Chapter 3 BREE

Chapter 3

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It was early evening before Bree returned to the station, where media vans clogged the main parking lot. Bree drove around back and used the employee entrance. She stopped in the break room to fill a stainless-steel bottle with water, downing half of it on the way back to her office. She dropped into her chair, leaned back, and closed her eyes, letting the air-conditioning waft over her.

"You are a mess."

She cracked an eyelid. Her administrative assistant, Marge, stood in the doorway. In her sixties, Marge wore black slacks and sensible shoes. Her dyed brown hair was sprayed into submission. Her sole concession to the heat was the lack of her usual cardigan.

Bree sat up. "I am." She looked down. Her uniform was stained with sweat, dirt, and grass. The sun and heat had left her exhausted and dehydrated. Her face felt hot and tight, probably sunburned. No doubt she'd sweated off her sunscreen. She drank more water, then fished a packet of electrolytes out of her drawer, added it to the bottle, and gave it a shake.

"You should shower. There's a fresh uniform in your closet."

Bree nodded. "You're right." Nothing would feel better than hosing off the grime.

"The lobby is full of press. You don't want to address them like that." Marge waved in Bree's direction.

"Actually, I do. Maybe if I smell bad, they won't stay long." Bree grinned.

Marge gave her a Look.

Bree's grin shifted into a scowl. "I've been out in the heat all day. I'm in no mood for niceties." Her skin felt like fruit leather.

Marge said nothing, but one penciled-on eyebrow rose a millimeter.

Bree met her gaze head-on. "I'm too tired to play politics."

"There's a maggot on your boot."

Bree quelled the urge to fling it across the room. That's what crawling around a crime scene will get you. She tapped her foot on the floor. The maggot dropped off, and she crushed it under her boot. "I'll shower." She heard the grumpiness in her voice but didn't care.

Marge didn't actually smile, but the corners of her eyes crinkled. "I'll bring a fresh uniform and clean boots to the locker room."

Marge had worked for the sheriff's office for forever. She knew every dirty detail that went into law enforcement, including the nasty things that often inhabited crime scenes. Cognizant of Bree's elected-official status, Marge always had a fresh uniform and a clean pair of boots ready.

A sudden wave of paranoia swept over Bree. She glanced down at her body. She didn't see any more insects, but she swore she could feel them everywhere. Bree was on her feet and stripping in the locker room within two minutes. Leaving her filthy uniform on the tile and her body armor on the bench, she hurried into the shower.

She stepped under the spray, grateful for the recent renovations that had added a locker room for female employees. Prior to Bree taking office, there had been only a male locker room. But then, the previous, corrupt, now-dead sheriff hadn't employed any female deputies. Everything had changed when Bree had been appointed to the office.

She'd cleaned house. Those first months had been rough. She'd dealt with lingering sexism, and close to half the deputies had quit. But in the long run, everything had worked out, and she was pleased with the deputies who had stayed and her new hires. The boys' club had been shown the door.

After scrubbing down multiple times, she emerged from the shower. A fluffy towel sat on the bench next to a fresh uniform. She dried off and dressed. She gave her hair a quick blast with the dryer, then pinned it into its usual professional bun. Ever hopeful, Marge had left a makeup bag near the sinks. Bree ignored it. Usually, she'd appease Marge and apply a bit of concealer and lipstick. But today, she was done. After dealing with the callous discarding of two women, the heat, and the bugs, Bree had not a single fuck left over for her personal appearance.

Clean and tidy was the best anyone was going to get this evening.

She used the deodorant and toothbrush she kept in her locker before exiting.

Marge gave her an up-and-down appraisal, with barely a frown at her unmade-up face. "Better."

Was she giving up?

Bree hoped so. She caught up with Todd in the squad room. His damp hair and clean uniform indicated he'd also showered.

Todd tilted his head. "Do you want me to talk to the press?"

"No. I'll handle them."

"Thank God." He looked as exhausted as she felt. "What can I do?"

"Get Juarez to help run queries in NamUs, ViCAP, and NCIC. Start looking for females with long brown hair reported missing in the last six months."

ViCAP was the FBI's Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, designed to analyze and collect information on violent crimes. Records included murders, sexual assaults, missing persons cases, and unidentified remains. NamUs was a searchable national database of unidentified remains and missing persons cases. The National Crime Information Center was a nationwide clearinghouse for missing persons and crime information. More than twenty-three thousand missing persons cases were currently open in the US. Querying all three databases gave them a better chance of identifying their victims.

They'd update the search after the ME supplied more information, but they could get lucky. The victims could be ID'd quickly. It was much harder to solve a murder without knowing who had been killed.

"Will do," Todd said.

Bree checked the time. "After that, both of you go home. The investigation will ramp up tomorrow after the autopsies are complete. May as well get some sleep while we can."

For now, they had very little information to work with.

"Yes, ma'am." Todd turned toward the desks and computers.

She went out into the lobby and faced the press. She spotted only local stations and crossed her fingers that the case hadn't generated national media attention. A circus-tent atmosphere didn't help any investigation.

The moment she stepped into the lobby, the media erupted with questions. Bree stood in front of the crowd and waited. They settled and she began. "This afternoon, the remains of two bodies, likely female, were found by the side of Echo Road." She described the circumstances of the find.

"Is it true the bodies were stuffed into suitcases?" a reporter yelled.

Bree cooled a quick flash of anger. She couldn't expect such a juicy detail to elude the media. The crime scene was a public road, and numerous cars had driven by, observing the activity, before they'd erected the tent. "Yes. The remains were contained inside two large suitcases."

Another reporter called out, "Do we have another serial killer in Randolph County?"

Bree raised a hand. "It's far too early to make any such assertions. These people could have been victims of a number of other crimes." She could think of many possibilities, from gang violence to human trafficking, but the press did not need any further speculation. "When I have more details, I'll pass them along."

"I heard both victims wore pink nail polish. Is this true?" the blond reporter who had been at the scene earlier asked. He was in a fresh suit, and his face and hair looked perfect, which irritated Bree almost as much as the information he'd just spilled. Bree had wanted to keep the polish detail in-house, to help determine real leads from false, but clearly that was no longer possible.

With effort, Bree maintained her poker face. "Yes."

The blond continued. "And one of the victims has long brown hair?"

Bree tamped down a primal scream. The media was already sabotaging the case, and she'd barely begun the investigation. This was not a good sign.

"Correct." She skirted a few more questions with vague answers and then ended the session with "I'll schedule another press conference after I've heard from the medical examiner." She turned to the nearest camera. "If anyone saw suitcases being dumped on the side of Echo Road or has any information about the case, please call the sheriff's department." Bree gave the general number and thanked the public for their assistance.

Closing the secure door to the lobby behind her, Bree walked back to her office. The bodies had been in suitcases, which were inside black body bags when they were transported to the ME van. It wasn't possible for passersby or reporters on the road to have seen the remains through the Russian-nesting-doll effect. There was no possibility any unofficial personnel saw the nail polish or long dark hair. Those details had been leaked.

But by whom?

Angry and exhausted, she gathered her files and left via the back door in the fading dusk. After tossing her bag across the console, she slid behind the wheel. The gate barrier rose, and she drove out of the fenced lot.

The radio chattered softly as she made the turn onto the main road. An object sailed toward her windshield, hitting with a wet smack. Bree's heart slammed into her throat. She stomped on the brake pedal, her heart jackhammering against her breastbone. Red liquid oozed across the glass.

Someone had thrown something at her car.

She could have crashed her vehicle.

Outside, someone yelled, "Fucking useless cops."

Bree couldn't see anyone. The red liquid blocked her view through the windshield. Blood?

She jerked the gearshift into park, wrenched open the door, and jumped out of the vehicle, her hand on her weapon. A piece of thin latex waved from her wiper. A balloon?

Her head pivoted toward the sound of running footsteps. She spotted a figure in a hoodie bolting away. The height and gait suggested a male suspect. She used her lapel mic to call for assistance, hoping a patrol unit was nearby and could cut off the assailant at the other end of the block. But no such luck. On-duty deputies were either at the station or out on patrol.

She bolted after him, anger fueling her stride. Her thighs and lungs burned, but she gained on him. Ahead, he turned into an alley. Bree skidded around the corner. The alley was empty. She aimed her weapon into the darkness. Was he hiding? Easing past a dumpster, she checked between it and the brick wall. Then she rose onto her toes and flipped the top open. The smell of garbage poured out, but the container was mostly empty. No one was inside. She closed the lid, scanned the alley, but saw no one.

A chain-link fence rattled, feet hit the ground hard, and then running footsteps faded into the distance.

Fucking fuck fuck fuck.

She holstered her weapon, rested her hands on her knees, and wheezed for a minute.

Frustrated, she returned to her vehicle and suspiciously examined the red liquid on the windshield. It was thick and appeared sticky. Not blood, though. After her day, she expected a terrible smell, but a sweet and tangy odor wafted to her nose. Barbecue sauce? A patrol car came toward her, lights blazing.

Juarez rushed out of the driver's seat. "Sheriff?"

"I think someone threw a balloon filled with barbecue sauce at my vehicle."

"Barbecue sauce?"

"I assume it was intended to look like blood."

"Oh, wow." He stared at the mess.

"Yeah. Everyone needs to take extra care leaving the station. Someone is angry." She texted Todd to put the word out to all the employees. "No one was hurt, but this"—she gestured toward her windshield—"could have caused an accident."

Then she slid back into the driver's seat. The windshield was completely obscured. She lowered the window. With her head sticking out, she drove back into the parking lot. Juarez followed. He took a few pictures, then hosed off her SUV for her.

She picked the small piece of latex from her wiper. "This is going to be the most ridiculous report ever."

"Yes, ma'am." Juarez coiled the hose.

Thankfully, the vehicle was undamaged. But her hands trembled from the adrenaline dump as she slid behind the wheel.

Barbecue Sauce Balloon Man wasn't wrong. She did feel useless. There was another killer in Randolph County. Two women were dead. It was her job to keep the public safe, and she had failed.

Still shaken, Bree drove home in the falling darkness. She'd been in no rush to get back to the farm. The usual home vibe was noisy and chaotic. When Bree had moved to her sister's farm in Grey's Hollow, her former homicide partner had retired and moved upstate to serve as an unofficial nanny and pseudoaunt to Bree's niece and nephew. Dana had taken the kids to the Jersey Shore to vacation with her extended family.

The farm was also home to two dogs: Matt's former K-9, Brody, and Bree's pointer-mix rescue, Ladybug. Five horses and one territorial tomcat were also in residence. This week, with Matt away pursuing his K-9 adventure badge, and the kids at the beach, Bree had the farm all to herself.

For a woman who'd spent the majority of her adult life alone, being thrust into a frenzied family environment had been disconcerting. But now that she'd adjusted to living in chaos, the sudden quiet was just as disarming.

She opened the back door, but instead of going inside, she let the dogs out. Ladybug slammed into Bree's knees, demanding attention before trotting onto the grass to pee. Brody waited his turn for a head scratch like a gentleman. With the dogs at her heels, Bree detoured to the barn. Her younger brother had fed the horses and dogs at dinnertime. Five huge heads peered over the half doors of their stalls. Bree checked each animal, spending a few extra minutes with her paint gelding. He'd been her sister's horse, and his company gave her comfort. She ran a hand over his sweaty shoulder. Even with the doors open, the barn was hot, and Bree turned the horses out into the pasture for the night. Her boots crunched across the dry grass. How long had it been since it rained? Too long, considering the scorching temps.

In the house, she and the dogs stared at each other.

"I know. You're bored." Bree should have been exhausted, but instead, she was unable to settle. The quiet felt unnatural. She poured a glass of iced tea and took it out onto the back porch. The dogs lay at her feet. Together they watched the dark shapes of the horses grazing in the pasture. Her phone rang, and Dana's number appeared on the screen. Bree answered.

"Hey." Dana sounded breathless. "Kayla wanted to call."

"Aunt Bree!" Kayla yelled.

Bree put the call on speaker. "Whatcha doin'?"

"We went to the boardwalk and we got pizza and ice cream and I rode the roller coaster and Luke went with me and tomorrow we're going to the beach," Kayla said in one sentence and one breath. She inhaled. "Dana's brother has two girls and he promised to take us to the water park."

"I'm glad you're having fun." Bree wished she were with them, but the trip had been last minute. She already had too many deputies on vacation to take time off herself.

"Gotta go," Kayla said. Over the connection, children giggled.

After a clunk, Dana came back on the line. "Sorry about that." She laughed. "She's going to pass out the minute she gets in bed."

"Are you exhausted yet?" Bree asked.

"Nope. My brothers' kids are all here. They're tiring each other out."

"Luke?"

"He's mini golfing with my nephew," Dana said. "They should be back soon."

"He doesn't need to check in, but he can call if he wants."

"That's what I figured."

Bree would be happy to talk with Luke, but she hoped he didn't feel the need. She hoped he was enjoying himself. But damn, she missed them much more than she had expected. But she was glad the kids weren't in Grey's Hollow while dead bodies were turning up in suitcases.