Page 4 of Closer Than You Know (Vera Boyett #2)
Benton Ranch
Old Molino Road, Fayetteville, 8:00 a.m.
Bent had gone into the house to prepare the promised breakfast. Vera had opted to remain in the home office he’d created out of an existing potting shed behind the cottage he called home. The first time she’d come here, she’d been surprised.
The main house, a wood-and-stone cottage, sat a good half mile off the road, on a rise overlooking a meadow where horses grazed. Just passing by on the main road, one would never know there was a house deep within the woods. It was one of the most beautiful properties Vera had seen, and she’d seen a few. The idea that this naturally pristine and tranquil property belonged to the womanizing boozer who’d stolen her heart and introduced her to sex twenty-odd years ago stunned her. No, not stunned—shocked her.
More startling had been his reason for buying the place. When he was a child, his mother had worked as a cleaning lady for the then owner. She’d mentioned how much she would love to have a home like this—it was her dream home. Even decades after her death, Bent hadn’t forgotten the way his mother had spoken about the place. When he returned to Fayetteville and learned it was for sale, he bought it.
Truth was, Bent hadn’t been a bad person back when he and Vera collided, just a wild twenty-one-year-old who had nothing and wanted nothing except to feel something besides neglect and abuse. He used his looks and sex, as well as plenty of alcohol, to assuage that emptiness.
Loss and need brought the two of them together.
But Bent knew he wasn’t what Vera needed, so he ran off and joined the army. She was devastated. They hadn’t seen each other or spoken in better than two decades until seven months ago, when those remains were found and Vera had to come back home to protect her sisters and to handle the situation.
She stared at the two whiteboards on the far side of the room. The first time Bent had brought her here, to his home workspace, the remains and other evidence found in the cave on the Boyett farm had lined both. All those bones ...
The only ones Vera had known about were the remains of her and Eve’s stepmother. She had helped Eve put the vicious bitch’s body in that cave. She shuddered at the memory. Twenty-odd years later—when the bones were discovered—she and Eve faced no charges for what they had done as kids. Their father and Sheree, the wicked stepmother, had argued, gotten physical when she’d tried to drown Luna—Vera and Eve’s baby half sister, only nine months old at the time. The fall and subsequent head injury that had caused Sheree’s death were ruled an accident. The trouble was, Sheree’s remains weren’t the only ones in that damned cave.
Enough of that.
She blinked away the memory and eased down onto a stool next to the vintage planks and posts Bent had put together to create a large table, which served as his desk. Seven months. They’d been working together on some level the whole time, and so far he’d been careful not to cross the line she had drawn in the sand. They would be friends and nothing more. It wasn’t always easy—for her anyway—but it was the best course of action.
She looked around the room, which reminded her of him in so many ways ... it smelled of his subtle aftershave—an oldie but goody. Something earthy and lightly scented. She’d always loved it. Once, maybe twice she’d run into a man wearing that same aftershave. Except no one had worn it the way Bent did. Somehow his natural scent or maybe the small amount he used, perhaps both, mingled and made the most amazingly subtle fragrance.
She cleared her throat and stood, walked up to the first of the two case boards, where the victims of the Time Thief were displayed. Beneath each photo were the details of the victim and the event. All three in their twenties. All White. Two males, one female. The details of the abductions varied very little. The time and day of the week changed. Location too. But the events that occurred were exactly the same each time. The victim was drugged and kept that way until he or she was released around forty-eight hours later.
Photos of the drawings on the bodies showed those were fairly consistent as well. Very little variation. That was the part of the case that confused Vera. The drawings—images of odd beings and animals, as well as crude renderings of the solar system—were simple, adolescent almost. For someone so carefully organized and seemingly clever, the diagrams didn’t fit. She wondered if this was just a game to the perp. Bent had made notes about a few social media sites where he’d found similar drawings, but none linked with criminal activity. Most were associated with finds in caves or other remote locations around the world. These same sorts of drawings were regularly affiliated with people and groups with strong opinions about UFOs and aliens. For some the belief was like a religion. But not a single one of those drawings was connected to this town or this case—at least not that they had found so far. Was their Time Thief using what he found on the net to give himself authenticity of some sort?
The door opened, luring her gaze in that direction. Bent walked in, carrying one of those post office trays made for holding sorted mail. No envelopes in this one. There was a carafe with two cups and two wrapped sandwiches.
He kicked the door shut behind him and carried the tray to the table. “I hope BLTs work for you.”
Vera inhaled the aroma of bacon and coffee. “Oh God, it smells fantastic.”
He passed her a sandwich swaddled in a paper towel. “Whoever invented microwave bacon was a genius.” He pointed in her direction. “By the way, I added mustard to yours.”
She was surprised he remembered. “Thanks.”
He poured the coffee, and for a minute they only ate. The lettuce and tomato were really fresh. Vera swallowed. “I can’t believe you had lettuce and tomato on hand. If I have any in the fridge, they’re probably dead. I buy them and then forget about them.”
Bent set his coffee aside. “I wouldn’t have had any, but I stole it from the leftover salad Renae brought last night.”
Time slowed for a second as Vera analyzed his statement.
“Renae?” She blinked to hide her surprise. They rarely talked about that part of their lives. She didn’t actually have that part anymore—the personal part. She had, it seemed, been unaware that he apparently did have one. Her last personal or intimate relationship had been back in Memphis with a guy she still considered a friend. But dating wasn’t even on her radar.
Bent tore off another bite and then nodded as he chewed. After swallowing, he explained, “She’s divorced, moved here about three years ago. Just after I came back.”
Vera forced another bite, the lettuce and tomato suddenly tasting bitter. “I see,” she mumbled around chewing.
He studied her a moment. “She’s just a friend.”
The idea that he saw right through, right to the sting of jealousy that had burned her, annoyed Vera inordinately. “We all need friends.”
She forced her focus onto the coffee and the sandwich. Took another bite and worked on it until she could swallow, then licked her lips. “Tastes surprisingly good for store-bought veggies this time of year.”
“She has a greenhouse. Grows her own.”
Of course she did. She probably milked goats and made cheese as well. Vera set the remainder of her sandwich aside. Her appetite had vanished. “Wow. I’m impressed. She sounds nice.”
Bent shrugged, the move barely visible. “She is. Nice, I mean.”
Good to know. Not.
“If the Time Thief follows his usual MO,” she said, moving on, “he’ll drop Nolan off somewhere tomorrow night.”
Bent finished off his sandwich and sipped his coffee before commenting. “If we’re lucky and nothing changes, he will.”
But things had changed. Unease slid through Vera as she twisted on the stool and reviewed the case board’s detailed timeline. Having been a cop and crime analyst for so long, she couldn’t help forming conclusions based on the information available to her. It was the nature of the beast.
“His work has been confined to Lincoln County,” she offered, “suggesting someone local or who used to be local. Perps typically prefer to hunt where they feel most comfortable. His choice of victims as well as the time and place of each abduction indicates a preference for low-level risk—which significantly lessens the thrill.” She shrugged. “Given he has consistently worked outside any city’s jurisdictional lines—until now—he obviously prefers keeping a low profile.”
“I agree.” He braced his forearms on the table and stared at the timeline he’d created. “We’ve interviewed all the high-profile extraterrestrial believers in a tricounty area. We found more than one club with members who believe they’ve been abducted and released by aliens. One in Tullahoma in particular seems very active.”
Vera frowned. “You didn’t mention that part when we talked before.” They had discussed what was happening with the case over the past few weeks. And it wasn’t like she could escape the details anyway—the Time Thief was all anyone was talking about. Besides, what else did two investigator types do when they got together for a meal or ran into each other at the supermarket? The options she had relegated to the farthest recesses of her brain instantly pushed front and center, but she banished them.
Not going there for sure.
“Since you’re officially working on the case with me now, I figured you should know.”
True enough. In deference to his need for a more open mind, she threw out another feasible scenario. “Perhaps someone a bit more fanatical is responsible for the abductions, in an effort to spur belief or interest. Some folks need to escape what’s happening around them, and going overboard on something like this could be the chosen remedy.”
“Definitely a possibility,” he agreed.
She studied the photos of the victims after being released. “I’ve seen those rudimentary-type diagrams before from people who claimed to be abducted. Not in person,” she clarified. “Online. I also watched a program about victims who believe they’ve had that experience. What I found when comparing their stories is that the images seldom vary but the steps in the abductions are rarely so carefully executed as what we’re seeing here. There are generally all sorts of variances.”
“Maybe this alien enthusiast is more detail obsessed,” Bent suggested.
She laughed. “Maybe so.” She took some time to consider any other potential scenarios. This was what she did, after all, and she was very good at it. “Another possibility I’m seeing—and this is a stretch at best,” she proposed, “is that maybe the perp is someone who has a grudge against the department or you and wants to make you look bad.” She shrugged. “I mean, what better way than to set up a case you can’t solve. If it’s a former deputy, then he knows how to avoid all the pitfalls that get perps caught.”
It really was a stretch for sure, but when Bent had taken over, there had been cleanup to do. The former sheriff had recognized the trouble, but with his age and health conditions, the issues were too big for him to handle. He’d left that to Bent, and he’d done the job, all right. Replaced nearly half of the department.
“I’ve considered the possibility.” He looked from the board to her. “I have Myra looking into the whereabouts and activities of those who were fired.”
Vera gave him a nod. Myra Jordan, his assistant, was the perfect choice. She had been with the former sheriff for twenty years. She knew the department inside and out and everyone who lived in the area. Vera could see her quickly ferreting out anyone targeting the department.
“Another scenario,” she went on, “is that we have a perp who’s looking for his fifteen minutes of fame—even if only in the local paper.” She pondered the idea a moment. “The idea that the perp is either trying to draw attention to the existence of otherworldly beings, or maybe to himself, feels more feasible, don’t you think?”
“Those are the most logical, yes.” He considered her a moment before asking, “What are your thoughts on the way our perp contacted his victim this time—leaving a message tucked under his windshield wiper while he was shopping at Gerald’s? That was a big step away from his usual MO of no advance warning.”
The small-town supermarket had no video surveillance of the parking lot, which the perp no doubt knew—maintaining that low risk level. “It’s possible this was nothing more than his not being able to catch Nolan in the right situation without going a new route. Then again, at least two aspects of his MO this time are different. If this move is about taking his work to the next level or making a big, splashy finale, abducting a reporter would certainly do the job. Especially since Nolan is the son of one of the most prominent families in town.”
They sat in silence a moment, both staring at the case board.
“But we can’t be sure this is his final victim,” Bent countered. “He’s a repeat offender. At this point we don’t know where he’s going. He could be a fledgling serial abductor. Testing his wings before he flies. Baker could end up his first kill.”
“True ... except,” Vera argued, “this perp, so far, has no message. Nothing. Other than vague observations written on the bodies of the victims he releases. He’s told us nothing. What is he accomplishing? He’s taken nothing but time from the victims. He’s used up time and resources from your department. But otherwise, what does he get from his actions? What need is he fulfilling? What does his work say?”
Even as she said the words, the “fifteen minutes of fame” scenario was gaining ground as the more likely of the two options. And it was one she felt confident no one—including Bent—was going to like.
“Not much,” Bent admitted. His gaze narrowed. “Where does that leave us in terms of most likely scenarios?”
She braced herself and went for broke. “What if this latest victim—the reporter—either created the whole damned thing or is taking advantage of the Time Thief’s MO to create a stir of his own for a little notoriety.” No one—not even Bent—could deny the scenario was feasible. “After all, Nolan is Elizabeth’s child. Being an attention hog at all costs runs in the family.”
Bent mulled over her scenario for a bit. “You really think Baker would set this up for the headlines?”
“Think about it. No one is harmed—not really. The vics are released fairly quickly. And we both know that Nolan is an ambitious guy who would do most anything to get what he wants.”
“True enough,” he allowed, but his expression told her he wasn’t convinced.
Vera turned her hands up then. “There is obviously the possibility that I’m suggesting this, in part, because he was so mean to Luna during the cave investigation and his mother was so awful to me in high school.”
She imagined the idea had crossed Bent’s mind without her having to say as much. It was no secret she was not a fan of Elizabeth or her offspring. No matter the training and experience under her belt, Vera was only human.
“Bottom line,” she went on before he could respond, “what we have are three seemingly uneventful abductions that resulted in nothing more than worry for the families, the community, and the sheriff’s department. Then suddenly we have a deviation. A reporter is abducted. There’s a note sent to him to set up a meeting—a note you have not seen. None of the others received notes. There’s a witness to the abduction—a witness who actually heard and saw nothing. There were no witnesses of any sort to the other abductions.”
He nodded. “I’m with you so far.”
“Whether,” she said in conclusion, “this is some guy out to make you look bad, or an extraterrestrial enthusiast hoping to gain support— or a desperate reporter out to gain a spot in the limelight, my gut tells me this is not just an escalation but a setup to some sort of finale.” She pointed a finger at Bent. “And just in time to avoid involvement from an outside agency. If this one resolves in the usual forty-eight hours like the others, the TBI will scarcely have arrived, and the whole thing will be over.”
“I can see merit in what you’re saying,” Bent said slowly. “With that in mind, I say we take a close look at each scenario. See where each one takes us.”
Vera laughed—a dry, surprised sound. “You know that a scenario where Nolan is involved in any way with illegal activities will not sit well with the Bakers.”
Elizabeth’s husband, Carl, owned the biggest bank in the county. The man had inherited well via his marriage and invested even better. He would not appreciate any negative light cast on his only son.
“I guess we’ll have to be careful, then, and make sure they don’t find out until we have concrete evidence one way or the other.” He stood, grabbed their breakfast remains, and tossed them back into the postal tray.
“I could talk to some of his colleagues at the Elk Valley Times ,” Vera suggested.
Bent pushed the tray aside. “Carl has given me permission for a more detailed search of his son’s home.”
“That tops colleague interviews anytime.” Vera slid off the stool. “What’re we waiting for?” Having a look into the intimate space of a victim could provide important details as to why that person may have been victimized.
Or why he was victimizing others.
“The TBI will be picking up Baker’s laptop and going through it.”
“You heard from them, then.” Vera reached for her coat.
“Got a call while I was preparing breakfast. Oh, and I also scanned that episode of Ghost Adventures . There was only one window with a blind intact at the time the show was filmed. Not in the room where Joel and Nolan encountered the bad guy though. So our perp probably did relocate the one working blind. Good catch.”
“It was a joint effort.” They worked well together. Maybe that was what they were destined to do.
He considered her a moment. “You sure you want to go to Baker’s place? He lives over the garage at his parents’ house. Elizabeth could be there.”
Vera grimaced. “Can one of your deputies call her into the office to look at mug shots or something? This will go a lot more quickly and smoothly without her asking questions.”
Bent raised his eyebrows in question.
“It’s a logical step. Nolan could have a new friend. Maybe Elizabeth has seen someone new hanging out at his place?”
Bent crooked an eyebrow. “I guess we can make that work.” He retrieved his phone from his back pocket and called the office. “Myra, I need a favor.”
While Bent explained how he wanted Deputy Boyd Fowler to bring in Elizabeth Baker to review mug shots, Vera wandered back to the case board. She studied the diagrams again, noting once more the primitiveness as well as the similarities to other ones she had reviewed on the internet.
Was the Time Thief nothing more than a copycat out for notoriety?
There was the possibility the whole thing was a bizarre hoax of some sort. The abduction of Nolan Baker in a way added to that idea. Granted, going straight to the hoax theory without further consideration of other possibilities would be a bad move.
Still, Vera couldn’t get past the idea that Nolan was a reporter looking for his fifteen minutes of fame. What better way than becoming the next victim?
He was just as likely to be involved as not, in her opinion. But she would keep an open mind—however hard that proved. It was too early to assume anything. Whatever the case, she really needed to find him unharmed. Living in the same zip code as Elizabeth Baker was bad enough. Failing to save her only son from himself or some other nutcase out for a little of the limelight would be unbearable.