Chapter 40 MERCY

Chapter 40

MERCY

"For someone whose appearance is always so perfect, his house is a surprising mess," said Mercy as she stood in Ken Wells's kitchen two hours later.

Beside her, Bree stared at the overflowing sink of dirty dishes. "I don't understand. He has a dishwasher. Isn't it just as easy to put them in there?"

"Ollie and Kaylie would disagree with you." Mercy had begged the kids not to stack dishes in the sink. It would work for a few weeks, and then the problem would start again. She sniffed at Ken's stack. "Something is fermenting."

Ken was in the county jail for the night. Mercy had referred to it as the Hotel Taggert, which Bree hadn't found amusing. He'd protested over and over that he had nothing to do with any of the women's disappearances. To which Bree had replied, "Then you've got nothing to worry about."

Now the women and three deputies were searching Ken's house. His home was a one-story older building that sat on a street where the only difference in the houses was the paint color and the vehicles in the driveways. A quick hunt for occupants in the home and garage had turned up nothing, so they began a deeper search.

"What exactly are we looking for?" asked the youngest deputy, Juarez.

In Mercy's opinion, Juarez didn't look old enough to drink.

"Anything related to BDSM or that indicates a woman might have been held here. Our warrant includes electronics, but don't unplug any computers. Forensics will do that. Keep an eye out for additional cell phones too," said Mercy. The other two deputies nodded and started in their assigned rooms. Juarez hesitated, his gaze going from Mercy to Bree.

Damn, he looks young.

"Whips, handcuffs, ball gags, chains," Bree rattled off, seeing his confusion. "Not the frilly pink types in your parents' bedroom drawers. Hard-core items. Maybe evidence of blood. Got it?" She raised a brow.

Deputy Juarez nodded and headed to the bedroom he'd been assigned.

"Surely he knows about ... stuff," Mercy muttered. "Doesn't he watch movies?"

"Who knows? He's a nice young man but a little naive." Bree pointed at a cupboard. "I'll start on this side of the kitchen."

Mercy opened a drawer on the other side. "Junk drawer." She ran a gloved hand through the random items and moved on to the next. "Another junk drawer."

Ken had four of them.

In the last drawer she found three older cell phones. She was tempted to power them on, but knew to leave that for forensics, so she photographed and bagged them. Bree looked over.

"I have at least three old cell phones lying around," Bree commented. "Probably five."

"Me too."

They made quick work of the kitchen and sped through the dining nook and living room.

"Sheriff?" called Juarez. "I've got some stuff here."

Mercy and Bree followed the voice to a bedroom, where Juarez had opened a drawer in a nightstand. Inside was an array of sex toys.

"I don't see pink frills," said the deputy, his eyes serious.

Mercy took a photo of the drawer. "No pink, but still rather vanilla, I'd say. Let forensics collect them." Even with gloves on, she didn't want to touch. "Anything else in this room?" He shook his head.

Another deputy pointed out a desktop computer in Ken's office. She told them she'd checked the desk drawers and that the filing cabinets were locked. "There's a handgun in the bottom desk drawer."

Bree looked. "Glock 19. Could be the gun he used to shoot you."

Mercy's spine twinged in memory.

"Look at these." Bree indicated several nicely matted and framed eight-by-ten photos on the wall. Each one was of Ken, his microphone in hand. Three were of him interviewing people. Four others framed him with striking scenery in the background, and the last was a snowstorm with Ken barely recognizable under his hat and coat. Bree pointed at the first photo. "That's the governor. The second is one of our senators, and look, my favorite person, Madeline Jager, is in the last."

"Isn't she just a councilwoman or something?" asked Mercy. "Seems a little odd considering the other two images are of important people."

"Hmmm. Good point. Why you, Madeline?" Bree frowned at the photo, and then her face cleared. "I bet I know why. Look at Ken in this one compared to the other photos."

Mercy studied them and then grinned. "That's a really good angle on him, isn't it? Too good not to hang on his wall for visitors to see. It has nothing to do with your archenemy. I'm surprised he didn't crop her out."

Bree snorted. "What do you think about the locked filing cabinets?"

"I think we need to ask Ken for the key." She looked at the deputy. "No random keys in the drawers or under something?"

"No. I looked specifically for that when I discovered they were locked."

"We need to check his credit cards," said Bree. "See where he was when Paige was taken. Although I suspect he's too smart to have used them on that trip."

"We could see if he was on the air at all that day and the days surrounding it. That should be easy enough."

"I'll get Marge on it," said Bree, taking out her phone.

"It's almost nine p.m."

"Marge doesn't care. She likes this sort of thing." She left the room to make a call.

All the deputies had congregated and were now looking at Mercy. "Nothing else?" she asked. All shook their heads. "To the garage."

She followed the group.

It didn't feel like two people lived in the home. The covers on one side of his big bed were rumpled, and the pillow dented and smushed into a ball. The other pillow lay perfect, undisturbed. The other bedroom had a double bed that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. Dust covered the headboard and nightstands.

Where could Paige be?

If she's still alive.

Mercy swallowed hard, trying not to think of the family photos of Paige in contrast to her sexy profile picture on CuffMe. The girl had gotten in over her head.

In Ken's detached single-car garage, Mercy smelled mildew, oil, and gasoline. There was no room for his white Audi. Stacks of boxes and general garage crap filled two-thirds of the area. A rusty lawn mower turned out to be the source of the gasoline smell.

"Do we have to look in every box?" asked Juarez.

"Yes," said Bree. "With the five of us, it will go fast. Why don't you start with his workbench? Photograph everything before you open it," she instructed the other deputies as she took video of the entire inside.

Mercy hadn't even noticed the workbench hidden behind the stacks. It was a simple high wood table with a pegboard above it. Dozens of tools hung on the pegs. "Don't touch the tools," she told Juarez. "But look closely for anything that could be blood." She turned to the closest cardboard box and flipped it open. A cloud of dust made her sneeze. Another sneeze echoed from Bree.

"This crap hasn't been touched in years," Mercy stated, surveying the small garage space. "I don't see anything that could rapidly create this level of dust. Even if he left the doors open all the time, it wouldn't accumulate like this in six months."

For a long time there was only the sound of scraping cardboard and sneezing.

"Sheriff?" asked the female deputy. A small metal box sat on the palm of one gloved hand. "It was tucked back on that shelf. Take a look inside." Her tone told Mercy she'd found something very interesting.

Bree poked around in the box as Mercy looked over her shoulder at the contents. "Jewelry," she stated, spotting several bracelets and rings.

"Yeah." Bree hooked a necklace with one finger and lifted.

Mercy sucked in a breath, her gaze locked on the name in cursive silver metal. "Paige."

More confirmation that she's in New York.

He has her.

"I've seen that necklace," said Mercy. "She's wearing it in one of the formal family photos in our files."

Bree nodded, anger in her face. "You're right." She met Mercy's gaze. "But where is she?"

Mercy shook her head, eyeing the jumble of jewelry in the box. "Is the rest Paige's or ... do these belong to other women?"

"There's at least twenty pieces in here."

"Are there missing women we don't know about?" Mercy whispered. Her hands went icy as an idea occurred to her, and she strode out of the garage to the home's dark backyard. Two motion sensor lights suddenly flooded the yard. The area had a tall fence and trees blocking all views from the neighbors' homes. Mercy circled the yard, noting the numerous beds of shrubs and flowers.

Bree stood in the doorway of the garage, watching, comprehension on her face. "He dumped two of them along the road," she said. "It doesn't fit his MO to bury them."

"Maybe the roadside dump was the change from his MO," said Mercy. "We need a cadaver dog. Or GPR."

Ground-penetrating radar.

"I'll call Deputy Collins and have her bring her K-9, Greta, tonight. We can get GPR, but it will probably be tomorrow," said Bree, pulling out her phone and heading back into the garage.

Mercy slid her phone out and called Detective Bolton.

It's only six o'clock back home.

"Mercy. What's up?" answered Evan.

"We've got him, Evan." Mercy's voice shook. "We decided to look at Ken Wells, the reporter who brought in the notes I called you about earlier. We found long dark hairs in his car and five minutes ago we found Paige's necklace in his garage—the necklace with her name."

"But ... did you find Paige?"

"No. But Ken has been sitting in jail since this afternoon. If she's still alive, he can't hurt her now. We'll question him again on her whereabouts and press harder. He's been denying everything, but he can't deny this." Her voice dropped. "I think we might be too late, Evan. Paige's necklace was with a lot of other jewelry. I'm worried they're trophies from other victims."

"Damn," said Evan. "This will be hard to tell her parents, but I know they won't give up hope until Paige is found."

"I'm working on it." Mercy ended the call. Her mind was whirling with a million tasks to strengthen their case and how to pressure Ken to tell them where Paige was.

So much to do.

Four SUVs suddenly pulled up and parked in front of Ken's home. A fifth vehicle blocked the driveway. Mercy knew what the fleet of SUVs meant.

The cavalry's here.

Mercy was pleased the Albany FBI office had sent a team so quickly. And thank goodness it was a large one. They needed more hands and brains to explore all the new details of the investigation. To find Paige and more evidence against Ken, they needed all the help they could get. The case had suddenly erupted into too much for just her and Bree.

Bree stepped out of the garage, a frown on her face as she studied a man in slacks and a polo shirt striding up the drive, the headlights from his SUV at his back.

"Agent Kilpatrick?" he asked.

"That's me," said Mercy, holding out her hand. "We're glad you're here."

"Sam Martinez. I'm the SAC out of Albany."

Special agent in charge. They sent the biggest gun.

Martinez shook her hand and did the same with Bree. "Sheriff Taggert. We went to the sheriff's department but were told you were out here. I left two agents to question Ken Wells again." He looked at the home. "How much have you been able to search?"

Mercy and Bree gave him a rundown as four other agents joined and listened. The necklace and small box of other jewelry was passed to a gloved agent, who gingerly accepted it as if it were an explosive.

"It's possible he didn't hold any of the victims here," said Mercy. "We've found no evidence of Paige Holcroft's or any other victim's presence on the grounds. I suspect he kept them at another location. We can use your help to dig into Ken's records to figure out where that could be. Maybe a relative's home or a rental or—"

"We'll take care of all of that," said Agent Martinez. "We'll get the senator his daughter back."

Mercy's phone buzzed. She didn't recognize the number and sent it to voice mail.

"The backyard needs to be checked. We've got the county K-9 coming in tonight and hopefully can get GPR by tomorrow," said Mercy. "Based on the amount of jewelry, there may be other victims. This yard can't be seen from any of the neighbors and has several flower beds. An easy place to— Excuse me."

Her phone had rung with a second unfamiliar number. She sent it to voice mail too. "As I was saying—"

Bree's phone rang, and she stepped away to answer it.

"Send me your notes, Kilpatrick." He looked at two of his agents. "You two start in the home."

Mercy paused, an odd feeling rising in her stomach. "I'm happy to go over our investigation with you, Agent Martinez. We have a conference room at the sheriff's department and—"

"I know," said Martinez, looking past her at Bree's deputies, who were watching the conversation from several yards away.

His inattention bothered Mercy, and her skin prickled on the back of her neck.

What is going on?

Bree returned. "We've got a new issue," she announced, looking at Mercy and Agent Martinez. "The media is now aware that Senator Holcroft's daughter has been missing." She stared accusingly at Martinez. "Not sure how the word suddenly got out."

Mercy opened the voice mail on her phone, reading the messages. Both were from reporters asking about Paige. Another call came through and she ignored it.

How did they get my direct number?

"Shit," she muttered. "This adds a whole new element to our investigation. A pain-in-the-ass element."

"Don't worry about it, Kilpatrick," said Martinez. "We have it in hand. You can head home."

Mercy couldn't move.

Does he mean . . . ?

"You've done a good job here," said Martinez, still looking past her. "And I'm sure you're exhausted. Albany is taking over from this point, so you can head back to Oregon."

"What the hell?" snapped Bree. "You can't sweep in and kick her out. You have no idea of how this investigation has progressed. You need her."

"Sheriff Taggert." Martinez looked Bree in the eye. "What matters now is how this investigation moves forward. Our suspect has been caught. We'll build the case."

"Caught thanks to us," stated Mercy, heat growing in her chest. "You don't know—"

"That's enough, Kilpatrick." He moved his gaze to meet Mercy's, and she found she preferred it when he looked past her. "Go home. Ken Wells is our problem now." He looked at Bree again. "It's late, Sheriff. Why don't you get some sleep too?"

A slow smile crossed Bree's face, and Mercy knew she was pissed. "You can order Special Agent Kilpatrick around all you want, Martinez. But you can't tell me what to do. This is my county, and you are here at my discretion."

Martinez blinked.

He didn't expect that.

"The FBI has rank here," he stated. "This involves a US senator."

"Yes, it does," said Bree. "So you should take advantage of every bit of knowledge you can get. Special Agent Kilpatrick—"

"Is going home," he said. "We will handle Ken Wells."

Mercy caught Bree's eye and gave a small tip of her head.

There is no point in arguing with him tonight.

Bree pressed her lips together, her eyes full of fire.

"Let's go," said Mercy, touching Bree's arm. The two of them headed down the driveway.

"Are you nuts?" Bree hissed. "Who can you call to talk some sense into him?"

"Let's deal with it tomorrow. If they want to be up all night collecting evidence and questioning Ken, let them. We'll get some sleep and come at it fresh in the morning."

"I won't be able to sleep."

"I hope I will," said Mercy. "I'll address the Martinez issue in the morning. I suspect he is hoping for glory and big headlines if he returns Paige to the senator."

Her words and tone were confident, but in her gut she suspected she was permanently off the case.

Fuck me.