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Sheriff Gingrich blanched. “I’ve always kept this county safe.”
“By killing J.Pierce?” She wasn’t entirely sure his boat explosion story meant for sure the killer was dead. Maybe it hadn’t been what he thought it was. “Now Jennifer Rayland has a boat. People are mysteriously dying. Forrest is blamed for it. The deputy dies in your office.”
“And you’re being chased by the lackey of a serial killer,” Gingrich said. “What’s your point?”
“Too many coincidences.” She didn’t like that, or the “too many people dying” part.
“Maybe your pal Marion can give you some more information.”
Jax lifted his hand. “We need to keep this constructive. We need to find Jennifer Rayland and get to the bottom of this.” He waved at the photos.
Kenna flipped one over and showed Kobrinsky the notes on the back.
“Hang on.” Kobrinsky leaned over one of the images. Then he shifted to another.
“What is it?” She hoped he didn’t have an odd desire to stare overlong at these grotesque images.
Kobrinsky grabbed his crutches and swung over to his desk. “I’ll pull up the cases. You can tell me if I’m right and it’s the same people.” He glanced at them. “The victims J.Pierce killed.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Kenna started turning pages. “All of them?” Cold washed over her, as if she’d been doused with cold water. Or tossed in that snow outside. She slumped into a chair and shuffled it toward the desk. The legs didn’t really roll, but the struggle used some energy that needed burning. “How did she get these?”
Photos of the victims meant that J.Pierce had taken souvenir shots during the murders. In some cases, after. It meant adjusting the criminal profile to include whatever drove him to document the killings. Share those snaps.
The whole thing reminded her too much of the case where she’d met Jax. Executions online, used as a training for prospective killers. Some seasoned murderer teaching a class and sharing his knowledge. Only it had all been a ruse to draw her out with a complex crime that involved hiring dangerous killers to take out victims and confuse everyone with the methodology and the motive.
Jax shifted in a way she could tell he wanted to offer a word or gesture of comfort. He glanced betweenGingrich and Kobrinsky. “How does a psychologist have photos of the J.Pierce victims?”
“Good question.” Kobrinsky said. His chest expanded. “Can we get the paper tested? Find out where they were printed. Or have the images themselves analyzed? There could be something in the background that tells us where they were when they were killed.”
“Don’t we already know that?”
Kobrinsky frowned. “The boat thing?”
A phone rang in another room, the kind of office sounds most people got used to and ignored. Apparently, Paulette answered it from the front desk, because it stopped. Like the coffeepot had stopped gurgling and permeated the room with the roasted scent of that dark nectar of life.
Kenna unzipped her coat and draped it over the chair behind her, brushing back her hair. “I want to know where that came from. There’s nothing that looks like a boat in these pictures.” She glanced at Gingrich. “You told me a boat story, but where did that information come from?”
“The investigation into J.Pierce’s kills.” Gingrich folded his arms across his chest. He’d even told her how he chased the killer and one of the victims, and how both had sadly perished.
“I want the reports from the night of that boat explosion,” Kenna said.
Kobrinsky glanced at his boss. “What explosion?”
Gingrich’s lips shifted.
“The sheriff here”—Kenna waved a hand—“was tracking J.Pierce and one of his victims and managed to destroy the boat. Sadly, both the killer and the victim lost their lives.”
“Along with the crime scene and all the evidence?” Jax folded his arms. “How convenient.”
She hadn’t believed at the time Gingrich told her the storythat it was a flat-out lie. Maybe a shade of the truth at least. “So where are the reports and the evidence test results?”
Gingrich grunted. “What was the point testing anything? It was done.”
“Seems interesting to me that you ended the life of a notorious killer and didn’t run your campaign on that alone the last…how many years?” Kobrinsky stared at him. “You seriously killed J.Pierce?”
Gingrich shrugged. “There didn’t seem to be reason to shout it from the rooftops when I couldn’t corroborate anything. All I had was a few charred pieces of wood.” He dragged over his own rolling office chair and sat, looking older now than he had when they met. “Half the people who heard it would’ve dismissed it five minutes later, and the other half wouldn’t have believed me.”