Page 43

Chapter 42

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The next morning, Bree sat in the conference room. Shoulder to shoulder, she and Mercy studied the murder board. Ken’s picture now hung front and center. Lines connected him to various incidents and pieces of evidence. They’d been searching Ken’s house until late and had gotten to the office later than usual. Bree hadn’t slept well and had woken up in a mood.

Was still in a mood was a more accurate description. Anger crawled up the back of her neck when she replayed Martinez’s douchebag maneuver from the night before. “I still can’t believe the Albany office just took over your case.”

Mercy huffed. “Yeah. The FBI has its share of political climbers.”

“Still sucks.”

“It does.” Mercy frowned at Ken’s photo. “Why do you think he came to you with the note?”

Bree lifted both palms. “I suppose he wanted to manipulate the investigation.”

Mercy shrugged. “The killer has been doing that all along, so that does make sense.”

“True.” But the outcome didn’t settle in Bree’s gut.

“I shouldn’t even be here. I’m supposed to go back to Oregon.” Irritation sharpened Mercy’s voice.

“No rush, right?”

“My boss might disagree, but I hate being pulled off the case before Paige is found.” Mercy turned and picked up her take-out coffee cup. She drained it, crushed it, and hurled it into the trash can with force.

“Understandable,” Bree said. “You’ve been looking for her from the beginning. You’re invested in her life.”

Is she even alive?

“Damn it!” Mercy pulled out her phone. “I need to book a flight home. I can’t change the SAC’s decision. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. The only thing continuing to work the case will do is get me suspended.”

Bree hated to lose her FBI ally. Mercy was a valuable resource and an excellent investigator. Bree had grown to trust her, while it was clear SAC Martinez was not a team player.

Marge opened the conference room door. “Sheriff? You need to see this.” She brought an iPad into the room and stood it on the table. On the screen, Madeline Jager faced a bank of reporters. “I can confirm that the serial killer has been arrested. Ken Wells has been arrested ...” A photo of Ken appeared in the corner of the screen. Jager gave details on Ken and his job as a reporter.

Fury roiled in Bree’s belly. “She’s making an announcement on the arrest without consulting with anyone in law enforcement?”

“She doesn’t know anything about the case.” Mercy’s voice rang with disgust. “This is a total political hijacking. She wants credit with the voters, even if she had nothing to do with said arrest. This”—Mercy waved a hand—“makes it seem as if she solved the case, even if she never says that. The triumph is all over her face.”

Bree couldn’t argue. Jager was an attention seeker. Her whole life was the adult version of look at me. “On the bright side, she also excluded the FBI. If Martinez’s move was also political and media-seeking, this might make his head explode.”

“Is irony the right word for that? Or is it karma?”

“Both?”

On the iPad, Jager continued. “Evidence linking Ken Wells to the victims was found in his home.”

Bree gestured toward the screen. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

“Hold your own press conference,” Mercy suggested. “Jager let you take the heat for issues with the case. It seems unwise to let her take the credit for the resolution.”

“Agent Kilpatrick is right,” Marge said. “You’d better nip this in the bud. This type of victory will encourage Jager. She’ll be even worse going forward.”

“I hate politics.” Bree rubbed her forehead. “You’re right. Jager needs to be controlled. But I’m not ready to announce Ken Wells is our serial killer.”

“Why not?” Marge asked.

“I can’t explain it right now. We have evidence, but until we find Paige, the case just doesn’t feel ...” Bree searched for the right word.

Mercy supplied it. “Complete.”

“Exactly. But I do need to think of a way to counter Jager’s power play.” Bree really did hate the political aspects of her job. Her phone buzzed, and she didn’t recognize the number on her phone screen. She stabbed the ANSWER button with a forefinger and pressed the phone to her ear. “Sheriff Taggert.”

“Sheriff, this is Sylvia Verney.” She sounded breathless. “I’m looking out my window, and the man who lives across the street just dragged a woman into his house.”

“Are they still outside?” Bree asked.

“No.”

“Did he strike her?”

“Yes. They struggled, but he’s bigger and stronger. He won.”

Unable to recall the house number, Bree reached for a sticky note and pen. “Give me your address.”

Mrs. Verney recited the information.

Bree pulled the note off the pad. “A car is on the way. Call back if you see anything else.”

“All right,” Mrs. Verney said in a shaky voice.

Bree ended the call and used her radio to request a patrol car in the area. Then she turned to Mercy. “That was the older woman whose son’s name and address were used to open TheMaster’s CuffMe profile.” Bree summarized the call.

“That’s in Scarlet Falls, right?” Mercy asked, rising.

“Right, but it’s in my jurisdiction.” Bree normally didn’t impose herself on the local PDs, but this was different. “This sounds like a domestic disturbance, but I don’t like that she’s already been involved in the case or that I left the situation with her back door unresolved.” Bree headed for the door. “I don’t like coincidences in general.”

“I don’t like them either.” Mercy followed. “I’m in.”

Bree ran with lights and sirens to Mrs. Verney’s pretty neighborhood, but radio chatter informed her that a patrol vehicle reached the house two minutes before she screeched to a stop.

The SFPD patrol car was at the curb, and the officer was speaking with Mrs. Verney on her front stoop. Though it was hot outside, the older woman wore a cardigan and slacks. Nervous fingers toyed with a button on her sweater.

Bree and Mercy joined them on the stoop. The officer and Bree exchanged nods. He was in his late fifties, with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut. Bree had seen him around, but they’d never worked together. His name tag read O’brIEN.

Mrs. Verney pointed at the house across from hers, a neat one-story with a two-car garage. “That’s the house.” The sun glinted off her thick glasses. Behind them, her eyes were huge with worry.

“Who lives there, ma’am?” The officer poised his pen over a notepad.

She adjusted her hearing aid, producing a faint, high-pitched feedback sound. “Could you repeat the question?”

O’Brien did, louder and slower.

Mrs. Verney frowned. “His name is Don Dutton. He’s a security guard at the mall.”

Bree froze. Don Dutton?

Mercy emitted a rush of audible breath.

“I’ll have a word with him.” Officer O’Brien tucked his pad and pen back in his pocket.

“The girl was naked,” Mrs. Verney whispered.

O’Brien turned and walked down the driveway. He looked over his shoulder and gave Bree a quizzical look as she and Mercy tagged along.

Bree said, “We’ve met Dutton.”

“We might be able to help,” Mercy added.

O’Brien shrugged. “I hate domestics. Happy to have backup.”

Domestic disturbances were some of the riskiest calls.

O’Brien went to the door and knocked. The door opened, and Don Dutton stepped outside. He raised his brows. “Um, can I help you? Is something wrong?” His eyes lingered on Mercy, then stopped on Bree. “Sheriff?”

“Hello, Mr. Dutton,” Bree said. “We’re responding to a call from a neighbor.”

O’Brien cleared his throat. “We received a report of an altercation outside.”

“Altercation?” Don’s head tilted, as if he were confused.

“Did you have a physical altercation with a young woman on your front step a few minutes ago?” O’Brien asked. “Is there a female in the house, a girlfriend, wife ...?”

“I live alone.” An aha look crossed Don’s face. “I know what this is about.” He laughed and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He went to the driveway. After he pulled out his phone, he opened an app and tapped on the screen. The overhead garage door rolled up. Inside, a gray Dodge Charger occupied the far side of the garage. The spot nearest the interior door stood empty, except for what appeared at first glance to be a woman, sprawled on the concrete, arms and legs akimbo.

It took Bree a few seconds to process what she was seeing: a blow-up sex doll. Unfortunately, she’d seen one before. This one was fairly lifelike, except for ridiculously exaggerated sex organs.

Bree glanced at Mercy, who rolled her eyes.

Don blushed and gestured to the door. “I just bought it. It’s a gag for a bachelor party. She’s awkward to maneuver, and I accidentally locked the garage interior door and had to carry her in the front door. My bad.”

O’Brien chuckled.

Dutton raised both hands in a surrender gesture. “It’s not my thing, but the groom’s brother wants to bust on him.”

“Poor guy.” O’Brien barked out a laugh, waving toward the doll and moving his hands over his own body to mock the enormous breasts. “That’s hilarious.”

“Right?” Don shook his head. “Should be a good time.”

The two men stared at the doll for a few more seconds.

O’Brien slapped Dutton on the shoulder. “Why isn’t there a pregnant Barbie? Because Ken came in a different box.”

Irritation crept up the back of Bree’s neck. She shared a look with Mercy, who also looked annoyed at the inappropriateness of the conversation.

Bree cleared her throat, loudly. O’Brien started, turning back as if he’d forgotten she and Mercy were there. Bree made direct and prolonged eye contact to signal her displeasure with his behavior.

“Sorry.” But O’Brien didn’t look sorry. He looked annoyed that she’d called him on the comment. “I think we’ve seen all we need to see here. Enjoy the party.” He nodded to Dutton.

“I’d like to take a quick look inside the house,” Bree said.

O’Brien glanced at Bree over his shoulder. “I don’t see any reason to.”

“Me either,” added Dutton.

And Bree couldn’t force the issue, not without a warrant.

O’Brien headed back toward Mrs. Verney’s house without a second look back at Bree. Frustrated, she gave Dutton a nod, then she and Mercy left him in his garage.

Mrs. Verney hadn’t left her stoop.

“Ma’am, what you saw was a doll. A life-size one.” O’Brien appeared stumped as to how to describe a sex doll to the older woman.

“That’s bull.” Mrs. Verney wasn’t buying his explanation. “The girl was fighting back. She took a swing at him. He dragged her by the hair.”

O’Brien shook his head. “It was a doll, ma’am. No doubt it’s a little awkward to maneuver.” He echoed Dutton’s comment.

“It was not a doll.” Mrs. Verney crossed her arms and glared at the cop.

O’Brien tapped his face next to his eye. “Maybe you should have your vision checked.” With that comment, he sauntered away.

Mrs. Verney looked to Bree, then Mercy. “You believe me, right?”

O’Brien hadn’t handled the situation well, but Bree didn’t know what to think. “There’s no proof of what you saw. Mr. Dutton lives alone. He said there was no one else in his home.”

“Of course he said that,” Mrs. Verney said in a disgusted voice. “Aren’t you going to search his house? He’s weird. A while back, his car smelled so bad, like he was carrying rotting garbage around in the trunk.”

“Ma’am, we can’t search a citizen’s home without a warrant, and there’s no evidence to support getting one. Mr. Dutton provided a reasonable explanation for what you saw. There’s nothing we can do. It’s his word against yours.”

“The police don’t do anything these days. You never came back to follow up on my ruined lock.” Mrs. Verney’s cheeks flushed. “It could have been one of those gangs trying to break in. This neighborhood is going downhill. Did you see the graffiti at the playground? Disgraceful! I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bree ended the old woman’s rant, which she sensed could have gone on for some time. “You have my number if you need any further assistance. If you see something questionable, you can record it on your phone. Then it isn’t your word against someone else’s.”

Mrs. Verney humphed, then stepped inside her house and closed the door with a firm and telling slam.

Bree walked to her vehicle, her gaze drawn back to Dutton’s house. He’d closed the garage door.

Back in the vehicle, Mercy stared out the windshield. “I don’t like it.”

“Me neither,” Bree said. “He said he just bought that doll, right? Did it look new to you?”

“Nope. There was a layer of dust on it.”

Bree didn’t want to think about what else could be on a not-new sex doll. “That’s not enough to get inside his house.”

“It is not.” Mercy fastened her seat belt. “What now?”

“I don’t know.” Bree drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Dutton has popped up multiple times in this investigation. This feels too coincidental, and yet, everything that has happened with him is completely plausible.”

“You think he might be involved?”

Bree cracked her knuckles. “I think we need to find out more about Don Dutton. For now, I’ll reserve judgment.”

“What about Ken?”

“The FBI has Ken covered, and they’re looking for Paige in all possible places related to Ken. But if they’re wrong ...”

Mercy finished. “They won’t find Paige.”

“I’m going to have a deputy in an unmarked car watch Don’s place, just in case he has Paige inside. I want to know if he goes anywhere.” Not wanting the maneuver put out on the radio, she used her cell phone to make the request of Juarez. “I’ll have a full background check run on Don. If there’s something to be found, we’ll find it.”

The radio crackled and the dispatcher announced the report of a wildfire.

Bree frowned. “Not good. The woods are like kindling.”

Mercy’s phone rang. “It’s Detective Bolton,” she told Bree. She hit the speaker button. “Hey, Evan. Sheriff Taggert is in the car with me.”

“Good. You both need to hear this.”

Bree’s hands tightened on the wheel. The detective sounded stressed.

“TheMaster just sent his phone number to a woman and then deactivated his CuffMe account.”

“Shit,” Mercy and Bree said simultaneously.

“They’d alluded to possibly meeting up but then agreed to switch to texting,” said Evan. “Which is the same pattern he used with Paige.”

“Can we get her account information?” asked Mercy. “She needs to be warned.”

“I’ve called my CuffMe contact three times,” said Evan, his voice tight. “I’ve left a voice mail each time stating what happened. I don’t know if I’m being ignored, or if he doesn’t want to tell me that the company won’t share the woman’s account information.”

“Do you know where she lives?” asked Bree.

“She told him Syracuse,” Evan said. “We have no way of knowing if it’s true.”

“Syracuse is less than an hour from here,” Bree said. “Which woman has he chosen?”

“DaisyMae455,” Evan answered.

“Evan ... if TheMaster’s been online, there’s no way he can be Ken Wells. Ken is sitting in jail.” Mercy met Bree’s gaze.

“Crap,” said Evan. “Now what?”

“The Albany FBI is running with Ken Wells as the killer,” said Mercy. “It’s been announced to the media. I bet TheMaster is feeling pretty comfortable with that news out there.”

“But who is he?” asked Evan.

Mercy pressed her lips together. “We’ll continue to investigate,” she said. “We’ve got a short list.”

Bree nodded.

“Keep pressuring the CuffMe site,” said Mercy. “Someone needs to contact DaisyMae455.”

“I’ll do what I can. Keep me in the loop.” Evan ended the call.

“Now what?” asked Bree. “All we have is suspicion.”

“I know,” said Mercy. “But I might have an idea. Let’s get back to the station to put it together.”

“I hope whatever you’re planning doesn’t take too much time. I feel like he’s going to move fast on DaisyMae455.”

“I agree. If we’re right—she’ll walk right into his trap.”