Page 28 of The Grave Artist

“HK wasn’t going to wait around. Everyone else was busy with the hearse. I had to do something.” He let out a small groan. “How ’bout getting off me?”

She realized she hadn’t moved. And climbed to her feet.

She should have known that Heron—a professor and penetration tester and hacker by profession—wasn’t used to working with a partner and would act on his own.

Years of law enforcement had taught her to be a team player, especially when dealing with a deadly situation. You didn’t leave your partner hanging, you communicated what you knew and, if at all possible, you called in for assistance and you waited for it.

Not Jacoby Heron.

Seeing him start for the shed, she had broken into an all-out sprint, reaching the open doorway at the same instant Heron was pushing in. She barreled into him, knocking him sideways and sending them both crashing to the cold cement floor.

Her hand had automatically found the grip of her pistol and she looked for threats, then noted that the small shed was empty.

Though she couldn’t look away from the trap he’d set. The shears that would blind and, if he’d fallen in such a way that his throat was slashed, kill.

Then her anger faded and reality set in. She asked, “How did he engineer it, Heron? The hearse was near the front gate. How did he put it in gear and get back here in time to escape through the gate?”

“Agreed. Don’t see how. Maybe a coincidence. The driver screwed up.”

Frank Tandy arrived. He looked at the booby trap. “Jesus. You okay?” He put this question to Carmen, who nodded.

Heron said, “I am too, by the way.”

“Good. Meant to ask.” Tandy actually blushed at the faux pas.

Carmen looked at the detective. “Escape routes.”

Tandy pulled his radio from his belt and called in checkpoints a half mile east and west on Cedar Hills Road and north on Parkside Drive.

She said, “I’d do a mile. He’s had six, eight minutes.”

“Sure.” Tandy corrected his order.

Then she made another call, to Grange. “Liam, we’re in the shed in the back.”

“Copy that. On my way.”

Tandy said, “I’ve been interviewing people from both funerals. Brock’s, and the one to the south. Elderly man in his nineties. Somebody said our boy was talking to one of the attendees at that funeral. A girl. Teenager.”

Carmen winced at this news. “A serial killer chatting up a kid? That’s not good.”

Tandy continued, “I’m trying to track her down now. She might’ve left with her family. Some people got the hell out of Dodge when we showed up.” He flipped to the murder board on his own tablet—Heron had sent him a link to the app. Then he regarded the others. “I also asked if Brock’s sister showed up, after all. But she didn’t.”

Carmen remembered that Lauren Brock had likely experienced a breakdown of sorts and might have fallen off the wagon with drugs and alcohol following her brother’s death. Allison had reported she’d probably left before the attack, but Carmen still wanted to interview her. This was the agent’s way—to never forgo a single lead, if possible.

Liam Grange’s massive bulk filled the small doorway. “Carmen.” He nodded to the others and lifted an eyebrow at the trap. “Well ...” He noted everyone on their feet and no blood. “We got the hearse secured. The driver’s sure he left it in park, and nobody saw anyone else near it. You think it’s on purpose, a diversion?”

Heron shrugged. “My vote. Though how he managed it and got back to the rear gate in time, I have no idea.”

Carmen said, “We need canvassers immediately.” She nodded at the back gate. “He went out this way. Then probably turned east or west on Cedar Hills Road or north on Parkside to pick up his vehicle. I’ll take a team east. Liam, you go west. Frank, north?”

He nodded.

It was then that a uniformed LAPD officer came to the doorway. She said to Tandy, “Detective, don’t know if it’s important but a witness said they saw something weird. One of the mourners near the Brock funeral? A woman in a black dress and hat with a veil. Probably dark hair, long. Sunglasses. She wasn’t too far away from our unsub. But she was kind of in the bushes too, like she didn’t want to be seen. And she left by the service entrance after the hearse incident. She left fast.”

Carmen glanced to Heron, who said, “Ms. Person of Interest?”

He nodded. “Any other description? What was the hat like?”