Chapter 19 BREE

Chapter 19

brEE

Day 4

"CuffMe.com?" Bree stared over her desk at the FBI agent. Kilpatrick had come in bright and early with a lead from the FBI computer forensics department in Oregon.

"The bondage angle makes total sense, given the state of the bodies," Kilpatrick said.

"Let's hope the subpoena comes through quickly." Bree wanted a solid lead. So far, the investigation had felt like they were chasing smoke. Thanks to Jager's announcement the evening before, today promised to be more of the same. "Until then, we can work with leads from the tip line. Did you watch the press conference?"

Kilpatrick made an irritated face. "That was a total shit show—no offense. It wasn't your fault."

"None taken." Bree agreed with the agent's assessment. Circus clowns were better prepared than she'd felt when Jager had dropped her bomb.

"The reward was the politician's idea?"

"Yep." Bree exhaled hard through her nose. She still wanted to scream at Jager. "Which she didn't mention before offering it, live on television."

"Wow. That's ... that's something." Kilpatrick's forehead furrowed in disbelief. "I don't even have a word for that."

Bree had several, but none could be repeated in a professional conversation.

"Have the phone lines been swamped?" Kilpatrick asked.

"We set up a dedicated tip line and assigned a deputy to man it full-time." Bree tapped a printed sheet on her desk. "A hundred and forty tips came in overnight. I've pulled the ones that seem the most promising, and I've assigned deputies to work lists as well." She stood. "You're welcome to join me in following up on mine."

"I'm in."

"Let's go." Bree folded the paper and rounded her desk. She opened a small closet and removed a Kevlar vest with SHERIFF printed on the front and back. "I pulled a spare vest for you. I've no idea what today will bring. Assuming you didn't fly with yours?"

"I didn't." Kilpatrick accepted the vest, removed her shoulder holster, and tried it on. "It's a decent fit. Thank you. I'll switch to a belt holster."

They left the building via the back door and climbed into Bree's SUV. Bree drove out of the lot. She stopped at the end of the driveway and waited for the picketers to move. The group had shrunk since the press conference. A few diehards still carried signs. "At least they've stopped chanting."

Kilpatrick fanned her neck. "Maybe it's too hot."

One of the protesters, a young woman with a spiky blonde pixie cut, bent over to glare through Bree's driver's-side window. She screamed, "Liar," her face screwing up with hate, her mouth opening wide enough for Bree to see her tonsils.

"She seems fun," Kilpatrick said.

Bree inched forward, maneuvering her vehicle through the small crowd. "It feels bitchy, but I hope she gets sunburned."

Kilpatrick laughed.

Bree turned the corner, leaving the hostility behind with a deep breath. "The first stop is the mall. A security guard phoned in saying he recognized Vanessa."

"Good. A security guard isn't likely to completely waste our time."

"Fingers crossed."

The mall was a small, sad establishment with one vacant anchor store. The exterior needed refreshing, and clumps of weeds sprouted through wide cracks in the asphalt parking lot. Bree parked near the security office. The blacktop seemed almost sticky under her boots from the heat. Inside, she pushed through into a tiny reception area. Kilpatrick followed, sliding her sunglasses onto her head.

"Hello?" Bree called out.

A man stepped into the doorway behind the counter. About forty-five, he looked fairly fit in a standard mall security guard uniform: white shirt, black pants, and a few badges and logos meant to convey a feeling of authority. His hair was buzzed short, and he sported a neat salt-and-pepper goatee. His duty belt contained a radio, flashlight, keys, and a canister of pepper spray.

Bree checked her list. "I'm looking for Don Dutton."

"That's me." He approached the counter.

Bree introduced herself and Kilpatrick. "Thanks for calling the hotline. You recognized the victim?"

Don nodded. "We had several encounters with her. Had to ban her for shoplifting."

"When was this?" Bree asked.

"Last December. We're always busy in the preholiday season. Shoplifters think they can blend in with the crowds." He waved them forward. "Come on back to my office. I'll show you the paperwork."

Bree and Kilpatrick followed him into a larger room. A desk faced six wide-screen monitors, each divided into a dozen views of the mall.

He opened a file on his desk. "I printed the reports for you." He separated two papers. "In the first incident, Vanessa Mullen shoved a sweater into her handbag. We gave her a warning and banned her from the mall. Unfortunately, she came back two weeks later and tried to steal a designer handbag and some socks."

The mall was in the town of Scarlet Falls, which had its own police department. Though it fell within Bree's jurisdiction, normal policing would be addressed by the locals.

"Did you follow up?" Kilpatrick asked.

Don shook his head. "I don't know what happened to her. Usually, minor charges are pleaded out."

"What made you remember her?" Bree asked.

He set a pair of reading glasses on his nose and read something on the page, as if refreshing his memory. "In the second incident, she tried to run with the merchandise. I had to chase her down. When I caught up with her, she was belligerent. From her erratic behavior—and frankly, her appearance—I suspected she was high on something. I called the SFPD and let them deal with her." He dropped the glasses on the blotter. "Usually, people are pretty cooperative when they're caught red-handed leaving the premises with the merchandise. There are cameras everywhere. We almost always have videos. The ones that run or fight stand out."

Don swept the pages into the manila folder, closed it, and offered it to Bree.

"Thanks." She took it and scanned the report inside. There was a black-and-white photo of Vanessa attached. The image was clear enough to capture her pocked skin and dark circles. "Everything seems to be in order." She handed the file to Kilpatrick, who looked it over.

Dutton lifted a thumb drive from his desk. "I also copied the security footage for both incidents."

"Thorough." Bree pocketed the drive.

"SFPD should have an arrest report."

"I'll get a copy from them," Bree said. "Thanks for the info."

"Not sure how it helps your case, but you're welcome." Don escorted them back to the tiny lobby.

The sun blazed on Bree's head the second she stepped outside. "Now we have corroboration of the ex's statement that Vanessa was alive in early December."

They got back into the car.

"What's next on our list?" Kilpatrick fastened her seat belt.

Bree handed the sheet to the agent. "You tell me."

"The manager at the Burger Palace—Carl Simmons—recognized Vanessa too. He says he'll be at work from eight to five." Kilpatrick read off an address.

"I know it. It's only a few blocks from here." Bree drove to the burger joint, and they went inside. They were between the breakfast and lunch rushes, and the restaurant was mostly empty. The lingering smell of bacon made Bree's stomach rumble. She stepped up to the counter.

A pimply-faced young man asked, "What can I get you?"

"We're looking for Carl Simmons."

A man in brown polyester pants and a short-sleeved dress shirt stepped out from the kitchen. "This way, Sheriff."

Bree and Kilpatrick followed him to a corner booth. He slid onto a vinyl bench, and they took seats opposite him.

"You called the hotline?" Bree asked.

"Yeah. I recognized the dead woman. She used to come in here all the time. She'd use the bathroom without making a purchase." He paused for a breath. "She'd stay in there way too long. I asked her not to come back. But she did anyway, snuck in through the side door. One day, she wouldn't come out for over thirty minutes. Eventually, I unlocked the door with a key. Thought she might be dead in there or something." He made a face. "She wasn't. She ran off the second I opened the door."

"Did you chase her?" Kilpatrick asked.

He patted his generous stomach. "Do I look like I can chase anyone? No. I didn't run after her, but I found a needle on the floor afterward." He grimaced. "We get some gross stuff, but needles freak me out. I disinfected the whole bathroom myself after that."

"Do you have any video or a report?" Bree asked.

"I didn't bother. We were really busy." He shook his head. "She was long gone, and she never came back." He shrugged. "We get plenty of homeless in here. It's not like we have security or anything."

Bree pulled out a notepad and wrote a few notes. "Do you remember when this happened?"

He jerked a shoulder. "It was before Christmas. That's all I remember."

"OK. Thanks for your help." Bree got up.

"Will do." His eyes brightened. "You'll let me know about the reward, right?"

Bree sighed. "If this information leads to the apprehension and arrest of the killer, we'll call you." She used a don't call us tone.

"I doubt that information will be very helpful," Kilpatrick said as they walked back to the vehicle.

Bree sighed. "Right? Guess he figured he had to try."

"I hope the rest of the day isn't this pointless."

"One foot in front of the other," Bree said. "And we're narrowing down Vanessa's last known appearance to sometime in December."

They'd work every lead until they ran out.