Buried Evidence

by Kellie VanHorn

  “That’s him.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Lawrence Brown, single, age fifty-two, Delta employee at Evansville Regional since 2007,” Ryan read from the file. “Before that he worked at the BP station on the corner of Third and Smithville.”

  Hannah, the police department’s admin assistant, poked her head in the door. “Hey, Sergeant Mitchell, the lab came back with an early analysis on the suitcase crime scene. I sent you the file.”

  “Already? Excellent.” He clicked the computer mouse, changing the display to open the report. “Traces of ammonium nitrate, battery acid, steel, zinc, cell phone components. All things that could be procured by an amateur with a little bit of effort.”

  “So...” Laney stared across the room for a moment. “What if I’d listened to that threat and gotten right back on a plane? Would that bomb have gone off in the air?”

  “No, it would’ve been detected when you went back through airport security, and you would’ve enjoyed a cozy night in jail while we tried to sort out what really happened.”

  “I guess that’s something.” A conspiratorial smile played at her lips. “Do we have an address for Lawrence Brown?” She’d never been one to shy away from trouble, that was for sure.

  “Why, yes we do.” He closed the report and stood. “Now all we need is a search warrant and one of our K-9 teams.”

  * * *

  Laney dutifully followed Ryan around the station as he handled all the details with masterful precision. First stop had been updating the chief on what they’d learned from the video footage and lab report. Once he gave them permission to request the warrant, Ryan had tracked down Sandy Bluff’s judge to get the actual approval, based on the evidence they presented. Last stop had been the K-9 unit, which in Sandy Bluff, amounted to two officers and their dogs. One was trained to detect drugs, the other to find explosives.

  Fortunately for them, Officer Sarah McIntosh and her trusty German shepherd Marty were available to meet them at Brown’s home in half an hour.

  The house was down one of the many hilly, narrow roads crisscrossing the landscape to the northeast of Sandy Bluff, not all that far from the trailer park where Laney had grown up. She and Jenna had taken up cycling in their junior year of high school, in hopes of riding in the Little 500 race at IU. They’d traversed many of these country roads together until the day Jenna vanished.

  Laney shuddered at the memory and at the view out her window. What had happened to Jenna that day? Had she gotten a flat tire, stopped to change it all alone? Or had a problem with her cell and knocked on a stranger’s door to use the phone? Did the killer live in one of these houses?

  Her stomach twisted, made worse by the gnawing guilt that ten years hadn’t erased. When Jenna had called to ask about riding, teenage Laney had been lying in bed, head hanging over a bucket, trying not to puke. Morning sickness, hard on the heels of a positive pregnancy test only a few days earlier. Less than three weeks since their high school graduation.

  She’d panicked when she’d heard Jenna’s voice. There was no way she could go out on a bike feeling like this without her friend knowing something was up. And the last thing she’d wanted to do was admit what she and Ryan had done. What the consequences would be. How could she have known the baby would miscarry a week later?

  Instead, she’d spend a lifetime regretting the words she’d said next. You go on without me, Jenna. This stomach bug feels like it might linger.

  Truth was, Jenna’s death was ultimately her fault. And she could never let anyone find out. Especially Ryan.

  Pushing aside the horrible thoughts, she glanced at him. “Any word on the getaway vehicle from yesterday?”

  “No, not yet. But we’ll find it.” His expression was grim, his fingers tight on the steering wheel. If only she had the right words to ease some of that tension gripping his shoulders.

  A few minutes later, Ryan slowed and turned into a long driveway on a flat lot. Officer McIntosh sat waiting behind the steering wheel of her SUV.

  The house was a one-story ranch, all brick, with a roof that had seen better days and landscaping gone native. The front yard was mostly open to the road, but the sides and back were shrouded by tall deciduous trees. At the end of the driveway, a rusty white sedan was parked beneath the open carport.

  “Looks like he’s home.” Laney pointed at the car.

  Ryan waved at Officer McIntosh as she climbed out of her vehicle. “Sarah will handle the bomb-evidence search with Marty. You and I are going to find Mr. Brown.”

  “What if he recognizes me?”

  He shrugged. “Then I’ll get to see his reaction.”

  Clouds flitted across the sun, bathing the house and yard in shadow as they approached the front door. Laney drifted closer to Ryan. Both his strength and that sidearm in his belt made for good company at a moment like this, especially after what had happened to her and her mother at the trailer park. Even though it was heavy, wretchedly hot and uncomfortable, she was grateful for the bulletproof vest Ryan had insisted she wear.

  They waited until Sarah led Marty up to the front step, the German shepherd already sniffing intently in first one direction and then another, before Ryan pounded on the front door.

  “Open up. Sandy Bluff police. We have a warrant to search this property.”

  The air was still, the only sound coming from Marty’s collar as he nosed the ground.

  “Car’s in the driveway.” Sarah tipped her head in the direction of the carport. “But maybe he isn’t home?”

  Ryan shrugged and hammered on the door again. “Open up. This is your last chance to cooperate before we force entry.”

  When no response came, he tried the knob. The door swung open with a creak straight out of a horror movie. Ryan moved aside to let the dog inside first, with Sarah holding the lead.

  Laney followed the others, stopping on a peeling linoleum entry inset in the carpeted living room. The place was sparsely furnished with a sofa table beneath the picture window overlooking the front yard, an orange plaid sofa that seemed like a relic from the 1970s and a flat-panel television above the brick fireplace. The few wall hangings were generic, as if they’d been borrowed from the nearest motel.

  The dog paused at the break between the carpet and linoleum, sniffing the ground and the air. Sarah gave him a moment to acclimate to the new smells and then commanded, “Marty, search.” Marty began working his way around the room, pausing now and again but not alerting. Yet, anyway.

  It would be wonderfully convenient if Lawrence Brown was the bombing culprit. If they could get the evidence they needed and make the arrest, maybe he’d talk. Confess to his crimes and give up whoever had threatened her at the airport. Maybe he’d even reveal who had killed Jenna Mitchell. Laney could wrap up this case, knowing she’d done everything she could for Jenna, and head home before anything truly disastrous happened.

  But now wasn’t the time to get ahead of herself. First, they had to find Mr. Brown.

  “Lawrence Brown?” Ryan called loudly. “This is Sergeant Ryan Mitchell with the Sandy Bluff Police. We need to ask you some questions, and we have a warrant to search your property.”

  Silence, broken by what sounded like a soft click somewhere in the recesses of the house. She glanced at Ryan, lifting her eyebrows in question. His dark eyes settled on hers as if to reassure her he was there, but instead of responding, he called out again.

  “Mr. Brown?”

  When no response came, he pulled his gun and a flashlight from his belt. Across the room, Sarah removed her firearm also as she followed Marty toward the kitchen.

  Laney swallowed, suddenly highly aware of how unarmed she was. Why had she thought this was a good idea? Now Ryan had to protect her on top of trying to catch the suspect.

  He raised a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to follow. She nodded, even though her heart had turned in
to a jackhammer inside her ribs, and tiptoed silently down the hall after him.

  If the bomber was lying in wait down the hall, what kind of trap were they walking into?

  SEVEN

  Marty’s soft sniffing faded from the range of Laney’s hearing as she and Ryan advanced down the hall. Doorways opened off both sides into shadowy interiors, as if Mr. Brown never bothered opening his curtains to let in any daylight.

  She shivered. Or he liked to keep the house dark to get the jump on police officers and forensic anthropologists.

  At the first room, to the left, she flattened herself against the wall as Ryan stepped inside, gun up. The light came on as he flipped the switch before emerging again. She glanced in as they walked past—a bathroom, with the shower curtain pulled back to reveal an empty tub.

  More thumps came from a room farther down, and her heart leaped up into her throat, but Ryan remained as steady and unflappable as ever. He’d been her rock in high school, too, a safe place to turn in the chaos of her life. Up until the moment everything had unraveled.

  The worst part was, things hadn’t needed to end up the way they had. Her and Ryan’s relationship probably could’ve recovered from the intimacy they’d stolen if she hadn’t gotten pregnant and been too terrified to tell anyone the truth.

  Secrets always destroyed people in the end, didn’t they?

  She forced her thoughts back to the present as they entered the next room. It was empty, too, save for a futon, a stack of boxes and a desk covered in what appeared to be unopened bills.

  Three doors were left, one of them shut.

  Ryan pulled open the closed one to reveal a closet, and at the same moment, something flashed past Laney’s feet.

  She jumped, clamping a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming as a cat darted out of the closet and raced down the hall toward the living room. Tension ebbed out of her insides, making her knees weak. That must have been the source of the thumps. Lawrence Brown probably wasn’t even home.

  Ryan glanced back at her, a smile playing on his mouth.

  A sharp hiss coming from the direction of the kitchen told her the cat had met Marty, but the trained police dog didn’t bark. Sarah would be giving him extra treats tonight, no doubt.

  The hall ended in a pair of doorways, both open but so dark inside she could barely make out the beds within. Ryan gestured for her to wait as he entered the one on the left, then disappeared into the darkness. The beam of his flashlight sent a long swath of light flicking across the room.

  She let out a long, slow breath. Thank the Lord, they were almost done with this search. One room to go, and then there’d be nothing to do but recheck the rooms for evidence while Sarah and Marty finished their work.

  Suddenly a dark shape materialized in the other doorway, the one Ryan hadn’t checked yet, and wood dug sharply into Laney’s back as she pressed against the frame. A man emerged wearing tattered overalls. Brown hair, hazel eyes and an unsettling look on his face as his gaze swept over her. The man from the airport.

  A little yelp of surprise escaped her lips before she could stop it.

  Ryan was at her side within seconds, and Sarah appeared with Marty at the far end of the hall, a frown darting across her features.

  The man held up both hands, glancing between the officers before settling his gaze on Laney. His expression didn’t quite seem right for the situation—not the stress or concern she would’ve expected—but almost a hint of a smile.

  “Officers, can I help you?” he asked. “And I’d like to see your warrant.”

  Ryan kept the gun on him as he said, “We knocked and announced our arrival more than once. Why didn’t you respond?”

  “Didn’t hear you.” The man scratched his head. “I work late shifts and have to sleep at odd hours.”

  Ryan frowned but lowered his weapon. Down the hall, Sarah did the same, letting Marty continue sniffing his way toward them. “Are you Lawrence Brown?” he asked.

  “That’s me. But you can call me Larry.” Something about him made Laney’s stomach twist. Maybe it was the unnerving way his gaze stayed locked on her face. She resisted the urge to hide behind Ryan.

  “We have a warrant to search your property, and you’ll need to accompany us to the police station for questioning.” Ryan held out the warrant for his inspection.

  Brown barely glanced at it before fixing his gaze on Laney again, lips curling. “You’re a lot prettier now than when you were little. Don’t look much like your momma, though.”

  Her body went rigid as shock coursed through her system. He’d acted like she looked familiar at the airport, but—

  Ryan interrupted her thoughts, shooting her a concerned glance as he spoke. “Mr. Brown, please keep your personal comments to yourself.”

  Sarah and Marty came out of the room containing the futons and boxes. Marty trotted up to the three of them and sniffed Brown with interest but then pushed past him into the bedroom. Sarah held the leash firm. “Marty, stay.”

  Brown glanced down at the dog. “Hey, pooch. What’re you looking for? You won’t find drugs here. I’m clean.”

  “We’ll discuss it at the station,” Ryan said. He extended a hand toward the living room. “You’ll need to come with us.”

  When the man calmly walked in front of them back out to the police car, Laney couldn’t decide whether she felt relieved or disappointed.

  * * *

  Ryan paced back and forth outside the one-way glass window of the interrogation room. Lawrence Brown sat comfortably on one of the hard metal chairs, sipping a cup of watery coffee and glancing periodically around the room. Every now and then, his gaze would fix on the mirrored glass as if he were trying to watch Ryan and Laney standing outside.

  “How long are you going to make him sit there?” Laney asked. She seemed none the worse for the afternoon’s unsettling experience, but she’d had quite a shock when Brown had appeared out of nowhere. Maybe Ryan could crack that tough exterior and get her to open up later tonight if they ever had an opportunity to take a break. Talking would help her handle the subtle psychological strain of being in jeopardy.

  “We always let suspects wait before we come in. Sets them on edge.” Though it didn’t appear to be working, in this case. “Besides, Sarah took the dog to sniff the remains from your suitcase. He’ll let us know if he picks up Brown’s scent anywhere.”

  “But his house came up clean, didn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it did.” Unfortunately. If Brown was their man and had managed to wipe the trace of explosives away, they’d have no case against him. Unless they could get a confession now. “If we can’t get anything out of him, we’ll have to release him.”

  “I know. Then it’ll be back to watching security footage.” She remained expressionless and stoic, but she had to be feeling something. After years of watching her put on a brave face at school but crumble in private, he’d learned to recognize both her strength and her need to be vulnerable with someone safe.

  He almost checked himself—maybe she didn’t view him as safe anymore—but they were partners now, and he needed to offer her reassurance. So he rested a hand lightly on her arm and squeezed ever so gently. “We’ll find whoever is after you. Even if it’s not him.”

  Laney rewarded him with a slight upturn of the lips. She held his gaze for a moment before she looked away again. “Thanks.”

  “Do you think he knew you as a kid? Or was he making that up?”

  “I don’t know.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “But I have an idea. Let me think about it.”

  His radio crackled, and Ryan pulled it from his belt. “This is Mitchell.”

  “Ryan—” Sarah’s voice “—Marty isn’t picking up his scent. We’ll have to look elsewhere.”

  “Thanks, Sarah.” He swallowed his disappointment, nodded once at Laney and strode into the interrogatio
n chamber.

  Lawrence Brown raised a hand in salute, once to him and a second time to the window. “Sergeant. Where’s that cute little Laney Hamilton? Watching from outside?”

  He clenched his jaw. The guy may be clean, but the way he’d looked at Laney made Ryan want to punch him in the gut. Hard. But showing his emotions would only give the suspect the upper hand, so he pasted on a fake smile. “Mr. Brown, I have a couple of questions for you. Were you at work at Evansville Regional on the night of August 17? Two nights ago?”

  “Sounds right to me.” Brown slouched back in his chair, rolling the bottom of his paper coffee cup around in circles on the table. “I mean, if they schedule me, I show up. You can ask my boss.”

  “And was this you, bringing out a suitcase that somehow was left off the baggage claim conveyor belt?” He held up a hand and rotated his finger to cue the technician in the booth to play back the security video on the small television hanging in one corner of the room.

  He watched Brown intently as the other man stared up at the screen, a smile flickering across his face as he startled Laney in the footage.

  Brown pointed at the screen. “Guess I made an impression.” He leered at the one-way glass, and Ryan winced on the inside.

  No doubt Laney had seen that.

  “What happened with the bag, Mr. Brown? Why did you need to bring it up to the claims office?”

  “How else was she going to get it back? Taber and I unloaded the plane, like normal, but when I checked the dock, one bag had gotten left behind somehow. Protocol says to bring it to the claims office if the belt’s been off fifteen minutes. You can check the airline’s policy if you don’t believe me.”

  Ryan pulled a notepad and pen out of his pocket, pausing for a long moment as he scribbled a line of notes on the paper. It wasn’t necessary from the standpoint of his memory—he’d recall this unhelpful conversation just fine—but the action typically put suspects on edge.