Chapter 39 BREE

Chapter 39

brEE

Bree turned to stare at the murder board and studied the photos strung along the top. The faces of the dead women—and the senator's daughter—stared back at her. She knew she was imagining the accusation in their eyes. The criticism came from within. She blamed herself for lack of progress on the case, which wasn't fair, but the world was hardly fair, was it?

Mercy rubbed her temples. "We've gathered a board full of information, but it feels like we still don't know anything."

"Having him block us on CuffMe hurt," Bree admitted.

Someone knocked on the conference room door. Since the case details had been leaked to the media, Bree had been militant about keeping the door closed and locked at all times, with only those directly involved in the investigation being granted access.

Marge opened the door. "That reporter, Ken Wells, is in the lobby. He's asking to see you. I told him you weren't available, but he won't leave. He says it's urgent."

Bree and Mercy shared a look. Mercy's brows rose.

Why would a reporter want to see us?

"Take him to room one," Bree said.

Marge nodded and withdrew.

"I wonder what Mr. Anonymous Source wants?" Mercy stood.

"Let's find out." Bree was just as curious.

She locked the conference room door after she and Mercy left. They went down the hall to the interview room. The door was open, and Bree could see Ken Wells sitting at the table, spinning a can of Coke between his palms. When they walked into the room, Ken jumped to his feet. Bree pulled back in surprise. For the first time, the reporter didn't look as perfect as his Mattel namesake. His face was flushed, his hair mussed, and his suit wrinkled.

Bree didn't bother with a polite greeting. She and Mercy faced the reporter across the table.

Ken lowered himself slowly into the chair. "You must be wondering why I'm here."

Neither Bree nor Mercy responded.

Ken swallowed, then reached for a briefcase on the chair next to him. He pulled out a manila envelope. "When I got home today, this was inside my storm door." He opened the clasp. His hands shook as he dumped out a regular letter envelope.

The hairs on Bree's neck quivered as she read the block lettering, neatly printed in blue ink. KEN WELLS. Instinctively, she knew not to touch it. "What is it?"

"I think it's from him." Ken's voice trembled.

Bree left the room for a pair of gloves. After donning them, she handled the envelope by the edges. Inside was a piece of plain white paper, trifolded. She slid it out, careful not to disturb any possible prints. A small card fell out onto the table. Not a card, a driver's license. Bree turned it over to reveal Tisha Talbot's DMV photo.

Her lungs froze for two heartbeats. Mercy gasped softly.

Bree took a breath and unfolded the paper. The words on the paper were written in the same blue ink and neat print as the reporter's name on the envelope.

Dear Ken,

Hello again. I have some new information for you. Guess who is in my house right now? Her name is Paige, and she's the daughter of US Senator Adam Holcroft. I didn't kidnap her, though. She chose to come to me with her own free will. The sheriff and FBI have been keeping her disappearance a secret, but now you know. Don't you think it's time the public knows as well?

I've enclosed a little something just so you know it's really me. Also, release this information today or you'll end up in your own suitcase. I know where you live.

The Master

"Again?" Bree asked Ken. "This isn't the first communication you've received from him?" He avoided eye contact, and she knew the answer.

Ken studied the laminate tabletop. "I think I've heard from him before, but I didn't know it was him at the time."

A burst of outright hostility heated Bree's belly. She did not blurt out the first question flashing in her mind like a neon sign: How dare you keep potentially valuable evidence from the investigators of a serial murderer case? Instead, she gritted her teeth and spit out one word. "How?"

Ken sniffed and clasped his shaking fingers on the table in front of him. "Papers like this one, but they came to my office, not my home." He paused. "And they weren't personal like this. They were just a sentence or two."

Bree stared at the note. "Same paper, same envelope, same ink?"

"Yes."

"Did you keep the other letters?" Mercy asked, her words strained with the effort of keeping control.

"Yes," Ken muttered.

Fury lowered Bree's voice. "Where are they?"

Ken reached for his briefcase again. He pulled out two envelopes. Fucking two! Bree donned another pair of gloves, then opened them, handling the pages by the edges.

The sheriff is holding back. The victims both had pink nail polish and long dark hair.

Once again, law enforcement is keeping important information from the public. There were four matching tattoos, not two.

Bree couldn't speak for a full minute as she processed the letters. "He's been feeding you information since the beginning."

"I didn't know it was him!" Sweat dampened Ken's hairline. "I thought it was someone in your department."

Bree lowered the papers. "So having women in danger is fine, but now that you feel threatened you want to cooperate?"

Ken didn't respond.

"We need your prints for elimination purposes on these notes," she said. "Though I doubt he left prints behind." She gathered the papers and jerked her chin toward the door for Mercy to follow her. On the way out, Bree shot Ken a glare. "You don't move."

In the hallway, Bree summoned Todd and Juarez. She dropped the letters and the gloves she'd used to handle them into an evidence bag. She asked her chief deputy to process the evidence, then she asked Juarez to grab the background info on Ken. She grabbed another deputy and assigned her to watch the interview room door. "He stays put."

Bree and Mercy retreated to the conference room. Bree closed the door and leaned on it. "Thoughts?"

"Selfish bastard!" Anger flashed in Mercy's eyes.

"Agreed."

"How did the killer know that we knew about the four tattoos?" Bree asked.

Mercy threw her hands into the air. "Who knows? Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was just trying to make trouble. I don't think he's concerned with honesty."

"Good point," Bree said.

Mercy paced. "The killer has Paige. This is the confirmation we've been waiting for."

"Now what?" Bree asked.

Mercy walked the short length of the room and back. "I'll call Evan and then I'll call my boss. We need more agents here. Now. They need to pull everyone off the leads in the other states. No one else could know that Paige is missing. Enclosing Tisha's driver's license makes it clear the information is coming from the actual killer. And that he's definitely here. Hang on." She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Bree stepped away as Mercy talked to Detective Bolton and then called the FBI. She closed her eyes and took several yoga breaths. After a few minutes, Mercy finished her calls and rejoined her.

"The Albany FBI office has been notified. They're going to pull every available agent and send them here. We need the manpower."

"I don't like the notes to Ken," said Bree.

"It wouldn't be the first time a serial killer utilized the press."

"No."

"But I don't like that Ken kept the source a secret," Bree said. "Did he really not think about where the information was coming from?"

"Maybe he's not that bright."

Juarez opened the door and came into the room. "Ken Wells's background check." He handed the pages to Bree.

She glanced down, her focus riveting on two words. She looked up at Mercy. "Guess what Ken drives?" She waited one heartbeat. "A white Audi."

"So we have a blond man who knows too much about the serial killer who drives the same kind of vehicle just used to abduct a young woman?"

"Seems like too big of a coincidence."

Mercy's tone went flat. "The leaks and letters could be a ruse. We already know our killer is interested in the investigation. He set us up in an ambush." Her hand went to her ribs, the move seeming like an unconscious reminder of her cracked ribs.

"I wonder if the Audi is outside in the lot," Bree said.

"Do we have enough evidence for a warrant?" Mercy asked, sounding doubtful. "Doesn't seem like it."

"No, but maybe Ken will be arrogant enough to let us look."

"Can't hurt to ask." Mercy shrugged.

Bree led the way back to the interview room. Ken stiffened as they entered.

Instead of sitting across from Ken, Bree perched on the table, looming over him.

Ken leaned back, the move an instinctual response to her invading his personal space.

Bree leaned an inch closer. "So, Ken. You know an awful lot about these crimes."

"I—I've been following the case since the beginning," he stammered, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Mercy chimed in. "You know things only the police and the killer know."

"Because he told me." The sweat stains under Ken's armpits expanded.

Bree didn't respond. She let the silence spin—and Ken sweat.

"You don't think ..." His eyes went wide. "You don't think it's me?" His gaze jumped from Bree's to Mercy's.

Bree shrugged. Mercy checked her fingernails.

"You have to believe me." Ken gripped the arms of the chair.

"You withheld information from an active investigation," Bree said. "Why?"

Ken gulped. "Because I wanted the scoop. It was dumb and greedy. I know that now."

"Is that the real reason?" Mercy asked with a tilt of her head.

Ken nodded like a bobblehead. "Yes. I swear."

"The girl at the mall was abducted and shoved in the trunk of a white Audi yesterday. That's what you drive, isn't it?"

Ken's mouth dropped open. "It wasn't me."

Bree held eye contact—and her breath.

He broke gaze first. "You can look in my trunk. It wasn't me. I didn't do anything, and you have to find him."

"Because he knows where to find you now, right?" Disgust curled Mercy's lip.

Ken looked away, his face flushing. Shame?

"You can wait here." Bree pointed to Ken.

"No way!" He leaped to his feet. "If you're looking in my car, I'm going too."

Bree conceded. "All right. Let's go."

Bree and Mercy flanked Ken as they walked out of the station. The parking lot was quiet for a change. Neither the press nor the protesters could camp out there 24/7. Thankfully.

Ken's Audi was at the back, parked under a tree. No air moved outside, and the sun was too intense for that late in the day. Far-off thunder gave a low rumble, and the blacktop felt sticky in the heat. They crossed the lot, and sweat trickled down Bree's spine and gathered at the small of her back.

"Open the trunk," Bree said.

Ken reached into his pocket for his key fob. He pressed a button. The trunk popped open.

"Please stand over there," Mercy said, pointing at the tree.

Bree handed Mercy a pair of gloves and donned a fresh pair herself. She shined her flashlight in the trunk. After five minutes of searching, she hadn't found anything. Disappointment crashed down on her.

Then Mercy said, "Look here."

The beam of her light shone on the lip of the trunk. Caught in the rubber edging were a half dozen strands of long dark hair.

"How fast can you get a DNA test on that?" Bree whispered.

"I can have it in less than twenty-four hours," Mercy whispered back. "Rapid tests in Albany. We have three women's DNA profiles to compare it to, and you now have enough on Ken to hold him until we have results."

"I'll send it with a deputy to Albany."

"It could belong to the woman kidnapped at the mall."

"Then we'll have a DNA profile ready to compare when we figure out who she is."

Bree strode toward Ken, removing the cuffs at her belt. "Place your hands on your head."

We might have our man.