Chapter 10 BREE

Chapter 10

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Bree stalked into the sheriff's station, irritation fueling her stride, with Juarez and Kilpatrick in her wake.

"Juarez, show Agent Kilpatrick to the conference room, then update the NCIC, NamUs, and ViCAP queries."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Bree turned to the agent. "I have to check in with my admin. I'll join you in a few minutes."

Juarez led the agent away. Bree spotted Todd at a computer and stopped to give him a quick recap on the autopsies.

Todd's gaze tracked the agent's exit from the squad room. "What's the deal with the FBI?"

"I don't know. Yet." Bree went into her office to check her messages. Marge appeared in her doorway before Bree's butt hit her chair.

Marge closed the door. "Who is that?"

"FBI Special Agent Kilpatrick."

Marge didn't respond.

"I've never had an agent show up with no notification." And Bree didn't like it. Not at all.

Marge said, "I'll dig up some info on Agent Kilpatrick."

"Thanks, Marge." Bree scanned her email and fanned her pink message slips across the desk. A year and a half into the job, and the number of people in Grey's Hollow who wouldn't use email or voice mail still amazed her. "Do I need to address any of these right now?"

"The fire marshal initiated a complete fire ban until this weather breaks. No campfires, brush burning, fireworks, et cetera."

"Good."

"The rest of the messages can wait." Marge disappeared as stealthily as she'd appeared.

Bree pushed off her desk and walked to the conference room, where Todd had already started the murder board. He'd hung a row of crime scene photos with magnets. She poked her head into the room. Agent Kilpatrick was studying the board.

"Coffee?"

Kilpatrick turned and nodded. "Please."

"Sugar, cream?"

"Heavy cream if you have it."

Bree almost laughed. "We aren't that fancy here."

"Black is fine."

Bree went to the break room, poured two mugs of coffee, and carried them back to the conference room. Handing a cup to Kilpatrick, she stood next to her and scanned the photos. Neither spoke for a few minutes. Full-color glossies emphasized each element separately: the scene as photographed from the road, the fly-covered suitcases, the outstretched hand.

Bree turned to the long table, where Todd had stacked printed reports and more crime scene photos. She eased into the chair at the head of the table. Kilpatrick selected a seat on Bree's right, facing the board.

Bree flattened a palm over the short stack of reports. "You can't tell me who you're looking for. What can you tell me?"

Kilpatrick didn't answer for a full breath. "It's a missing girl, but her disappearance isn't in the system."

Bree mulled that over for a few seconds. Her knee-jerk reaction was to demand information, but she sensed there would be no point. "She went missing in Oregon?"

"Yes."

Why would an FBI agent be unwilling to divulge details on a case she was working? Withholding information made the investigation more difficult for both of them.

"The case is politically sensitive?" Bree asked.

Agent Kilpatrick's poker face didn't budge, nor did she comment.

So Bree guessed the answer was yes. She reminded herself that her case wasn't a pissing contest. She had two dead women who deserved justice. While she didn't entirely trust the tight-lipped agent, she was a resource and Bree would use her.

She reached for the pile of crime scene photos and began dealing them out on the table. "Hopefully, the ME will be able to tell us if the first body is your missing woman. Until then, I have a complicated case and my investigator is out. This is a small operation here. So, while we wait, I'm going to pick your brain."

Surprise flickered in the agent's eyes for a nanosecond, then her poker face slid back into place. She shifted her attention to the photos.

Bree described the crime scene. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

Kilpatrick gave the photos her full attention. Her impassive expression yielded to interest as she flipped through the images. When she'd finished, she set them down. "No. I haven't."

"Thoughts?"

Kilpatrick lined up the edges of the photos. "The weight of a suitcase is about ten pounds. Loaded with a body, they would have weighed about ninety pounds each. Lifting them in and out of a vehicle would have taken some strength."

"Or multiple people." Bree got up and went to the board to write strong killer or multiple killers. "The matching tattoos suggest the killer inked them or had them done."

"Or at least chose the design," Mercy suggested. "My missing girl could have taken a design to a tattoo parlor in Oregon before she disappeared. The design looks pretty simple."

Bree had two extensive tattoos she'd designed to cover scars from a childhood dog mauling. She knew ink. "Simple, yes, but the fine-detail work is well done. Quality ink takes practice. My gut says these were done by an experienced artist." She wrote matching tattoos on the board. "If we show tattoo artists photos, they will recognize their own work. I'll assign a deputy to that. Maybe we can find someone local who inked at least one of these hearts."

"Tell me about the area where the bodies were found," Kilpatrick said.

"Echo Road is a back road. Some farms, a campground, and Echo Lake are within a few miles. The lake itself draws people for fishing, swimming, canoeing, et cetera. It's not one of the larger, popular lakes for tourists. This one is mostly used by locals. The suitcases sat below the road's grade."

"So possibly visible but not obvious."

"Yes. Keep in mind, the area is semirural, but we're only a few hours from New York City and Philadelphia. The area is more densely populated than it seems. We have our share of drugs, gang activity, human trafficking ..." Bree wrote those three items on the list.

"Given the way these women were discarded like garbage, any of those would be plausible," Mercy said.

Bree's phone rang, and she glanced at the screen. "It's the ME." She answered the call. "You're on speaker, Dr. Jones. Agent Kilpatrick is also present."

"Good, that saves me a call. One, we have the results of the fingerprint comparison on the partially mummified body. The victim is Vanessa Mullen, age thirty-one. She has a record. Two, the odontologist says the dental records Agent Kilpatrick brought do not match the other victim."

Mercy

Relief and disappointment hit Mercy simultaneously.

Paige is not that decomposed body.

Paige is still missing.

She noticed Taggert watching her closely, and she struggled to keep the emotions from showing on her face.

Taggert cleared her throat. "So neither woman is your victim," she said to Mercy.

"Correct." But Mercy suspected she was in the right place to find Paige. The cell phone records and the two victims' nail polish were impossible to ignore.

"Dr. Jones, is there anything else?" asked Taggert.

"That's all I've got for now. You'll receive my preliminary report in the morning." The ME ended the call.

Mercy sent Evan a quick text, letting him know the body wasn't Paige. She'd call him later to discuss the details.

Taggert opened her laptop. "I'll see if I can find relatives of Vanessa Mullen for a death notification. I prefer to do them in person."

"Look for a current photo," said Mercy. Taggert nodded, her focus on her screen. Mercy turned back to the board with the photos. She wanted to see what Vanessa Mullen had looked like before someone put her in a suitcase and left her on the side of the road.

Someone did a lot more to her than that.

Mercy peered closer at the hands of the two victims. The polish was definitely pink. But was it the same as Paige's?

Her gut said yes.

"I guess since neither are your victim, you'll be taking off?" Taggert said as she tapped on her keyboard.

"I'd like to stick around," said Mercy.

"Why?" Taggert raised her eyes, her gaze curious. "This is a dead end for you."

How much can I tell her?

"There's too much here that lines up with my victim. It's possible she may be with whoever dumped those women."

The sheriff stopped typing. "Start talking."

Mercy took a breath. "I'm looking for a seventeen-year-old girl. She's petite with long dark hair. In her cell phone records are dozens of calls to and from a burner phone with an upstate New York area code."

Taggert was listening closely.

"She vanished two weeks ago. She packed a suitcase but left her cell phone and laptop behind along with her ID. We have video of her as the passenger in a car. I believe she left willingly or else was threatened enough to hide it from her family. We started keeping an eye out for anything in this area that could involve her. When we read about the victims' details given at the press conference, I got on a plane."

"Sounds a little thin to send you across the US," said the sheriff.

"She recently started wearing nail polish that matches your victims'. She was wearing it when she vanished." Mercy raised a brow at Taggert.

"Jesus." Surprise lit up her face. "That'd be a clincher for me too. Now can you tell me who she is?"

"I can't. I'd like to, but I can't yet. You'll have to trust me on this. As soon as I get approval, you'll be the first to know."

"You stroll in here and ask me to trust you? I don't know you," said Taggert.

"I don't know you either."

The women eyed each other for a long moment. Mercy was starting to sense she could trust the sheriff. Taggert was showing herself to be capable and clearly cared about finding out what happened to her victims.

But what does she think of me?

Mercy's mouth quirked. She was a fed who'd shown up without notice at a murder investigation and refused to share details. Mercy would be annoyed and suspicious too. "I'm offering FBI resources to help you find who murdered these women. I'm not here to take over your case. You are the lead, but I want to be on scene and informed of developments."

She watched Taggert weigh her offer. She suspected the sheriff would like to tell her to step back, but the opportunity for extra manpower from the FBI was too good to pass up.

"I think my missing girl is here," Mercy said softly. "I don't want her to end up like those other women."

If she isn't already dead.

The sheriff looked back at her screen. "I have an address for Vanessa Mullen's husband. You can go with me to notify him in the morning."

I guess that means she accepted my offer.

"Vanessa Mullen is thirty-one and has an extensive arrest record," continued Taggert. "Prostitution, drug possession, shoplifting. Her booking photos show a gaunt woman with a lot of facial sores."

Mercy moved to look over the sheriff's shoulder. "Meth. Face picking."

"Yep." Taggert opened another window. "Her driver's license photo from six years ago is better."

Mercy agreed. Vanessa's face was fuller and she had a sincere smile.

What happened to you?

"Is there a missing persons report?" she asked the sheriff.

"Her husband reported her missing six months ago. He reported it to Scarlet Falls PD. Here it says there were a couple of follow-ups but no results."

"He's her ex-husband," Mercy noted, reading over Taggert's shoulder. "Is that a restraining order?"

"Yes. He filed it nearly three years ago against her. She was required to stay away from the house and their two kids." Taggert tapped her fingers on the table. "Tomorrow's conversation should be interesting."

Mercy silently agreed.

I have several questions for the ex-husband.