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Chapter 14

brEE

Day 3

In the sheriff’s station parking lot, Bree waited behind the wheel of her official SUV while Kilpatrick slid into the passenger seat. At eight in the morning, the sun already beat down like a heat lamp. Bree handed a take-out coffee cup across the console. “Heavy cream.”

Kilpatrick smiled. “Thank you.”

Bree did not comment on the fancy concoction, as she was currently drinking a cappuccino dusted with cinnamon. She followed the GPS directions, and they sipped in contented silence for a few minutes. Vanessa Mullen’s ex lived in Scarlet Falls, about fifteen minutes from the station.

Bree stopped at a traffic light. “Rick Mullen is thirty-two. No criminal record. He is squeaky clean. Doesn’t even have a parking ticket on his license.” She reached behind the seat, pulled a file from her messenger bag, and gave it to Kilpatrick.

Kilpatrick opened it and skimmed the pages. “Vanessa looked normal until three years ago.”

“Makes you wonder what happened.” Bree parked at the curb in front of a tidy yellow bungalow with freshly painted white trim. She stepped out of the vehicle and came around to join Kilpatrick on the sidewalk. They both glanced down at daisies drawn on the concrete with colored chalk. A child-size bike lay on its side, training wheel up, on the small, dandelion-spotted lawn.

Bree started up the driveway, passing a bottle of bubble solution with a pang in her chest. On the front porch, the door opened before she could knock. A little girl of about seven blinked at them through the screen door, then turned and screamed, “Daaaaad!”

A man with curly blond hair approached the door with a younger boy still clad in Spider-Man pajamas on his hip. Both children had dark hair and eyes like their mother.

“I’m Sheriff Taggert, and this is FBI Special Agent Kilpatrick.” Bree hesitated. She didn’t want to mention Vanessa with the children in earshot. “Are you Rick Mullen?”

“Yes.” The man’s face shuttered. Did he know or guess why they were there? He glanced at the children and then back at Bree. “Give me a moment?”

“Of course.” Bree stepped aside.

He pulled a phone from his pocket, turned, and walked away from the door. A few minutes later, a young brunette woman in yoga pants and flip-flops came out of the house across the street. She eyed Bree’s uniform as she went inside, gathered the kids, and led them back to her own place, distracting them with, “How about some pancakes?”

The little girl glanced back at Bree as the boy said, “Yay!”

When the kids disappeared into the neighbor’s house, Mr. Mullen opened the screen door. “Come in. Can I assume this is about Vanessa?”

“Yes.” Bree stepped over the threshold. The house looked like two small children lived there. A double jogging stroller was parked by the door. Wooden train tracks formed an oval on the wood floor. The kitchen table was strewn with coloring books and crayons. Bree walled off her emotions. Two children were going to learn their mother was dead today. She had to focus on the case, but the kids broke her heart. Damn it. Kids don’t deserve this.

Mr. Mullen turned to press his back against the pantry and looked at them expectantly.

Bree said what needed to be said without preamble. “Vanessa’s remains were found yesterday. We’re sorry for your loss.”

He seemed to deflate. “How did she die?”

“We’re not sure. Have you watched the news?”

He shook his head.

“Her body was found in a suitcase on the side of Echo Road.”

“Jesus.” He pulled out a chair and sank into it. Bending at the waist, he buried his head in his hands for a long minute. He straightened, then exhaled. “What do I tell my kids?”

Bree had no answers.

“When was the last time you saw Vanessa?” Kilpatrick asked.

Mr. Mullen shook his head. “Seven, eight months ago. We were supposed to meet to make a plan for her to see the kids at Christmas and she never showed up or returned my texts.”

“You’re not surprised she’s dead,” Kilpatrick said.

“No.” But he did look sad. “She’d sunk pretty low. She destroyed what we had a long time ago, but she’s still my kids’ mother.”

Bree scanned a wall of framed photos and spotted one of Vanessa holding an infant. “What happened to Vanessa?”

He followed her gaze. “About a year after Billy was born, she started to act erratically. I found drugs in her purse. I didn’t even know what it was. Had to ask a friend whose brother is a state trooper. Crystal meth.” He shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe it. “I put her in rehab. But it didn’t stick. One day, I came home and found her passed out. The kids were two and four. Billy had a plastic bag of meth in his hand. The bag was wet. I knew it had been in his mouth. I was done. I couldn’t have her in the house anymore. It was too dangerous for the kids. I kicked her out and filed for divorce.” He scrubbed both hands down his face and stared at the wall.

“That’s a hard situation,” Bree said.

“I found out later that she’d been on drugs in high school. She never told me.” He sat back, his shoulders slumped. “She would stalk the day care center and show up at my mom’s house. I had to switch from working in-office and go remote. Luckily, I’m in accounting, so it wasn’t that hard. I was afraid to leave the kids with anyone. Then one day, she just disappeared. I knew something was wrong, so I filed a missing persons report, but the cops were honest. There was no proof anything bad had happened. Vanessa was an adult. They assumed she’d finally just moved on.”

Kilpatrick sighed in empathy. “Where was she living at the time?”

“At a motel with some scumbag drug dealer named Jimmie.” He sounded exhausted.

“Do you know the name of the motel?” Bree asked.

Mr. Mullen nodded. “Shady Acres.”

Bree knew it all too well. “Do you know Jimmie’s last name?”

“Elkins. I never met him. While the cops were dragging her away from the house for violating the restraining order, she yelled she was going to send Jimmie after me. Jimmie was going to beat my ass. Jimmie was a real man. Jimmie loved her. Things like that. The cops told me who he was. I just wanted to keep them both away from my kids.”

“Does Vanessa have any other family who should be notified of her death?” Bree asked.

Mr. Mullen shook his head. “Her parents are dead, and she is—was—an only child.”

Kilpatrick asked, “Did she have any friends?”

Mr. Mullen dragged a hand through his hair. “Years ago, yes. But after the meth ... she was a whole different person.”

Bree had seen the photos and agreed. She’d certainly looked like an entirely different person. “So there’s no one she would confide in.”

“No.”

They left him alone in his kitchen, thinking of how he would tell his children their mother was dead.

Back in the vehicle, Bree glanced over at Kilpatrick. “You up for finding this Jimmie Elkins?”

“Oh, yeah.”