Chapter 31 MERCY

Chapter 31

MERCY

"This is a nice neighborhood," said Mercy, eyeing the houses, trying to distract herself and slow her heart rate as Bree drove to Sylvia Verney's home. Her thoughts were wrapped up in the possibility of finding their killer that morning.

And hopefully Paige.

The homes were older, stately colonials on acre lots. The streets turned with gentle curves, and huge old oak trees lined the roads. The calm neighborhood was a contrast with her crackling state of mind.

"Yeah." Suspicion filled Bree's answer.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't like to think that our killer has a nice life. I want him living in a shithole."

"Maybe the home is a shithole inside."

Bree pulled to the curb. "Our backup is still a minute out, but this is the address."

Not a shithole.

The Verney home was one of the smaller homes on the street, but the yard was impeccable and the white paint crisp and fresh. The two-story home was symmetrical, balanced with its front door in the very center and an identical pattern of windows to each side.

It didn't look like the home of someone who tortured women.

"Is that a swing set?" Bree asked as they sat in the SUV, waiting for a deputy to arrive.

Mercy leaned forward. The home had a single-lane driveway that led to a detached garage behind the home. Next to it she saw what was definitely one end of a swing set. "Yes. Kids live here? Creepy."

"Think of the BTK Killer. Family man. Prominent in his church. I bet our guy has a different location where he keeps his women. There's our backup." The two women exited Bree's vehicle.

A squad car with two deputies had pulled up across the street. The driver raised a hand at Bree as they stepped out and met the women.

"If you two can watch the north and south sides of the home," said Bree, "we're going to knock."

The deputies nodded and split, each heading for an opposite side.

Mercy's stomach churned and small stars of pain flashed across her ribs as she and Bree went up the stone walkway to the front door.

No one is expecting us.

But she acknowledged that those were the situations that could turn deadly in an instant.

Under the portico, they each stepped to one side of the blue door and Bree knocked. Mercy heard a woman's voice inside, possibly that of an older woman.

The door opened and a tall angular woman with white hair looked at them with curiosity. Her thick lenses enlarged her eyes, and they grew bigger as she noticed Bree's uniform and Mercy's vest. "What can I do for you, officers?" She wore a thick cardigan with her slacks, and a wave of cooled air flowed from the home into the warm morning. Her gaze went past them to the two county vehicles in the street. "Did something happen?"

"Good morning," said Bree. "Are you Sylvia Verney?"

"I am." Lines formed between her brows.

"We were hoping to speak with Mark Verney. Is he here?" asked Bree.

Sylvia cocked her head. "He is ... May I ask what this is about? Did he get in trouble for something? He's been here all morning."

"We'd just like to ask him some questions," said Mercy, giving her warmest smile. "Won't take long."

"Hmmm." Suspicion entered her gaze. She wasn't pleased.

For a moment, Mercy thought Sylvia was going to refuse. Instead the woman turned and yelled, "Mark! Can you come here for a second?"

Mercy noted she wore hearing aids.

Sylvia faced them again and gave the women a look that should have been stern, but lacked power because her glasses made her eyes so big. "I'm going to be right here the whole time."

"Not a problem," Mercy lied, speaking a little louder because of the hearing aids. If they felt Mark wasn't being forthcoming, they could ask for privacy. Or request Mark come to the station. Behind Sylvia, fast footsteps sounded on stairs and Mercy tensed.

A second later a young boy with wide blue eyes and a ton of freckles stared at them. He couldn't have been more than ten years old. His eyes widened as he spotted their holstered weapons. "What, Grandma?" He glanced up at Sylvia and then continued to stare at the guns.

Sylvia looked at Mercy and Bree and raised a brow. Well?

"I'm sorry," said Bree. "We're looking for an older Mark Verney. Who's around forty-five." She smiled at the boy. "You must also be Mark."

Sylvia's face lost all expression, and she set her hands on Mark's shoulders. "That would be my son. He passed away six years ago." Her fingers tightened, and the boy looked up at her again.

He's dead?

Mercy met Bree's gaze.

Now what?

"I'm very sorry for your loss," said Bree. "Maybe we have the wrong name. Is there another male in your family that's ... older than Mark here?"

"Not anymore," she stated. "My husband has been gone for nearly twenty years. Mark was our only son. His wife lives a few miles away, and I watch my grandson several times a week while she works."

Mercy's thoughts shot in a dozen different directions. The Verney name was a lie. The home address was a lie.

Another dead end.

Bree stepped off the porch and waved at the deputies. "Go ahead and head out. We're good here." The two acknowledged and headed for their vehicle. Bree returned. "We're sorry to have bothered you. It appears someone tried to mislead us."

Sylvia nodded and gently turned Mark around. "You can go back to your TV show now."

But the boy twisted back to face Bree with eager eyes. "Have you ever shot anyone?"

"Mark!" Sylvia turned him again and gave a push. "Go!" The boy sped off, his feet pounding on the stairs once more. She sighed, crossed her long arms, and eyed them. "I don't like this. Who would send you here looking for my dead son? That's horrible. Is that someone's idea of a joke?"

"We're not sure," said Mercy. "But—"

"You're not sure? So what happens now? Is a SWAT team going to break down my door one day and then say they have the wrong address? What is going on?"

Mercy took a half step back, startled by the woman's sharp tone.

"No one is going to break down your door, Mrs. Verney," Bree said calmly. "This lead ends with us. No one will be back."

"Figures. When I want the police, no one comes. But you two show up on a mistake."

Bree raised her chin. "I'm sorry. What did you not get a response on? Can I do something for you?"

Mercy suspected the Verney house was within the Scarlet Falls PD jurisdiction. But she knew Bree wouldn't let that stop her from offering help.

Sylvia waved a hand. "They said my issue only qualified to file a report over the phone, so they did that instead of sending an officer. But I'd really expected someone to at least come take fingerprints. How do you catch crooks if you don't take fingerprints?" The woman looked disappointed.

"Was something stolen, Mrs. Verney?" Bree was the picture of patience.

It was the CSI effect. People expected a forensics team for every little problem and then believed the trace evidence would lead to instant results. The real world was very different.

"Nothing was stolen. Not that I can tell, but twice now I've found my back door unlocked when I was positive I locked it the night before."

Oh, brother.

"That sounds very unnerving," said Bree, sincerity in her tone. "Did you check with your grandson?"

"He wasn't here the nights it happened. I live alone, and the only person with a key is my daughter-in-law. I asked her if she'd been in the house overnight, and she thought I'd lost my marbles." Indignation crossed her face. "And now the lock is damaged. I can't get my key in it from the outside, so it needs to be replaced."

Mercy glanced at Bree. It did sound like the lock had been fooled with. Considering the woman lived alone, it had to be stressful for her.

"Would you like me to take a look at it?" asked Bree.

"Please do. The locksmith is coming tomorrow, but I think some photos and fingerprinting would be a good idea. You can't be too safe."

"How long ago did this happen?" asked Mercy, who was glad to hear about the locksmith.

"The first time was a month ago. And then last week."

"There's probably been too many hands on it since then to lift prints," said Bree. "But I'll take some photos."

Bree's police radio crackled. "All units. We have a report of a kidnapping at the Scarlet Falls Mall. All units in the vicinity respond."

"That's near us." Bree pressed the mic at her shoulder. "10-4. Taggert responding." She looked at Sylvia. "I'm sorry, we need to go. I'll try to come back." She and Mercy raced for her unit.

"Report of a woman being forced into the trunk of a car," said the dispatcher as Bree and Mercy slammed their doors shut.

Shit. Could it be?

Mercy met Bree's gaze. "I assumed the call would involve a child. Do you think ...?"

"It's possible." Bree was grim. "Hang on."

The SUV flew down the street.