Buried Evidence

by Kellie VanHorn

  When no car turned into the driveway, Laney went back to her files. Wilson’s other two victims had been found buried—not in Waltman’s Bog, but in another field a few miles farther east. Both sets of remains had been reduced mainly to bone after two and four years buried in the mud. A cursory glance at the images of the cut marks showed they did appear to have been caused by the same implement, applied with similar force and direction.

  Wait a minute... She sat up, fingers resting lightly against one particular image of the inferior end of a femur. Wilson had cut through the ligaments binding the bone to the patella, leaving marks on the rounded surface of the bone. She’d seen similar marks only that morning, when examining Jenna’s remains.

  Of course, joints were a natural place to dismember a body, but—

  She flipped through the other images, diving into the other files to examine the remains from the other bodies. Then pulled out her cell phone, where she’d stored snapshots from her examination of the bog remains that morning.

  There were variations in the blade’s pattern, indicating different weapons used on Jenna compared to the others, but the angle of application and the force were essentially the same. Laney dropped the phone, pressing cold fingertips to her lips.

  The same person who’d cut up these bodies had also dismembered Jenna Mitchell.

  Ronald Wilson had been framed.

  With a scraping sound, the Mitchells’ air conditioner kicked on. Even though Laney recognized the noise, she shivered anyway.

  Wait... Had she forgotten to lock the glass slider to the backyard? Her heart thumped a little harder, but she forced her shoulders to relax. No sense in panicking.

  She closed her laptop and set it on the nightstand, sitting for a moment on the edge of the bed. It was tempting to climb under the covers and pull the comforter up over her head, but she’d never be able to sleep if she thought there was even a possibility the door was unlocked. Not that anyone would try to sneak into the police chief’s house, but still...

  Better safe than sorry.

  The hallway was dark except for the soft green glow of a smoke detector down by the master bedroom. She stretched fingertips out to run along the wall on one side, feeling her way back to the opening into the living room. Up ahead, where the living room opened into the kitchen, faint light emanated from the clocks on the microwave and stove.

  She stopped at the end of the hall, lingering for a moment in the relative safety of close walls. From here, a right-hand turn would take her through the open living room, past the door to the basement and into a formal dining room turned home office. Or if she followed the glow of the clocks, she could go a bit farther and turn through the kitchen.

  Did it matter? It wasn’t like anyone was inside their house. She was being ridiculous.

  Still...she’d feel better with a weapon. The fireplace pokers sat a few feet away—the faintest hint of light reflected off the brass. She edged toward the metal stand, sliding sweaty fingers around the handle of the nearest one. The air stirred, the slightest breeze wafting across her face. Was it the vent? The air conditioner was still blowing.

  She withdrew the poker, wincing at the grating sound as it rubbed against the stand. Maybe it would make more sense to go wake up Jim. He had a firearm after all.

  But what would she say? Jim, I think I forgot to lock the sliding door to the backyard, and I’m too paranoid to check it myself. Ha, that wouldn’t be embarrassing.

  The brass poker felt heavy and reassuring in her hand, and she ran her fingertips along the other end to make sure she’d gotten the one with the sharp tip. Perfect. Deciding to go through the kitchen, she pushed on across the living room carpet, feeling for the sofa table behind the couch before she rammed a hip into it. A few more paces brought her to the wall dividing the kitchen from the home-office space, and she navigated around the cold granite countertop by the light of the microwave clock.

  One hand on the kitchen island guided her to the end of the room and the breakfast nook where they’d had dinner. On the far side of the table, the floor-length linen curtains hanging over the slider were closed.

  A breath of relief escaped her lips. She didn’t remember pulling them together, but she must have done it when she’d shut the doors. Either that, or Mary had before heading for bed.

  She turned to go but froze when movement caught her eye. One of the curtains at the far end of the table was fluttering ever so slightly, as if caught in a breeze. It had to be the air conditioner blowing—surely there was a floor vent against the wall—but she tightened her grip on the poker anyway.

  Edging around the table and chairs, she tiptoed across the hardwood floor closer to the moving curtain. The only way to check for a vent was to pull the curtain back—like a scene straight out of a low-budget horror movie.

  The panicky part of her felt like screaming, the rational part like laughing. Good thing nobody was around to watch.

  Her fingers grazed the thick linen fabric until she found the edge of the curtain. A breeze danced across her skin, making goose pimples stand up on her arms. It wasn’t cold enough to be air-conditioning, was it?

  Swallowing, she pulled the fabric back to reveal the floor. There was no vent.

  The sliding glass door was open.

  TEN

  Laney’s heart launched into her throat as she stared at the open space where safe, locked glass should have been. Something thumped nearby—much too close—and she spun around with the poker in hand, opening her mouth to scream.

  But the sound was muffled as a dark mass pressed into her face, soft and smothering like a heavy sweatshirt, shoving her sideways and backward against the glass door. Her assailant yanked the poker out of her hand and dropped it onto the floor with a loud clatter.

  Lord, please let that be enough to wake Jim!

  She flung both hands up to claw at the sweatshirt, struggling to free her face and suck in a breath of air. The fabric rammed into her nose and mouth, making it hard to breathe.

  Her assailant was bigger and stronger, and even though she kicked and scratched, he easily threw an arm around her neck and dragged her toward the open door. If he got her out of the house... Ryan and Jim would have no idea where to look for her.

  Flailing for the door, she clamped her fingers to the metal edge of the slider and managed to hook one foot around the inside.

  The man grunted and strained against her as he half shoved, half pulled her out of the house. She twisted in his grasp, struggling with every ounce of energy, until her other foot connected with part of his leg.

  He groaned, his grip loosening just slightly, and Laney kicked again. Somewhere close by, a car engine roared onto the street, the sound just audible above the man’s grunts and Laney’s frantic thumping. His arm tightened around her neck, squeezing shut her airway. Panic flared beneath her ribs, and out of sheer instinct, she dug her nails viciously through his shirtsleeve into his skin.

  More thumping sounds came from inside the house now, and she was sure she heard a door slam.

  Out here! Her brain tried to scream the words as stars flared in her vision. Please, Lord, let them find me.

  She lost her grasp on the sliding door and the man yanked her out onto the deck. The sweatshirt still covered her head, but the feel of the air shifted. Somewhere beyond their struggle, a few stubborn cicadas made their last evening calls. Her assailant relaxed his arm enough to let her draw in a precious gasp of air as he dragged her toward the steps that would lead down into the yard.

  “Stop!” Ryan’s voice broke the silence of the night, sending a wave of relief crashing through Laney’s tense body.

  For a split second, her assailant tightened his grip as if he were going to attempt to flee with her. She twisted beneath his arm, digging into his skin again, until he abruptly yanked the sweatshirt away from her face and let her go. The sudden release made her
lose her balance, and she crashed down onto the wooden deck, the edges of the boards biting into her palms.

  The man thundered down the steps and out into the yard. Ryan didn’t hesitate.

  “Wait here,” he ordered. As if she was in any fit state to follow. Without waiting for a response, he vaulted over her legs and hurdled down the stairs after the attacker, chasing him into the dark night.

  Laney rolled onto her back and stared up at the summer stars overhead, sucking in a couple of deep breaths. A moment later, Jim ran out of the open door. His feet pounded across the wooden deck and he knelt beside her.

  “Laney, what happened? Are you all right?”

  She propped herself up on her elbows, letting out another shaky breath. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Here, let me help you up.” He took one of her hands and hoisted as Laney climbed to her feet. Her legs had turned to jelly. Back inside, Jim flipped on the pendant light over the dining table and helped her onto one of the chairs. He was dressed in plaid pajama pants and a blue T-shirt, and from the rumpled look of his hair, he’d been asleep only minutes before. “I heard noises out here on the deck. What happened?”

  She pressed chilled, trembling fingertips against her temples, glad for something to talk about to distract her from thinking. Because it would be later, when she was alone and had to deal with what had happened, that she’d pay the true price. “I was awake in my room, reading case files, when I realized I forgot to lock the door after I came in earlier. A man jumped me—” a lump formed in her throat “—before I could scream for help.”

  “Here? In the house?”

  “Ryan scared him off. He’s pursuing him now on foot.”

  Jim’s face settled into a hard scowl, and he pulled the sliding door shut, locking it securely into place with the drop-down security bar. “I’m going to get Mary and then help Ryan.”

  His wife, wrapped in a fleece bathrobe, bustled into the kitchen. “I’m already awake. I’ll see to Laney. You go.”

  Jim strode out of the kitchen, flipping on more lights in the back hallway as he went. The jingling of keys reached Laney’s ears, followed moments later by a car’s engine.

  Mary pressed both hands to her mouth and shook her head as she turned to Laney. “Oh, my poor girl. I heard everything.” She walked over and cupped Laney’s cheeks in her hands. Then placed them on her head and bent over to kiss her forehead.

  The lump in Laney’s throat turned into tears, which she blinked back as best she could. “I’ll be okay,” she said. Both to put on a brave face and because it was true. She’d gotten through a lot of awful things in her life. She’d make it through this experience too.

  “Let me get you some tea.” Mary walked back to the counter and set to work filling an electric tea kettle and pulling out a couple of mugs. She put a basket of tea bags on the table in front of Laney.

  Chamomile sounded soothing. Laney pulled one out and tore open the small package. Was her attacker the bomber himself? Or, worse, a serial killer?

  A few minutes later, Mary set a steaming mug of water before her, too, and took the opposite seat. “It’s been so nice having you back, Laney, but I wish these terrible things would stop happening to you.”

  “I’m just glad you and Jim were safe.” What an awful thought, that she could be putting their lives in danger too.

  Mary smiled, her expression tainted by sadness. “I’m married to a cop. Danger comes with the territory.”

  “Your family has suffered enough already.” Laney curled her cold fingers around the hot mug. The warmth soaked into her palms, soothing and comfortable.

  “That’s why it means so much to have you back again. You’ve always been like a daughter to me.” The skin around Mary’s brown eyes crinkled as she smiled again. Then she glanced down at her mug and stirred in a spoonful of sugar. Her next words came a bit too slowly. “I know why you left, Laney.”

  Laney’s throat closed. How could she possibly know about the miscarriage? Laney hadn’t told anyone, not even Jenna. And certainly not Ryan. She was sure her face had gone white as a sheet, and to cover the reaction, she sipped at her tea.

  Mary sighed. “With the way your mother treated you, it was only to be expected you’d want to get away. But you could’ve moved in with us. You’ve always been welcome here.”

  Air whooshed back into Laney’s lungs. Mary didn’t know she’d nearly been a grandmother. Laney pressed a hand to her chest, her heart beating double time beneath her fingers, and smiled warmly. “I know, Mary. I’ve always felt so at home here. But I needed to get away from Sandy Bluff. Start with a clean slate. I know I hurt your family, and I’m so sorry, but I wouldn’t be where I am today if I’d stayed.”

  Mary reached across the table to lay her hand on Laney’s. “I understand, and I know God is at work in your life like He is in Ryan’s. Good will come in the end.”

  Did she think that good would somehow involve Laney and Ryan getting back together? Because Laney was pretty confident it would never happen. If Ryan knew why she’d really left, he’d never forgive her. None of them would. Why taint what positive memories they had left?

  * * *

  By the time his father pulled up in the car, Ryan had given up the chase. It wasn’t the running—he was in great physical shape—but the suspect must’ve mapped out the entire neighborhood, because he’d known every shortcut, every detour that led away from streetlights and porch lights, until he’d vanished into the beltline of forest that ran between the neighborhoods.

  He’d probably approached the Mitchells’ home that same way, from the woods in the back. First thing in the morning, they’d get a team into the forest to search for footprints, though with how dry it had been lately, Ryan had little hope of finding anything conclusive.

  Jim rolled down his window as Ryan stood at the end of the street, staring between the houses and into the woods. “Want a ride?”

  He rubbed a hand over his jaw, hating to give up, but the search would be fruitless at this point. “Sure.”

  As soon as he climbed into the passenger seat, Ryan reported the suspect on his radio to alert any officers in the area to be on watch.

  “Did you get any visual on him?” Jim asked.

  “Five ten, I’d guess, less than two hundred pounds. Physically fit enough to get away, but he had his escape route mapped. Though he’d have had a hard time dragging Laney all that way...” Despite how petite she was. The man must’ve had a different route planned for if he’d gotten away with her. His stomach twisted at the thought.

  “Clothing?”

  “Looked like dark jeans and a hoodie, but no identifying features. Maybe I’ll walk the route back to our house. Just in case there’s a clue.” He pulled out a flashlight from his utility belt.

  Jim nodded. “Meet you back at home.”

  His father turned around and dropped him off again at the end of the street where the suspect had disappeared between the houses and into the woods behind. Sweeping the flashlight in front of him, Ryan slowly retraced the path he’d taken a quarter hour earlier. A pity it hadn’t rained in several nights; otherwise, there might be footprints to find instead of only bare, packed dirt and crispy, dehydrated grass.

  His search proved fruitless. As he reached his parents’ yard, the beam of his father’s flashlight danced over tree trunks and bushes at the edge of the woods. After a minute, Jim turned and met him at the back deck.

  “Find anything?” Ryan asked.

  “Maybe.” His father flicked the light along the tree line. “There’s some trampled brush leading back into the woods. Maybe an animal, but I’d guess it was our man’s way in.” He led the way around to the garage and inside the back hallway, where Jim let a large yawn slip out of his mouth as they headed for the kitchen. “I’m getting too old for this job.”

  Ryan smiled as he unbuttoned his uniform sh
irt and took off the heavy flak jacket. He rolled his shoulders, then slipped his shirt back on. “Thanks for your help, Dad. You go back to bed. I want to talk to Laney about what happened.”

  She sat across from his mother at the dining table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. For a moment, the sight of her so at home in his childhood home stole the breath from his lungs.

  But the dark circles beneath her eyes, her pale face and her disheveled hair reminded him painfully of what she’d been through tonight. What a close call she’d had.

  Thank You, Lord, for Your protection over Laney, he prayed as he walked around the kitchen island and into the breakfast nook. He rested a hand on his mother’s shoulder. She sat opposite Laney. “Hey, Mom, thanks for looking after her.”

  His mother glanced up at him, a twinkle in her eye. “Is that my cue to leave you two alone?” She’d certainly never left him wondering how she felt about Laney, even back before they’d started dating. Looking across the table, he noted Laney’s cheeks tint pink.

  “No, it just means you can go back to bed if you want to.”

  Mary stood. “Well, at least let me get you a cup of tea too. Or do you want a decaf?”

  “Whatever’s easiest. Thanks, Mom.” He slid onto the chair on the end as Mary retreated into the kitchen and tinkered with the coffee maker. Anything from her kitchen would be better than the watered-down sludge they drank at the station.

  “Hey,” he said gently, stretching a hand across the table. Close but not touching Laney’s where it still clutched her mug. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay to help. Are you okay?”

  For the first time, her lips turned up into a tiny smile. “It’s fine, Ryan. I knew you had to chase him. I wanted you to.” She glanced past him, through the kitchen, as if looking for Jim. “I take it you didn’t get him?”

  “No.” He ran a hand over his cheeks and chin, exhaustion settling over his shoulders. These last few days had felt endlessly long. “He had his route planned. Knew exactly where to go to keep out of the lights.”