Page 7 of The Creekside Murder (Pacific Northwest Forensics #1)
Finn glanced at the clock in the lower-right corner of his computer screen. Jessica should be coming out soon. He doubted she got any satisfaction from Plank. The guy played games—and Finn knew that better than anyone at this point.
He squeezed the back of his neck and took a sip of the soda he’d refilled on his way out of the sandwich shop, now watery and lukewarm. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a figure moving toward him.
He slid his laptop into its case and jumped from the car to get Jessica’s door. He squinted at her through his sunglasses. From the way she was practically marching across the parking lot, Plank had angered more than scared her. She probably didn’t get a straight answer from him about Tiffany.
He wasn’t about to go through the told-you-so routine with her.
As he opened the passenger door for her, she gave him a tight-lipped glance. Finn knew when to keep his mouth shut. He closed her door almost gently and took his time getting back to the driver’s side.
Once behind the wheel, he gave her a sideways glance. “Didn’t go well?”
She whipped her head around so fast her ponytail almost slapped her face. “Avery Plank is a liar and a game player.”
“Yeah, he is.”
Her hazel eyes turned to pools of dark green. “And you should know because so are you.”
Finn scratched his chin. She knew. Either the COs or Plank himself told her. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you about the book because I didn’t want to upset you.”
“How thoughtful.” She grabbed the drink in the cup holder and shoved the straw in her mouth. Wrinkling her nose, she removed the lid and tossed the liquid out the window.
“That was my old soda. Do you want another?”
She crushed the paper cup in her hand. “I want you to tell me why you’re writing this book. Y-you’re exploiting the deaths of all those women, including Tiffany.”
“Do you feel that way about other true crime books or just this one? There are probably a dozen books about the Hillside Strangler, a dozen about the Green River Killer—” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the prison where those two killers currently resided “—and I’m betting you read a few of each.
Hell, you probably even watched the movies. ”
She dropped her chin to her chest, and her eyelashes fluttered. “He knew about Morgan Flemming.”
“Of course he did. What did he say about Tiffany?”
“Back and forth. On the one hand, he admitted the MO for her homicide was different from the other Creekside victims, but he knew details about her case, about her background… my background. If he didn’t kill her, why would he bother collecting that information?
” She dragged her knuckles across her cheek, although she hadn’t shed any tears.
“It’s his hobby.”
“That’s exactly what he said.” She sniffed. “How many times have you visited him?”
He met her gaze steadily as her eyes still threw sparks at him. “I’ve met him three times. I recorded the conversations if you’re interested in listening. It’s mostly just his background, his childhood.”
“Which I’m sure was terrible and delivered to induce the greatest amount of sympathy.” She tossed the crushed cup onto the console.
Finn lifted his shoulders. “Single, drug-addicted mother, lots of so-called fathers in and out of his life, some of whom beat him, lots of upheaval.”
“Sounds like my childhood.”
A sharp pain lanced his heart. He knew all about Jessica and Tiffany’s rough upbringing and how Tiffany had protected her younger sister. He understood Jessica’s need for justice. He’d felt it himself.
“I’m not writing a love letter to the Creekside Killer. This is just like any other true crime book. I’ll do justice to the victims and hopefully reveal what makes Plank tick. That’s not an excuse for him, and it’s no pity party. It’s going to be a cold, hard look at a cold, hard killer.”
“But your claim to fame, your raison d’être, is that you discovered the body of one of the Creekside Killer’s victims—Tiffany Hunt. Without that, you’re just another criminal justice expert writing a book about a serial killer. No offense.”
“None taken.” He ran a finger around his collar and started the rental car.
“My point being, as you do the research for this book, it’s going to be in your best interests to encourage Plank to stick with his confession regarding my sister’s homicide.” She snapped on her seat belt and hit the dash with her palm. “Let’s get out of this place.”
He gritted his teeth as he pulled away from the parking space.
“I don’t have any best interests here, Jessica.
My best interest is to write a truthful and compelling book about a killer and maybe give some dignity to the victims, including Tiffany, if Plank continues to insist he killed her. Are you beginning to believe he did?”
“I don’t know.” She sighed as she slumped in the passenger seat. “He reminded me of his confession while also encouraging me to compare the dissimilar MOs. I don’t know what to think anymore.”
“That’s the way he wants it. Continue on the path you started. If you truly believe he didn’t murder Tiffany and that somehow Morgan’s homicide is connected to hers, then go for it. Keep investigating.”
“And you’ll help me?”
He felt her stare searching his profile, heard the cajoling tone of her voice, even smelled the intoxicating scent of her floral perfume that infiltrated all the sensible parts of his brain, and God help him, he was falling into her trap again.
He took a hard turn onto the highway and said, “Yeah, I’ll help you. Now let’s get something to drink before we get to the airport.”
* * *
H OURS LATER , back in her hotel room, Jessica unzipped her boots and pulled them off, dropping each one on the carpeted floor with a clunk. She fell across the bed, and her stomach growled, the turkey sandwich in Walla Walla a distant memory.
Finn had offered to buy her dinner when they landed in Seattle and drove back to Fairwood, but she needed time away from him to digest the news about his book.
Was the book the reason he’d even agreed to look at her evidence? Despite what he said, his book would have more traction if the victim he’d discovered had actually been murdered by the subject of his book.
And was she? Jessica slid her phone from the side pocket of her purse and navigated to her recorded conversation with Plank.
Finn had been right about one thing—Plank liked to play games.
But he didn’t scare her. It’s not like he’d been wheeled out like Hannibal Lecter with a face mask.
He’d behaved like any garden-variety psychopath—no remorse for his crimes or pity for his victims, elevated sense of self-worth, no sense of right and wrong.
The only time Plank had gotten under her skin was with his knowledge of Tiffany’s background, of her own family. Finn had chalked it up to Plank’s sick hobby. Was it his way of hinting that he had killed Tiffany?
It would be easy for her to believe him, to believe the cops, put her sister’s murder behind her.
She’d been close to doing just that over the past few years, but something always dragged her back into the maelstrom.
This time Morgan Flemming’s homicide had been the catalyst that reignited her quest for the truth.
The fact that the MO in Morgan’s case mimicked Tiffany’s more than either one mimicked the Creekside Killer slayings had been the strong lure.
She grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and pulled it into her arms, where she squeezed it tightly against her chest. Had Morgan’s killer counted on that? Is that why he’d left the card and the doll? Had he left them for her?
Her gaze traveled to the rag doll sitting atop the credenza, next to the TV. Nobody would’ve known the meaning of that rag doll except her—and she’d gotten the message loud and clear.
Time to put aside thoughts of Finn Karlsson and his stormy blue eyes. She had an investigation to pursue, and if Finn Karlsson got in the way of that investigation, she’d handle him…just like she did the last time.
* * *
T HE FOLLOWING MORNING , with the rag doll tucked into a bag and a new tire on her wheel, Jessica entered Ashley King’s address into her GPS.
Ashley had been Tiffany’s best friend at the time of the murder.
They’d lived together, and Ashley had offered one of the more intriguing clues to Tiffany’s murder when she told the deputies that Tiffany had sensed someone following her in the weeks leading up to her murder.
That tip didn’t rule out the Creekside Killer, as Plank had been known to stalk his victims to get a sense of their routine.
But he’d always snatched his victims when they were working the streets, pretending to be a mild-mannered john.
Tiffany hadn’t been a working girl…at the time of her homicide.
As the deputies had patiently pointed out to Jessica, Plank could’ve scoped out Tiffany months before the murder when she had been a sex worker. Plank was known to play the long game with his prey.
Fifteen minutes later, Jessica pulled into the mobile home park where Ashley lived.
Jessica hadn’t called first, hadn’t notified Ashley that she was dropping by for a visit.
Ten years ago, Ashley’s sympathy for Jessica had waned in direct proportion to Jessica’s hounding of Ashley about details she didn’t have.
She didn’t want to give Ashley a chance now to avoid her.
She couldn’t exactly use her position with the Washington State Patrol to demand that Ashley speak to her or answer any of her questions.
Jessica had one foot in the crime lab as part of the official investigation into Morgan Flemming’s murder and one foot on her own turf, reinvestigating Tiffany’s murder.