Chapter 28 BREE

Chapter 28

brEE

Bree maneuvered the vehicle around a crowd of people in front of the Randolph County municipal building. "Looks like we're going to have a full house."

"The protesters followed you here." Mercy gestured to a group carrying signs and marching in a circle.

As soon as the protesters saw the sheriff's vehicle, they surrounded it, thumping on the car and chanting, "Sheriff Taggert lies!"

Bree eased off the accelerator but kept the tires rolling. "Plenty of press too."

Vans were lined up at the curb. Reporters delivered sound bites from the sidewalk with the building in the background.

Bree nosed the SUV toward the electronic arm that blocked the entrance to the fenced county employee parking lot. Once the yellow barrier rose, she entered the lot. They might have left the protesters behind, but she could still hear the chanting. The impending town hall seemed to have invigorated their enthusiasm.

They used the back door to avoid the worst of the crush.

"Are town hall meetings usually this well attended?" Mercy asked.

"It's hit or miss." Bree gestured toward a double doorway. "You should have seen the uproar when the board of supervisors wanted to tighten regulations on backyard chickens. People lost their minds."

"I believe it."

To avoid the main crowd, they used the side door to access the community room, which was already packed. Reporters flanked the room. Residents filled every seat and stood in the back. At the door, Deputy Zucco warned people, "It's standing room only."

Two members of the board of supervisors sat at a long rectangular table that faced the room. A podium stood just off-center of the large projection screen mounted on the wall.

As Bree and Mercy took seats at the table, the crowd hushed. A microphone on a stand had been placed at the head of the center aisle. Clothing rustled, conversation hummed, and shoes squeaked on tile. Somewhere, a baby cried. Jager made her grand entrance and people focused on her, which was clearly what she wanted. She strode down the aisle as if she were the queen.

Bree scanned the antsy crowd. Many of the faces were familiar. She recognized people from around town: The grocery store clerk who'd rung up her order over the weekend. A nurse from the pediatrician's office. The manager of the Burger Palace, Carl Simmons, was in the third row. Interesting. A group of mothers from Kayla's school clustered together. Also notable, Vanessa Mullen's ex-husband sat in the same row as the mall security guard, Don Dutton.

Jager went to the podium. "This is an informal town hall. We're here to update you all on the double-murder investigation and to answer your questions." She introduced the two county supervisors. Bree didn't know why they were there, except to show support for Jager and get their faces in front of the cameras. "And here we have Sheriff Taggert and FBI Special Agent Mercy Kilpatrick."

Someone booed. Another yelled, "Liars."

In the back a man shouted, "Shut it, people. Let them speak."

Thank you.

"First, I'd like to have Sheriff Taggert give you an update on the investigation. Sheriff?" Madeline smiled almost sweetly, but Bree saw the challenge—and warning—in her eyes, an unspoken command for Bree to smooth the situation over and make everyone feel better.

But it wasn't Bree's job to make nice. It was her job to catch a killer and protect the residents. She also didn't take commands from a bureaucrat.

A microphone sat on the table in front of Bree, clearly intended for her use. But Bree rose and strode to the podium instead. Jager was forced to step aside and cede the position to her.

Bree leaned over the mic and gave the information about Tisha Talbot. "The medical examiner has estimated that she's been dead for about a month. Since we now know that our two deceased women died in separate events, we can confirm that they were likely victims of a serial killer."

Bedlam broke out. People shouted over one another, the pitch of the combined conversation rising in panic. Jager looked like she was grinding rocks into dust with her molars.

"Quiet, please." Bree raised her voice. "We are here to answer your questions."

A bottle blonde in an expensive white sheath dress shoved people in her row to get to the microphone. "How did two women die without you knowing about it? How did that happen, Sheriff?"

How did I let something happen that I didn't know about?

Since Bree didn't have an answer to a nonsense question, she merely said, "The sheriff's department has been working on the case 24/7 since the victims were found. And we will continue to do so until the killer is caught."

The blonde didn't seem satisfied, but a man in wire-rimmed glasses, a black T-shirt, and baggy jeans took the mic. "Why is the FBI here? Are you going to take over the case?"

Mercy joined Bree at the podium. "In cases like this, the FBI provides resources that most local municipalities don't possess. We're here as a supportive role—not to take over the investigation. I can assure you that Sheriff Taggert is doing everything possible to catch this killer."

People began to line up at the mic. An older man waved his cane in the air. "The wrath of God is raining down on this town because of ungodly behavior. Satan is using smartphones to tempt our children into unholy deeds. We need Jesus back in the classroom."

"OK," Bree said. "Next."

Vanessa's ex-husband, Rick Mullen, stepped up to the mic. "I had to tell my children that their mother is dead. I'm grateful they're too young to ask details, but someday they'll want to know what happened to her. I don't know what I'm going to tell them." He broke down with a sob. "What are you doing to make sure other women—and their families—don't meet the same horrible fate as my wife?"

Why did you have an insurance policy on your ex-wife?

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Mullen. My department is working nonstop to apprehend your ex-wife's killer." Bree turned toward the closest camera, addressing the killer in case he was watching. "We will find him."

People stirred. The air-conditioning couldn't handle the outside temps and the crush of warm bodies. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of Bree's neck.

An attractive brunette appeared at Rick's side and led him away. The way she touched him and leaned her head toward his suggested intimacy. Was that the neighbor who'd watched his kids the day Bree notified him of Vanessa's death?

I wonder how long that's been going on.

As Rick Mullen stepped away, Bree noticed the manager of the Burger Palace watching intently, as if he needed a bucket of popcorn. This did feel like a spectacle.

"Liar!" someone in the back of the room shouted. "What are you hiding?"

Deputy Zucco signaled to Bree, asking by gesture if she wanted the heckler removed. Bree shook her head. Having residents thrown out of the town hall wasn't a good look. Instead, she decided to address the vocal resident directly. "What would I hide and why?" A minute of silence went by with no answers. "Seriously, I am baffled when I hear these accusations because I can't figure out what my motivation would be."

"You're all about politics!" the woman retorted, but her weak response lacked steam.

Bree ignored her. "I hear you. You're all upset, and you have every right to be. This is horrible and frightening. But you all know the two women were murdered, and that we haven't caught the killer yet. What else is there? Trust me, I want nothing more than to tell you we've solved the case—or even that we're closing in on a suspect. But I can't, because that wouldn't be honest."

She made as much eye contact as possible, shying away from no one's gaze, even the hostile ones.

Don Dutton approached the mic. He must have come directly from work because he was still dressed in his uniform. "I work security, and people are worried. How should people keep themselves and their families safe?"

Finally, a productive question.

"People should keep their doors locked. Go out in groups. Carpool. Be aware of your surroundings. When you're in an empty parking lot, keep your eyes up, not on your phone." Bree cited the usual safety precautions, which felt woefully inadequate.

"Do you know how he took the women?" a woman called out without bothering to approach the mic.

"We don't," Bree admitted. "So be aware all the time."

When the handsome blond reporter took the mic, Bree felt heat build at the base of her neck. This forum was for the public, and he was up to something. She could read it in the cocky set of his shoulders and the triumph in his eyes.

"Ken Wells, WSNY," he said in a deep voice that was as Hollywood as his face. His cameraman worked a flattering angle from the sidelines. "When are you going to tell the public that the serial killer might have claimed four victims, not two?"

People went ballistic: talking, yelling, and gesturing angrily. From the smug smile on Ken's face, Bree was sure that sowing chaos had been the plan.

She kept her face impassive, but what the actual fuck? How did he know about that? But she did need to respond—and quickly. She tapped the mic, but the crowd wasn't having any of her attempts to wrestle back control of the meeting. Instead, she raised her voice into the mic. "We have no evidence of that, and we don't operate on conjecture."

The noise settled to murmurs.

"But four identical tattoos were done, right?" Ken pressed. "And two of them were on the dead women."

"We showed you the tattoo that was on the victims. But—again—we don't have any means to identify other people who might have wanted a similar or the same tattoo."

The reporter's bombshell had made the crowd angry and restless. No one was listening. Bree tried to think of information that would settle them but came up with nothing.

Jager bumped Bree's elbow and leaned across her body to speak into the mic. "The meeting is adjourned."

Bree covered the mic. "Why would you end the meeting on that note?"

"Well, you certainly weren't winning anyone over, were you?" Jager glared, then muttered, "That was a disaster."

Disgusted, Bree turned away from her. She wanted to talk to Ken Wells. Scanning the room, she saw that Mercy was already on it. She was cutting through the crowd on her way to the reporter. Bree signaled to Deputy Zucco at the door and pointed to the reporter. The deputy nodded. When Wells tried to pass, the deputy pulled him aside. But Wells shook her off and glowered back at Bree before bolting for the door. Deputy Zucco flashed angry eyes at Bree, but Bree signaled to let him go. They had no legal cause to detain him by force. Zucco looked unhappy but complied.

Waving at Mercy to follow her, Bree went out a side door. They jogged around the building. "I think the WSNY van was parked over there." They rounded a county transport vehicle and cut off the reporter fifty feet from his van. He must have been separated from his camera crew because he was alone.

"Hey, Ken!" Bree called out.

He stopped, a small flicker of annoyance on his face. "Yes?"

Bree stepped between him and the van. "Where are you getting your information, Ken?"

"So, you admit it's true?" He sneered.

Bree didn't give him anything.

He crossed his arms. "My source is anonymous. Even if it wasn't, I wouldn't be able to tell you. A journalist protects his sources or he doesn't have any." He sauntered toward the waiting crew and van.

Mercy huffed. "I don't like him."

"Me either. He knows things he shouldn't. The tattoo artist information would only have appeared in my report."

"Do you trust your people?" Mercy asked.

"I do, or I did." Doubt washed over Bree. This wasn't the first leak she'd experienced on a case. But damn it, she couldn't imagine any of them betraying her and jeopardizing the case.

"I hate to ask, but is there anyone in your department who's experiencing a financial hardship?"

Bree scrubbed a hand down her face. "It's a valid question, and one I should be asking myself. The answer is, not that I know of. But not everyone likes to make embarrassing situations known."

People keep secrets.

"I want to know who is feeding Ken information." Mercy pronounced the reporter's name with venom.

Bree nodded. "Most definitely."