noah, leaning against him. He stirs and presses his body against mine.

  With his words in my mind and the echo of his heartbeat in my ear, I drift off into an easy sleep.

  I wake up around six, light peeking through the edges of the blackout curtains. Noah is sitting up beside me in bed, his laptop open. His screen casts a blue glow across his face, highlighting the slope of his nose, his cheekbones, and the stubble flecking his jaw.

  “What are you working on?” I prop myself up on my elbow and peer at his screen.

  “Tina’s case,” he says, taking his eyes off the computer to look at me. His brows perk up, and the edge of his lip curls.

  It sticks out to me that he calls it Tina’s case, with no mention of other victims. To him, this is all Tina. It’s as personal to him as Rachel’s case was to me. It’s clear when he talks about Tina that she meant the world to him.

  “You should get some more sleep,” he says.

  I shake my head and draw up into a sitting position on the king-size bed next to him. Though I’m still a bit tired, I don’t want to sleep anymore. I need something else to focus on so I don’t think about Austin. After she gets out, we’ll regroup and decide on our next move. But for now, I’ve got to do something. “Tell me about your case. Catch me up.”

  He straightens and shifts the laptop on his lap so I can see it more easily. “I’ve mapped out where all the bodies were dumped,” he says, pointing it out to me.

  “But they obviously weren’t killed in the middle of that street,” I say as I look over the map on his screen. Though the street looks barely bigger than an alley, it connects two major roads and is surrounded by businesses.

  “Based on the trace evidence on the bodies, they guessed that the women were killed in a car or at least transported in a trunk. All had traces of chemicals or car grease, gasoline, oil, on their bodies. A few had tiny strips of latex gloves found on them, but no DNA.”

  “Latex gloves?” That tells me the suspect likely has been up to these crimes for a long time. Highly organized. And chances are those strips weren’t left behind by accident. The killer wanted authorities to know he was being careful, that he wasn’t going to leave evidence. “What was simila
r about these victims?” I ask.

  “All single mothers. All had recently visited a hospital nearby. It seems a few had bad bouts of the flu. The cops assumed that all the victims were sex workers because of where they were dumped. Though based on looking at the records, that seems flimsy at best. They interviewed the other women that worked in the area; none recognized any of the victims except for one. And she hadn’t been on the streets in years. There was nothing linking Tina to sex work. She had a good job.”

  It takes a long time for me to process what he said. Alarm bells go off in my mind, and my mouth goes bone dry. “The same hospital?” My voice breaks as I speak.

  He nods.

  “How far was the dumping ground from the hospital?”

  “Less than ten minutes.”

  “How long after visiting the hospital did these women die?” My heart pounds, adrenaline humming in my blood.

  “Within three weeks. Most within ten to fourteen days,” he explains as he reads the details off the computer.

  “Did these women have overlapping nurses or doctors?”

  He shakes his head. “A few here and a few there. But for the most part, no. Some weren’t even in the same parts of the hospital. So it could be a custodian, someone who would have a reason to be all over the hospital. Though the police looked into all the current staff at the hospital at the time, they were never able to find anyone that stuck out as a suspect. Apparently my father was considered a suspect in Tina’s death for a short time, because they found evidence they’d been having an affair.”

  “Holy shit,” I breathe. His father was having an affair with Tina?

  “Yeah,” he manages. “Though it’s one other thing I’m sure my mother would never believe.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say and squeeze his hand gently. “I know it’ll take you a while to track it down, but could you check to see if any employees left the hospital after the killing stopped and moved to Maine?”

  “You think . . . ,” he starts but trails off.

  “There are some elements that line up. It could be nothing. But it could also be something. It’s worth checking it out.”

  “I’ll look into it. It’s going to take me a few days, and I’ll have to see if I can get my brother to talk to their HR department.”

  “You think he’d do that?” I ask. Noah has made their issues clear, but I’m still trying to understand the dynamics.

  “I’m sure he will if I really need it.”

  While Noah goes over the other details of the case, all I can focus on is how closely it aligns with mine.

  CHAPTER 19

  The next morning, I drive straight to the hospital. Though Austin has only been there a little over twenty-four hours, they’re ready for her to leave, and so am I. I thought about visiting, but with the constant guard and her needing to rest, I decided to leave her to it. I pull up outside just as a nurse rolls Austin out in a wheelchair.

  “This is so ridiculous,” Austin mutters to the nurse in a tone that tells me it’s not the first time she’s said it. “I hit my head. I can walk just fine.”

  “Policies. There’s nothing I can do about it, ma’am.”

  Austin shoves up from the wheelchair and strides toward my car, the nurse staring after her like she might say something else. But she seems to think better of it and turns, heading back to the hospital, pushing the chair.

  “How’re you doing?” I ask when she climbs into the car and buckles herself into the passenger seat.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be better when people stop acting like I’m a cracked egg. I want to go back to work.”

  “You sure? I’m certain that Sergeant Pelletier is going to try to send you home.”

  “Then he’s going to get a piece of my mind,” she says.

  I can’t help but smile at that. I’d do the exact same thing. “Do you want to swing by your place and see Harper before we head to the station?”

  “She’s at kindergarten. She won’t be home. Sam texted me and let me know she dropped her off. Thank you for stopping by to tell her what was happening.”

  I had expected her to be annoyed with me. At least a little bit. But I’m sure she’d rather that I stop by and see Harper instead of one of the other guys from the station.

  “I’ll see her tonight,” she says quietly enough I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or to herself.

  When we pull up to the station at ten, the parking lot is already filled. Usually it takes a bit for everyone to trickle in. I catch her up on what Noah is looking into for me.

  She’s quiet for a long moment.

  “If we do connect someone between this hospital and the other in Tennessee, we would need to look at the victims close to that hospital.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asks.

  “Whoever is doing this is highly organized. Careful. They’re making sure not to leave DNA, fingerprints, and so far all the victims have come willingly.”

  “So when he was newer to this, there’d be more evidence left behind?” she asks.

  “Most likely, yes. I would also guess that since our suspect isn’t killing at home, there’s a reason for that. Either they don’t live alone, or they live too close to others who might realize what’s going on.”

  “Like in apartments?”

  “Yes, exactly like that. If he’s too loud in an apartment, that’s the end of it.” Living in an apartment is what ended up getting Jeffrey Dahmer caught. Dahmer got so lazy near the end that his apartment was a wasteland of body parts. Hell, he had shrines of skulls and body parts in his fridge. The smell is what gave him away. If he’d had a place out of the way that no one had a reason to visit, who knows how long his murder spree would have lasted.

  “We’re looking for someone who can readily afford motels, someone who can easily lure these women without raising suspicion.”

  “Yes,” I say. “And we’re looking for someone who would have had a connection with Trent. So likely someone else who works at that hospital.” Her words stoke thoughts already sparking in the back of my mind. “Austin. You were at that hospital. You need to be careful. Someone might approach you. It could be this guy.”

  A grin curves her lips, and she crosses her arms. Something passes over her features, and the look on her face unsettles me. She’s excited.

  “Austin, what are you thinking?” I ask when she doesn’t say anything. But I have a terrible idea she’s thinking the same thing Noah did.

  “This could be perfect. I can lure this shitbag out into the open—”

  “No,” I say automatically. I know the desperation, the need, to solve the case. But I won’t let her do this. I will not let another officer put herself in danger like that.

  “I won’t be in danger. It’s not like I’m going to take a strange man to a motel. But if some guy approaches me, that would point us in a direction, right? And since all the victims so far went willingly . . .” She trails off.

  “Willingly for now. The moment he can’t get who he wants or needs back to a hotel, he’ll drag someone back to one. A killer sticks to one MO for as long as it’s comfortable. But if you push them, if you keep them from getting what they need, that will change. Believe me.”

  The look she gives me tells me that she doesn’t believe me at all.

  “Seriously, Austin, I need you to be careful. Stay aware of who is around you wherever you are. Trent may be locked up, but he may not have been doing this alone. We saw those outgoing calls on the burner phone around the times the victims were killed.”

  “Fine,” she says, but the tone of her voice makes it sound like she isn’t going to listen.

  Inside the station, Austin walks straight to her desk, and I go to mine. I log in to the computer and begin to search for more details about the murders in Tennessee.

  CHAPTER 20

  Noah and I wake up early. I was stuck at the station late into the night, and by the time I got back to the hotel, he was already passed out. I didn’t have the hear
t to wake him. Now, he stretches next to me on the hotel bed. And I can’t help but find it hilarious that we’re both paying for rentals but here we are, shacked up at a hotel across the water from them. It makes me question again if I want to keep my place in Vinalhaven or if I’m ready to move on. I still don’t know.

  Noah slides off the bed and strides into the bathroom. I roll over, propping my head on my hand. Within a few seconds he’s back, leaning against the doorframe, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He’s shirtless, which always draws my eyes to those abs of his. I eye him a little too long, imagining him slipping back into bed with me, me running my hand along his chest. I bite my lip and push the thought away. I’ve got a case to focus on.

  “So what’d you find yesterday?” I ask.

  He holds his hand up, signaling for me to wait a minute. He disappears back into the bathroom. A second later he reappears, wiping the toothpaste residue from his lips. “I’ve got a long list of hospital employees. I got through about fifty of them yesterday. And I heard from my brother about the new victim they found. They matched her to a woman who went missing.”

  “Oh? Who was the victim?” I ask.

  He walks over to his laptop and pops it open. “One sec, I’ve got to pull up her name.” He types, his fingers clicking against the keyboard, then turns around. “Elizabeth McConnel.”

  “McConnel? The director of the hospital and the CEO both have the same last name.” Is it possible that Elizabeth is a relative of Aidan’s? Is this the missing link we’ve been looking for? “How many of those on the list moved to Maine?”

  “So far, only a handful. Three were here temporarily. Only one worked at both hospitals. But she doesn’t work there anymore. She retired about ten years ago and moved to Florida,” he explains.

  “Give me part of your list. I’ll start at the end. You can keep working from the top, and we’ll meet in the middle.”

  Noah hands over a list, and I’m thankful that he likes having a physical list in front of him. I’m the same way. I digitize things for my cases, but there’s nothing like having paper, real notes, in front of me. That’s why I still use a notepad, unlike some of the other officers, who have switched to tablets. Hiding behind a device makes it all feel much less personal.