Chapter 47 BREE

Chapter 47

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"There's a bright side. This message suggests Paige is still alive." Bree stared at the message written under the dog crate in lipstick: Clinton cabin. "Does that mean he took her to a cabin?"

Mercy said, "That would be my guess."

"But where is it?" Bree scanned the room, then pulled out her cell phone and called Marge. "I need you to pull real estate records for Don Dutton. Find out if he owns any other property, maybe a cabin somewhere?"

"Will do," Marge said. "And I have that background information you asked for on Dutton."

"Putting you on speaker so Agent Kilpatrick can hear." Bree lowered the phone and tapped the button.

Marge continued. "You're not going to believe it. A little over ten years ago, Dutton was a cop."

In Bree's mind, pieces of the case clicked into place like LEGOs. "Actually, that makes perfect sense. He knew how to play us because he was one of us."

"It made framing Ken easy for him," Mercy added. "He knew exactly what to do."

"I couldn't get his personnel file, of course, but I made some calls." After working for the county for more than three decades, Marge knew everyone. "Dutton was fired for inappropriate conduct. He had multiple excessive-force complaints against him. Several women he arrested claimed he sexually assaulted them. My source says he used to go to strip clubs on his lunch hour—in uniform. My source also said it took forever for them to fire him."

Bree pictured Dutton with O'Brien from the SFPD after Mrs. Verney's call, the inappropriate jokes about the sex doll, the shoulder slapping, the knowing grins, the general air of familiarity between the two men. "Did he work for the SFPD?"

"He did," Marge confirmed. "I'll get on this property and tax record search right now."

"Thanks." Bree ended the call.

A deputy came through the door. "Sheriff? I talked to all the immediate neighbors. No one is aware of Dutton owning any other property or where he might have gone. They all said he keeps to himself."

I'll bet he does.

"Call over to the mall and talk to the other security guards he works with," Bree said.

"Yes, ma'am," the deputy said.

"It's hard to have close friends when you keep prisoners in your house," Mercy said.

"Right?" Bree agreed. "And you can't really invite neighbors over for a beer if you have a dead body in your fridge."

She scrambled for ideas. She kept picturing the poor woman folded up in Don's refrigerator and superimposing Paige's face on the body. If they didn't find him, would Paige end up the same way?

Where did he take you, Paige?

"Ma'am?" The deputy gestured to the lipstick message. "The next-door neighbors' last name is Clinton. I just talked to them." He pointed to one side of the house. "That side."

Bree headed toward the door. "Let's go."

Mercy was already halfway to the door.

They rushed outside. The air was hazy from the local wildfire but it was still refreshing after the stink of Dutton's house. The Clintons—a couple in their sixties—were watching the police activity from their front porch.

Bree approached them and introduced herself and Mercy. "Do you own any other property?"

Mr. Clinton leaned on a pair of crutches. "We have a cabin on the Scarlet River. We haven't been able to get out there since I broke my leg." He gave them the address, which was a rural route number.

"Thank you." Bree turned away, her blood zinging with the new lead. "That has to be it," she said to Mercy.

"Yes." Mercy fell into step beside her. "Are we going there?"

"We? You're in?"

"I am."

"OK, then." Bree summoned two deputies. "You're both with me."

The K-9 unit pulled up to begin their search in case there were any other bodies stashed or buried on Don's property. Bree issued orders and left her people to do their jobs. She and Mercy climbed into the SUV. Two deputies followed in a patrol unit. Sirens screaming and lights flashing, Bree sped toward the cabin. She reported their destination to dispatch and asked for any available deputies to assist.

In the passenger seat, Mercy spoke on the phone with SAC Martinez, who was not pleased but now on board and coordinating FBI backup.

How could he not be? The body in Dutton's fridge had been undeniable.

Fourteen minutes from their destination, Mercy lowered her phone. "I'll bet Dutton fabricated the kidnapping at the mall."

"He knew just what to do. He probably took out the parking lot security cameras himself." Bree leaned over the steering wheel and scanned the horizon. "The air's gotten really smoky."

Radio chatter turned to an update on the wildfire, which had grown. Bree spotted thick black smoke over the trees. "Whoa! I don't like the looks of that."

Mercy tapped her phone on her knee, then froze. She pointed through the windshield. "What's that on the side of the road?"

A tiny figure sat on the roadside.