“I’ll ask him about it,” Clay said.
“And I can spare some time looking too,” Dan volunteered, then hastily looked over at Cy. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”
When Cy’s gaze narrowed on his ranger, Hamilton spoke up. “We’d appreciate the help, Supervisor McCormick.”
Cy aimed a polite smile at the man who looked entirely too comfortable leaning back in his chair with one foot propped up on the opposite knee. “It’s no problem, Special Agent Hamilton.”
To head off any pissing contest between the two senior men in the room, Ricki quickly went over the rest of the mounting coincidences, ending with the car crash.
“Then you think those shots were aimed at you because you’re investigating the John Doe victim found in the lighthouse?” Hamilton frowned as he drummed one finger against the surface of the conference table.
Her uncle crossed his arms over his chest and gave her an exasperated glare. “Yes, Ricki. Why do you think that? The shooter could have been aiming at anyone who happened to drive by.”
Since she’d said the same thing to her uncle just a few hours before, Ricki ignored the sarcasm in his tone and kept her attention on her boss. “My jeep is pretty well known, and no one was taking shots at anyone until we found that body.”
Hamilton didn’t look impressed. “You’re assuming it was a local who took those shots, and there were two bodies found up there. Maybe it has to do with the PI and not the John Doe.”
“The dead PI is my case,” Clay put in. “My car is also well known around here, and would be to someone who isn’t a local since it’s well marked as a police vehicle, and no one took any shots at me.”
Hamilton frowned again. “Your point is well taken, Chief.” He looked from Clay to Ricki and then folded his hands and leaned forward. “It’s Tuesday. Keep this at the top of your pile, Agent James, at least for the rest of the week. But if you can’t establish more connection to the park service than an abandoned uniform and badge by the end of the week, move it down the pile and focus on the rest of your work.”
Knowing a five-day window, if she counted the weekend, was the best she was going to get, Ricki dutifully nodded. As the men got to their feet, she looked over at Clay and caught his eye. “Can I have a moment of your time, Chief?”
Clay’s expression wasn’t exactly friendly, but at least he nodded and sat down again. Ricki waited until the room had emptied out, then walked over and closed the door before skirting around the table and taking the vacated seat next to Clay.
“Look. I’m sorry.” She smiled sheepishly. “Again.”
He leaned back and stretched out his long legs beneath the table. “This time you have something to apologize for. Why did you take off like that without telling me where you were going? I thought after you met the Cannadys, and talked with them, everything was fine.”
“I took off like that because you suggested it,” she said, nodding when he gave her an incredulous look. “Yes, you did. You said I should do whatever it took to clear my head, and spending time alone in the park is that thing.” When he remained silent, she went on. “Even when I was married I used to make regular trips alone into the park. It’s always helped me see things more clearly.” Her lips curved up into a rueful smile. “It’s where I decided to get married in the first place. And where I decided to get a divorce, for that matter.”
Clay sighed and scrubbed a hand along the side of his face. “Yeah. Okay. I get that. But I tried calling, and you weren’t home. I stopped by the diner and Marcie told me about this campout habit of yours.”
“Which is what I’m apologizing for,” Ricki said. “Not for going on the campout, but for not calling and letting you know about it.”
He drew in another deep breath then slowly let it out, keeping his gaze on hers. “All right. Apology accepted.” His shoulders relaxed as he continued to study her face. “Make any decisions while you were out there?”
“A couple.” When he lifted an eyebrow, she grimaced. “I’ll always think I should have reacted a little quicker and maybe have stopped the accident from happening, but you and Amanda’s parents are right. I didn’t fire that bullet, and did the best that I could to get out of the way of that car, so I can live with it.” Her expression softened at the look of relief in his eyes. It gave her a warm feeling inside to know that he’d been worried about her, even when he was mad. Warm enough that she broke her new rule of no touching while on the job and reached over and squeezed his hand before leaning back in her chair again. “I also took along that report Josh gave me.”
His eyes widened slightly over lifted brows, but he didn’t show any other reaction to that announcement. “Did you read it?”
Ricki nodded. “I read it. I thought it was something the FBI had put together, but it was the official report from the US Marshals Service.”
When she frowned, so did Clay.
“Was something wrong with it?” he asked.
“Let’s just say it had my name on it, but it wasn’t my interview.”
Clay’s jaw hardened along with his gaze. “Someone doctored the interview?”
“Or can’t listen very well.” She had been stunned when she’d read what the interviewing agent had stated were her words, transcribed from the taped interview she’d given from her hospital bed. Maybe the recording had been garbled somehow, so he hadn’t understood what she’d said. But she didn’t think so.
“What was different?”
She slowly shook her head. “I need to talk to Josh first. Find out what he’s thinking.” She chewed on her lower lip, still thinking it through. “And I’m not sure you want to get tangled up in this.”
“Hey. I’m already tangled up in it, so read me in, James.”
Her face lit up with a grateful smile. She wanted to tell him, bounce her thoughts off him and hear his, but it had to be his choice. “Okay. I still want to talk to Josh first, I owe that to him, and I need to get Dan started on that search in the basement. How about we meet at the Sunny Side Up? Say around six?”
Clay nodded. “Sounds good.” When Ricki got to her feet, he did the same. “I’ll talk to Ray and ask him to help Dan out. If anyone knows where those records are in that mess in the basement, it would be Ray.” He
smiled. “How’s the truck working out for you?”
Since she was now more comfortable accepting his help, another conclusion she’d come to during her campout, Ricki returned his smile. “It’s working out great, thanks. I appreciate the loan.”
“No problem.” He gave her arm a light pat. “I still think we need to make that trip to Chicago, but the two council members I’ve talked to aren’t in agreement. They think it’s a lot of money to spend without any assurances it would solve the murder. They want me to turn everything over to the Chicago PD, even though I’ve explained to them Hardy wasn’t murdered in Chicago.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “I’ve gotten all the information I can out of Demi Lansanger, so I’d sure like to get a look at Hardy’s desk. There might be a note or something there to connect him with a foundation in Chicago.”
Ricki grabbed his arm and stopped him before he could head toward the door. “Do you think that’s who Hardy’s client was? Someone in that foundation?”
“Could be,” Clay said. “Maybe he came out to check up on the place for them, since his assistant said Hardy had been out here before. Might be a regular, every-few-years kind of job for him.”
She wasn’t buying that. “Why hire a PI? Why not just send some lower-level minion from the foundation, or hire someone from here to run up and check on the place?”
The chief shrugged. “I don’t know. Which is why I’d like to establish that connection and then pay the foundation a visit.”
Satisfied that they were on the same page and would run into the same roadblock on going to Chicago—him from his bosses on the town council, and her from Hamilton—Ricki nodded. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
When her pho
ne rang she glanced at the caller ID and frowned. “Hang on a minute. It’s Captain Davis.”
Chapter Nineteen
“They’re a match,” Ricki said softly, staring at the phone she was still holding in her hand, disbelief written all over her face. “The forensic guys are saying that the rifling on the bullets match up.”
Clay lifted both eyebrows. “A match to what?”
Still a bit stunned, Ricki pulled out the chair again and sat down. “To each other.” She waited, watching Clay as her little bombshell of information sank in.
“The two . . . ? You aren’t talking about . . .” He stuttered to a halt and ran a hand over the top of his head when she nodded.
“I am talking about that,” Ricki said. “The rifling on the bullet that killed Hardy matches the one that killed the John Doe.”
Clay’s eyes widened and now he was shaking his head in denial. “But that would mean they came from the same gun.”
Ricki threw up her hands in a helpless gesture. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it means. Same gun, fired at least twenty-five years apart. Maybe longer. Who knows at this point?”
“Well, shit.” Clay’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “I don’t even know what to do with that.”
She didn’t either, but Captain Davis had said the forensic tech who had looked over the two bullets was positive. Same marks, same gun. “A Smith & Wesson .22.”
“What?”
“A Smith & Wesson .22,” Ricki repeated. “That was in the original forensic report as the most likely weapon for both murders. But it was a popular gun back in the sixties and seventies, so I didn’t zero in on it.”
“I didn’t either,” Clay said. “All that told me was that the killer wasn’t a hitman.” When Ricki frowned, he shrugged. “Not the gun of choice for a professional.”
So, does someone who kills over a time span of twenty-five years, or maybe even more, count as a professional? Ricki wondered. She stood and headed for the hallway. “We need to let Cy know, and then I’ll call Hamilton,” she said over her shoulder.
Clay followed her out the door and down the hall to the supervisor’s office. When Ricki reached her uncle’s door, she gave a quick rap, not waiting for an invitation before stepping into the room. She stopped short at the sight of her boss sitting in one of the folding chairs in front of Cy’s desk. Both men looked over at her and Clay as the chief took a hasty step to the side to avoid plowing into Ricki’s back.
Cy’s gaze swept over his niece’s face before he half rose out of his chair. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Ricki looked over at Hamilton. “It’s a good thing that you’re still here. It saves me a phone call.”
“Glad to be of help.” Hamilton smiled. “A phone call about what?”
Ricki lifted the phone in her hand and waved it back and forth. “I just heard from Captain Davis.” She paused and took a breath, wanting to select her words carefully so she wouldn’t be misunderstood as she repeated what she’d told Clay about the bullets that killed both victims coming from a single weapon.
A stunned silence settled in the room, lasting a full minute before Hamilton cleared his throat. “Let me understand this. A couple of forensic techs in the Tacoma Police Department are saying that the same gun was used to kill both men?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
Hamilton leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together in front of him. “Now why would they have compared the two bullets since we don’t have a gun to go with them?”
“Curiosity, according to Captain Davis. The techs saw the bullets were the same caliber, and after they did the standard analysis, they both got curious.”
“Hmm.” The senior agent made the sound deep in his throat, his direct gaze holding Ricki’s for a long moment before he let out a sigh. “No mistake, then?”
“No, sir,” Ricki said. “No mistake. The same gun killed both our vics.”
Hamilton looked over at Clay. “And what do you have to say about this, Chief?”
“What is there to say?” Clay asked in return. “Two dead bodies, same place, same gun.”
“And at least twenty-five years between them.” Hamilton shook his head. “More like fifty, actually. Unbelievable.”
Cy’s gaze bounced between Hamilton and his niece, and then over to Clay. “So you’re all saying that the same guy committed both murders, with the same gun, in the same way?”
“Not the same way,” Ricki said, drawing three pairs of eyes to her. She shrugged. “They weren’t killed in the same way.”
“Explain that, Agent James,” Hamilton demanded.
“It wasn’t the same for the killer,” she stated. The firmness in her voice lent weight to her words. “Sure, they were both shot. But the John Doe was laid out almost like he was in a coffin. Very proper, with his arms at his side, his legs straight. And the uniform was neatly folded, with his badge still pinned to it. He meant something to whoever left him in that lighthouse.” Since she was getting tired, she walked across the room and sat in the empty chair next to Hamilton. “Hardy’s body looked like it was left exactly where it fell. He was shot. The killer went through his pockets, and then just walked off. He didn’t know Hardy at all, or if he did, he didn’t think much of the PI Where he was shot was probably a simple matter of known convenience.”
“Known convenience?” Cy asked.
“Yeah. The killer knew about the lighthouse because he’d used it before. He knew it was remote, that no one was going to hear the shot, and if he used his parking lights and not his headlights to get up the mountain, the trees are thick enough that he wouldn’t be seen.” Ricki nodded. “Convenient.”
“Makes sense,” Cy muttered, then leaned back in his chair far enough to make it creak. “So what happens now?”
Clay walked over and propped a hip on the edge of Cy’s desk. “Well, it narrows down our suspect pool considerably. Whoever we’re looking for is probably at least in his fifties, and maybe in his seventies or older.”
“He?” Hamilton asked.
“It’s unlikely a woman could have carried a body up that path, or would wear a size twelve shoe,” Clay said, repeating what he and Ricki had already concluded.
Hamilton nodded. “Agreed, Chief. But the suspect pool is only narrowed if the suspect is still around here. If he’s now living anywhere else, say in Tacoma or Seattle, it’s another needle in the haystack.”
“He’s here,” Ricki said flatly. “Hardy came here for a reason that’s connected to the Bay. The ranger, or whoever he was, was killed here, and someone knew Hardy had come here looking for something.” She glanced up at Clay. “Or someone.”
“Or someone connected to something,” Hamilton said, finishing the thought. “Because that someone very likely killed Hardy.” He glanced over at the open office door long enough that Clay walked over and closed it before returning to his spot near the desk. “Thank you,” the senior agent said. He leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees. “I want this information kept in this room. If our guy is a local, I’ve heard enough from Ricki about the gossip machine around here to know that if this connection between the two murders gets out, the killer will hear about it.”
“That’s the truth,” Cy agreed. “And he might get desperate enough to take another potshot at Ricki.” He nodded at Clay. “Or you.”
“That being the reason for the shooting hasn’t been established as a fact yet,” Hamilton said.
“Then a coincidence strong enough to make it just short of a fact,” Cy retorted.
Hamilton straightened up and immediately gave in on the point. “Most likely.” He glanced over Ricki’s head, his stare aimed at Clay. “How are you on resources, Chief?”
“I could use some help,” Clay flatly stated. “We need to nail down who owns that land to see if we can find a link to Hardy’s client. We also have to dig through the files in the basement until we come up with a name for the first vic. Without that, it’s
going to be damn near impossible to find the connection between him and Hardy.”
“The Dabob Bay PD lent us a pretty big hand on that last case in the park,” Cy quickly pointed out. “Seems we should return the favor.” He smiled. “We like to keep friendly, cooperative relations with the local law enforcement.”
“He did more than help,” Ricki put in quietly. “He risked his life on my last case.”
Hamilton rolled his eyes even as a smile tugged at his mouth. “Fine. Fine. I can see I’m outnumbered and outvoted.” He shifted in his chair so he was squarely facing Ricki. “In the name of good interdepartmental relations, you are authorized to help the police chief.” When she grinned, he gave her a bland look. “As long as you keep up with your other work.”
That had her smile wobbling a bit, but she was still doing a high-five inside. At least until Hamilton added, “I hope you enjoy doing all that research, Agent James. It sounds like you’re going to be chained to a desk for a while.” Now he smiled at her. “Fitting punishment for not returning any of my calls, and then taking off on your own when you should have been here, on the clock.”
Chapter Twenty
Three hours later Ricki straightened up and stretched her back, letting out a small groan as her muscles protested at the foreign movement. She’d been hunched over a desk, staring at a computer screen for so long, she was sure she’d developed a permanent curve in her spine. The bones in her neck crackled when she did a slow head roll to the right, letting out the same sound when she repeated the movement to the left. If Hamilton were more enthusiastic about this case, she’d demand hazard pay for all this desk work. The only quick break she’d had was when she’d made two phone calls—one to Josh, and the other to someone she knew in the county office located in Port Jefferson.
One Last Scream (Special Agent Ricki James Book 2) Page 14