Chapter 26 MERCY

Chapter 26

MERCY

Day 5

The next morning, Mercy pressed some random buttons on Bree's fancy coffee machine and then washed down her ibuprofen with steaming-hot coffee, burning her tongue.

Her back hurt. Her ribs hurt. And now her mouth hurt.

It was almost six a.m., and Mercy had slept like shit. If it wasn't her back waking her up, it was the unfamiliar pillow or her brain in fast-forward. The house was still silent as she quietly moved in the kitchen. Bree seemed like the type to start her mornings early, so Mercy expected to see her soon.

She peeked in the fridge, and her gaze locked in surprise on a small carton of whipping cream. Mercy suspected it had been bought by the nanny—the one who made that amazing chicken from last night. The carton was open and the expiration date had just passed, so she took a strong sniff and then poured it in her coffee. She headed outside.

She sat in the same chair on the porch as last night, leaning back carefully into a faded cushion. The morning light was soft and the skies clear, promising a warm day. She sighed and tried to relax. The faint smell of horses reached her, and Mercy fought the urge to explore the barn. Can't take the farm out of the girl.

Her thoughts returned to yesterday. Late last night she'd told Truman about the shooting, worried the news would somehow make it across the US before she could call him. He'd been silent as she spoke rapidly. At least she'd been smart enough to open with "I'm not hurt, but ..."

"Are you in danger out there?" he'd finally asked.

"You and I are in danger every time we step out the door. Comes with the territory."

"Doesn't mean I can't get upset. Thank God that sheriff gave you a vest. Keep wearing it," he'd said.

"I'll ask for a new one. That one is damaged." She'd been pleased to hear him nearly laugh at that.

"Do the investigators out here know about it?" he'd asked.

"I plan to call Evan after you."

"I'll tell Kaylie and Ollie what happened. Neither one is going to be happy."

"I know." There'd been a long moment of silence as she thought about the kids. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too."

They ended every phone call with the words, too aware that their future wasn't predictable.

Bree opened the back door. "You OK?" She came out and pulled up another chair, scanning Mercy up and down, searching for signs of pain. She wore pajamas and her phone was in hand.

Mercy wasn't used to seeing Bree with her hair down. It'd been in a bun every day. She held up her cup of coffee in salute. "I'm good. Sore. It'll get better."

"Have you been online?" Bree looked grim.

Something's up.

"Not yet. Still trying to caffeinate. Is there something new about our case?"

"Yes and no." Bree looked at her phone. "You've been identified."

Damn it.

"We knew that would eventually happen," said Mercy. "More time would have been nice, though. Who broke it?"

"It's all over the local news' social media. That reporter, Ken Wells, shot a segment asking why the FBI has an agent involved and implying again that we haven't been fully truthful about the murdered women. As if he hasn't stirred up the community enough."

"Nothing about the senator or Paige Holcroft?"

"Not yet." Bree looked grim. "That's inevitable, though." She held out her phone and Mercy watched the reporter's video.

It had been posted just after midnight, filmed in front of the home where Mercy had been shot. "He's pretty, isn't he?"

"He knows it," said Bree. "I wonder how he got the information."

"I bet he asked one of the deputies or even the EMT about the officer who'd been shot and someone corrected him that I was FBI. Maybe they even said my name. A little digging and he found me." She eyed Bree, thinking about their little chat last night. "I didn't thank you for saving my butt yesterday." Her throat grew tight. "I'd have you back me up anytime."

It was the ultimate compliment in their profession. As law enforcement they always knew who they wanted as backup—and who they absolutely didn't. You had to trust them with your life.

Bree nodded, her gaze on Mercy. "You're welcome, and the feeling is mutual."

"I know it's early, but can we go find that killer now?" asked Mercy with a half smile.

"Breakfast, shower, then go."

"Sounds good. Say ... can I get a new vest?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

The women exchanged a grin.

A few hours later, Mercy and Bree were in the conference room sorting through more tips.

"Damn that reward. It's bringing in all sorts of junk," said Bree. "Everyone wants to say something even if it's not related. I swear they just want to mess with us."

Mercy agreed. She'd made a follow-up phone call on a tip only to hear the caller swear that she saw Vanessa Mullen two weeks ago at the grocery store.

Mercy didn't tell her that was impossible. She thanked her and hung up.

Marge had been turning away call after call about the presence of an FBI agent on the case. She said most of them had been from more media.

Mercy had made a quick call to Evan, waking him at six a.m. Pacific time, to give a heads-up about her status. They'd had a quick discussion—again—of whether it was time for the senator to publicly announce that his daughter was missing. There were pros and cons. Mercy wanted more investigation time before the national media got the news; the local media was causing enough problems as it was. Evan argued that they might get more leads. Two leads that had led agents to Utah and Washington had been a bust.

"That makes it all the more important that we are able to investigate here," Mercy had told him.

"Do you need to ask for more agents?"

"Nothing is concrete yet," she'd told him. "But I feel I'm close."

In the conference room, Bree looked at the pictures they'd put up on their board. "Who do we like?"

Mercy went to stand beside her and pointed at Vanessa's ex. "Jimmie turn up yet?"

"Not yet. We're still looking. He's probably under a rock somewhere."

"I'd say he's our strongest suspect. It doesn't look good that he was out of jail when I was shot."

"True. How do you feel now about Mr. Mercedes, Pete Conrad? His background check came back clean." Bree studied the man's photo.

Mercy eyed the tall man. "He's still not high on my list. I suspect he's just guilty of bad decisions. But I want to know where he was at the time of the shooting." She made a note on her yellow pad. "I'm curious what his alibi will be."

"We haven't considered the ex-husband," said Bree, gesturing at Rick Mullen. "Seems like a normal guy. With those kids, I don't know how he has time for anything else."

"He seems unlikely too. Damn it. Why isn't anyone jumping out at me?"

"Possibly because the right guy isn't on our board yet."

We'll keep digging.

Bree's cell phone rang and she checked the screen. "It's Dr. Jones." She answered immediately.

It took Mercy a long second to connect the name to the medical examiner.

Bree listened briefly. "I'm going to put you on speaker, Doctor. Agent Kilpatrick is in the room with me." Her eyes danced with excitement.

"Morning, Agent Kilpatrick. I have an identification on the other woman from the suitcases," said the doctor.

Yes!

"I received a call yesterday from a Naomi Binney that the woman might be Tisha Talbot. Age twenty-five. Naomi had heard about the press conference and called me instead of the tip line. She stated they had been close friends since high school, and she hadn't seen her for a few months. She tried to call Tisha and went to her apartment with no luck before contacting me. Naomi even knew the name of Tisha's dentist—said they went to the same one. I called the dental office yesterday, got Tisha's films, and my odontologist says it's a definite match."

"Tisha Talbot isn't on our list of missing women within a hundred miles," said Bree.

"I just got back Tisha's lab reports, which say she's been dead about a month. Agent Kilpatrick, you'd originally asked if she could have died within the last two weeks, and I'd said yes, but now we know that's not what happened."

"A month? Why did no one report her?" asked Mercy.

Was she a recluse?

Bree was already tapping on her computer.

"Naomi said that the police should contact Tisha's father," continued Dr. Jones. "She wouldn't be specific, but she said he's got a record and had hurt Tisha at one point."

"Hurt?" asked Bree.

"She didn't expand," said Dr. Jones. "I pressed a little, but she wouldn't give any details. She said there's a police report."

"Thank you, Doctor. Anything else?" said Mercy.

"Yes. You should be aware that Rick Mullen contacted my office today. He needs documentation of Vanessa's death for her life insurance."

Mercy met Bree's stare.

Motive.

"Thank you for telling us," Mercy forced out, still processing the new information.

"Glad I could help." The doctor ended the call.

"Holy shit," said Mercy. "We'd just talked about him. I'd say life insurance moves him up the suspect list a bit."

"Especially since they've been divorced for three years," said Bree.

"I'll make a note to follow up on that," said Mercy, adding to her yellow pad. "I'm interested to know how old and how much the policy is for. But for now let's get back to Tisha. I want to know why no one reported her missing."

Bree refocused on her computer screen, a small frown on her face.

"Well?" asked Mercy. "What did you find on her?"

"At the moment I'm more interested in Neal Talbot, her father. He is on the registered sex offenders list as a level two and has about ten domestic assault charges over the last decade. Prison time twice. Appears the older charges were filed by his wife, but there are a few other women in the last few years. Girlfriends maybe? I'll guess the wife got away from him at some point."

"Is there a current address for his wife?" Dread built in Mercy's stomach.

Did his wife vanish too?

"Yes. And she got a speeding ticket last month." Relief flashed on Bree's face.

"Did Tisha file a report against her father?"

"I don't see one." The sheriff frowned. "Did Naomi lie about the report to Dr. Jones, or did Tisha lie to Naomi?"

"I suspect the latter. What got Neal Talbot a level two on the registered sex offenders list?" Mercy knew the three levels were determined by points assigned to various aspects of the crimes. Any combination of actions could have landed Talbot there.

"Armed. Forced. More than one victim. And physical injury."

"He sounds like a nice man." Anger was building in Mercy's chest.

"He also sounds like someone who'd force a ball gag into someone's mouth," said Bree. "I want to see him. Today."

"The friend too ... Naomi Binney. And maybe Tisha's mother." Mercy winced. "Shit. We need to do a notification, don't we?"

"The mother lives in Maine. I'll find someone local to do it in person. Then we can call her." Bree spun the laptop around so she could see.

Several booking photos of Neal Talbot were on the screen. He was bald on top and had a thick porn stache. His eyes were angry. Mercy noted he had a bloody nose in one and scratches on his cheek in another.

Somebody fought back.

"No charges filed against him in the last two years," said Bree. "I guess that's good."

"Let's pay a visit right now," Mercy said. "I'd like to hear what he has to say about his daughter's fate."

"I'll grab a deputy for backup," said Bree.

A random pain shot through Mercy's ribs. "Good idea."