Page 10 of Beyond Her Reach (Bree Taggert #10)

Wednesday morning, Matt started a whiteboard for the case in the conference room.

The task didn’t take long. They had little information, except likely cause and time of death.

They had only two suspects so far: Kelly’s estranged husband, Harrison Gibson, and her neighbor Jeff Burke.

He added both names to the board, plus unknown new boyfriend, possibly named Troy.

Bree came in carrying a notepad and a fresh mug of coffee. Todd entered the room, laptop in hand, and sat at the table. Fidgety, Matt preferred to pace. He capped the marker and tapped it on his palm.

“Where are we with background info?” Bree asked.

Todd opened his laptop. “Let’s clear the kids first. We verified that both are currently at school. Sierra is in Boston, and Shane is in Miami.”

“Let’s eliminate them as suspects,” Bree said.

“But we should also verify neither flew recently, and we still need to talk to both of them. I’ll make the calls.

They might have knowledge of their mom’s life she wouldn’t share with anyone else.

We’ll check in with Harrison to find out when they’re coming home.

I would expect them to come back immediately once they get the news, but you never know. ”

Matt didn’t ever like to think someone’s kids could kill them, but he’d seen it happen.

He’d seen a lot of things happen he wouldn’t have believed before he started his career in law enforcement.

He wrote Sierra’s and Shane’s names in the interview column.

He added Virginia Hobbs beneath the kids’ names and tapped on the name with the marker.

“We also need to question Kelly’s best friend. ”

“Let’s drop in on her today,” Bree agreed.

“Forensics finished processing the scene, and the ME expects to complete the autopsy this afternoon.” She turned to Todd.

“We need to call Kelly’s attorney, Kurt Martin, in Scarlet Falls.

He’ll be privy to divorce details. Did anyone check Kelly’s doorbell camera? ”

Todd nodded. “The battery was dead. We’re charging it now.

We’re still canvassing the neighborhood, but no one’s front door lines up with Kelly’s except Jeff Burke’s, and he said he doesn’t do technology.

The warrants are in. We’ve requested phone and financial records on Kelly and Harrison Gibson, Marina Maxwell, and Jeff Burke.

Criminal background checks are clear on everyone.

Rory figured out Kelly’s phone passcode in about five minutes.

We found Kelly’s dating app, Date Smart, which shows her connecting with a man named Troy.

Their in-app messaging progressed and then they exchanged actual phone numbers.

Their conversations then migrated to calls and texts.

The number she communicated with is registered to a cell phone belonging to Troy Ryder from Scarlet Falls. ”

“Troy Ryder sounds like a Disney character.” Matt was very well versed in Disney lore, having watched many, many movies with Kayla since he’d moved in with them.

“What were the nature of these texts?” Bree asked.

“Mostly romantic.” Todd scrolled. “Troy first appears on Kelly’s phone about six weeks ago.

Their calls and texts grow more frequent from then on.

Of course, we don’t have any content for phone calls, but recent messages are telling.

” Todd jabbed a finger at his laptop. “But, on Sunday, there are six unanswered calls from Kelly to Troy. He phoned her back that evening, and they had a call that lasted just over six minutes. Afterward, Kelly texts him five times that evening and twice Monday morning. Troy doesn’t answer any of her texts. ”

“What do her messages say?” Matt asked.

“Of the seven, four are nonspecific apologies. The other two are please call me . The final text is How could you do this to me? ”

“Was he ghosting her?” Bree mused.

“Maybe they had a fight, or he broke up with her,” Todd suggested.

“Inquiring minds need to know.” Bree motioned to the board. “Troy Ryder is next on our interview list. Do we have an address?”

“We do.” Todd read off a rural route number.

“He doesn’t have a criminal record, and he’s lived at the same address for seven years.

He does have one social media account, which he uses sporadically.

There is one selfie of him with Kelly from a few weeks ago outside a café.

He didn’t tag her, though, because her only social media account has been deactivated since last summer.

You can’t even see her account unless you’re signed into it.

” He turned the laptop around to show them a photo of Troy with Kelly.

They were both wearing knit hats and holding take-out cups.

“So, she didn’t have any other male connections via social media,” Matt said.

“Correct,” Todd confirmed.

“Did Kelly communicate with any other people on the dating app?” Bree asked.

“Not beyond quick, in-app introductions. Troy is the only person she gave her actual phone number to.”

“Then let’s go talk to Troy Ryder and Virginia Hobbs.” Bree stood and stretched.

“Let’s not forget Marina Maxwell either.” Matt capped his marker. “Troy first?”

“Definitely,” Bree said.

On the drive, Matt looked up Troy’s motor vehicle records. “Three vehicles are registered in Troy’s name: a Rivian SUV, a Porsche 911 GT3, and an Audi A8. Considering the fancy sports car, his driving record isn’t too bad. Two speeding tickets in the last two years.”

When the GPS announced they were approaching their destination, Bree slowed the vehicle.

A long driveway spilled onto the road just ahead. Matt pointed. “There it is.”

She rolled closer, then stopped the vehicle.

The morning sun reflected off the house windows.

Matt squinted through the windshield at a contemporary two-story home built in front of a thick patch of woods.

The place looked gorgeous and expensive, with a three-car garage, tons of windows, and a partial stone facade. “Looks like Troy has some money.”

“How many acres?” Bree asked, tapping on the wheel.

Matt checked the real estate record. “Twelve.”

The sound of an engine broke the quiet. Matt followed the noise to the house, where one of the overhead garage doors rolled up. A blue Porsche 911 GT3 rumbled out. The door rolled closed, and the Porsche zipped down the driveway toward them.

“Oh, good. We caught him before he left,” Bree said.

Sunlight bounced off the windshield, obscuring Matt’s view of the driver. “I see a shape behind the wheel. The driver looks tall.”

But the driver couldn’t not see the sheriff’s vehicle. Matt expected the car to stop and wait to see what they wanted.

It did not.

Bree turned on the lights and gave the siren a quick blast to notify the driver to stop, but the Porsche kept coming.

“What is he doing?” Bree asked.

“Not stopping,” Matt said.

“We’ll see about that.” With a huff, Bree turned into the driveway, blocking the vehicle’s exit.

But the Porsche didn’t slow. The engine revved.

The sleek blue car swerved around them, cutting a swath through the wet grass.

The rear end kicked out on the slick surface.

Chunks of frozen earth flew from the tires.

But the driver whipped the front tires back into line, and the car veered back onto the pavement.

The vehicle shimmied with a quick fishtail before accelerating again.

Tires squealed as the small car turned onto the main road, in the opposite direction from which Matt and Bree had come.

“He’s making a run for it!” Matt checked the map on his phone. “He’s headed toward the state forest.” He grabbed the chicken strap and held on.

Bree slammed the SUV into reverse, backed onto the road, and shifted into drive. She stomped onto the gas pedal, reached for the radio mic, and called in the chase to dispatch, hoping other surrounding law enforcement officers would aid in the pursuit.

Releasing the mic trigger, she asked Matt, “Do you have the plate number?”

Matt took the mic and relayed the information. Unfortunately, they were in Grey’s Hollow, which had no local PD, and there weren’t any patrol deputies close enough to cut off the Porsche’s escape should it evade Bree.

Which looked likely. The car was already barely a blue speck in the distance. A sheriff’s car had extra horsepower and could outrun most standard vehicles, but the 911 GT3 was a racing model. It was as quick and agile as a thoroughbred. The SUV felt like a plow horse in comparison.

Over the next half mile, the speed limit dropped as the road narrowed, trees closing in on both sides. Patches of black ice shimmered where the light broke through the canopy.

“He’d better slow down,” Bree said as a wicked curve forced her to ease off the gas pedal.

Far ahead, the Porsche disappeared around another curve in the road.

“I’m not going to catch him.” Bree’s knuckles whitened as she steadied the wheel.

“That car doesn’t exactly blend.” Matt tightened his own grip as the SUV slowed, then leaned into the curve. “He can’t get far. The troopers will pick him up when he hits the interstate.”

“Let’s hope.” Bree straightened out the SUV and accelerated. The SUV leaped forward toward the next wicked curve. She steered through the dogleg.

Matt squinted. About a quarter mile in front of them, the road took a sharp left. Matt spotted long black skid marks on the blacktop. He tracked their trajectory beyond the hairpin turn, to something blue in the trees. Sunlight glinted on metal. “Hold up!”

Bree slowed as they reached the bend. “He crashed!”

The Porsche had overshot the turn, skidded off the road, and slid down the embankment.

The car was wedged at the base of a huge pine tree.

A tree trunk pinned the passenger door closed.

The driver’s-side door stood open. The collision had buckled the hood, but the impact didn’t appear to be devastating.

Bree called it in as she steered onto the shoulder, stopped the SUV, and shifted into park. Matt reached into the back seat for his body armor. He’d been caught unprotected in the past. Never again. He had too much to live for—his days of taking chances were over.

Bree exited the SUV. Matt did the same. While he fastened the Velcro straps of his body armor around his torso, Bree rounded the vehicle and removed the AR-15 from the back.

She handed it to him and drew her own sidearm.

He had no confidence in his aim with a handgun, but he could shoot a long gun just fine.

Hefting the rifle, Matt scanned the sports car.

His line of sight didn’t allow him to see inside.

He pointed to his left. Bree nodded, drawing her weapon as they approached the Porsche.

Matt walked in a wide arc to get a view of the driver’s seat.

Empty. The vehicle cockpit was so small, there was nowhere for a person to hide.

“It’s clear.” He turned his attention to the woods, then dropped his gaze to the ground, which was still spongy in the low-lying area. Footprints led into the woods.

“I see them.” Bree touched her lapel mic and updated dispatch. The closest deputy was nine minutes out. They couldn’t wait. Troy would get away.

Matt led the way into the trees. Within a few yards, the ground rose and dried out. Pine needles covered the forest floor, and the footprint trail disappeared. “There’s no more trail.”

Matt stopped and listened. Wind rustled through branches overhead. A small animal scurried in nearby underbrush. The trees were spread out with plenty of open space. Troy Ryder could have gone in any direction.

“This is pointless. We need help.”

“We need a K-9,” Matt said. In search situations, a dog was worth a hundred men. Matt had personally selected the Randolph County K-9, and Greta was a truly skilled animal. If there was a scent to find, Greta would be on it.

“Definitely.” Bree used her radio to summon the K-9 unit and to put out a BOLO alert for Troy Ryder.

Matt spent the time scouting the surrounding area for any sign that a human had run through the trees, but he found nothing. Crouching, he examined and then photographed the footprints, using an evidence marker to provide scale.

“Deputy Collins is on the way with Greta,” Bree said.

Matt straightened. “The snow is too wet for the footprints to be useful. No detail. No point in trying to cast them. Can’t even determine the exact size. They’ll be gone entirely in another half hour.”

They made their way back to the Porsche. Matt bent over to survey the cramped cockpit. A deflated airbag draped across the steering wheel. “I don’t see any blood.”

A piece of cloth lay bunched up on the passenger floor. Something brown poked out. Matt pulled gloves from his pocket and tugged them on. He snapped a photo. Then he crawled in and began unwrapping the bundle.

Bree crouched, leaning into the car. “What did you find?”

“Not sure.” Matt lifted a corner of fabric, which looked to be a long-sleeve T-shirt. A dark-red substance stained the heather-gray material. Matt didn’t need a rapid stain kit to know the substance was blood.

He carefully unfolded another layer, making sure to not touch the actual item inside, revealing an orange box cutter. A dark-red crust coated the razor-sharp edge and streaked the handle.

“Possibly—probably—the one used to kill Kelly Gibson,” Bree said.

“Yeah. My bet is that he was driving out to the wilderness to dispose of the murder weapon.”