Chapter Sixteen

"I'm going to talk with Ethan Lantrip instead of heading to my father's. I forgot it's Wednesday and he won't be at the house. Wednesday is his time alone with God," Ty announced to the team. "Who knows where he'll be. One time it was a flight to Vegas, so..." He rolled his eyes. "As far as Lantrip, I don't believe he turned himself in of his own volition. In fact, I think the killer used him like a puppet too. I don't know why, and I want to. He might be willing to talk if I let him know we're aware of what's going down underneath the surface." This killer was a cold iceberg. His massive plan was still lingering under the water. They'd only been able to see the tip—what he intended them to view.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the hazy, rain-filled sky, and Ty frowned at the reminder that time was running out and devastation was on its way.

"You think you can crack him?" Asa asked.

"Figuratively or literally?"

"Take Fiona with you." He and Fi had returned a couple of hours ago, and he'd brought her up to speed.

Ty sighed. "Come on, Fi Fi McGee."

"I hate that," she said as she snagged her purse and holstered her Glock. "Let's go. I'll keep you from bashing skulls."

"Fiona, so you know," he said as they walked outside and he held an umbrella over her head, "if I want to crack that man's skull, you and no army can stop me. And I'm not sure you would. You blurred some lines when it came to the Nursery Rhyme Killer."

"And it nearly killed me." He opened her door and she jumped in. Then he rounded the vehicle, getting soaked when he lowered the umbrella and tucked it inside. "You're going to be one of Asa's best men. You have to survive to stand up there and witness our marriage."

"I witnessed your first one."

She laughed. "This one's gonna stick."

He believed it, and that was causing some existential issues with him. Was he here for a divine planned purpose, or was his being on earth simply chance? Ty kept waiting for Asa, Fiona and Violet to revert back to the people they once were, but their newfound faith seemed anchored down deep while Ty might as well be a kite blowing in the wind with no one manning the string.

Except for this UNSUB.

"Don't you even want to know about the case in Natchez?"

"Not to be a jerk, but I don't care about anything except this case."

"Fair enough."

The remainder of the drive was silent. Ethan was pacing the interview room when they arrived. He'd barely been released when he'd had to turn back around.

Deputy Dorn thumbed toward Ethan. "I've already tried. He's not going to give you squat."

"But you know him, right?"

Dorn snorted. "We went to school together. I wouldn't call that knowing him well."

Selah's dig into Grady Dorn revealed very little concerning Ethan Lantrip other than they went to school together and the two had been suspended for three days for fighting each other. Lantrip had given Dorn a broken nose and two fractured ribs. Didn't appear they made nice, but nothing more nefarious than that. At least not on paper.

"Seems you knew his fist pretty well."

"Water under the bridge."

Was it?

Dorn touched his slightly crooked nose. "I went to one side of the law and clearly he chose another. You want me to come in there with you?"

"Nah. But thanks." Ty motioned Fiona to follow him inside the room. "Ethan, nice to see you again. This is my colleague Agent Kelly."

Skipper dipped his chin in greeting. "What is it you need from me now? I told you I dumped a body. I have nothing to add or offer." He ran his hands through his long hair and chewed on his already nubby fingernails.

"Why did you come forward?" Ty asked as he sat across from him. "That's sticking in my craw, man."

Ethan shrugged. "I guess I was feeling guilty about it."

"Try again."

"What? I do feel guilty. I mean, I didn't kill her, but I'm not into that stuff. I'm a boat captain and I live a pretty simple life, which is the way I like it."

"I think someone has dirt on you. No one confesses to a crime when they're not even on the law's radar for it."

"Mr. Lantrip," Fiona said, "we're not interested in the fact you dumped a body. I'm sure someone is, but it's not why we're here. We're concerned about the missing women, soon to be dead women if we don't find them. If you're not into that stuff, then help us keep them alive. You had no reason to come to us unless you have an ulterior motive to get Patrick Swain in trouble. Is that it or is it something else?"

Skipper snapped to attention with wide eyes. Then he bit down on his bottom lip.

That was it. This wasn't about Jenny Davis or Skipper's conscience. It was about Patrick Swain. "Who else knew about Jenny's death?" Ty asked. "Was there anyone else at the house that night? Any other male participants?"

Skipper shifted in the metal chair and raked a hand through his hair again, a nervous tick. "I don't know. That's above my pay grade. I give them a ride and I pick them up. Sometimes they're a little high or drunk and talk about the fantasy. Sometimes they don't. But Jenny was dead when I got there. No one was around but Patrick that I saw. Not even the guy who did her."

Fiona nodded as if she understood implicitly. "I get it. You're out there trying to make some side cash. Nothing nefarious about giving a boat ride to a consensual party. It got out of hand and you got stuck doing Mr. Swain's dirty work. But who wanted Swain's activities known to us? Who sent you to confess? We only want to find Ahnah Hemmingway, Ivy Leech, Iris Benington, Susan Mayer, Catherine Overly and Heather Wade. We want justice for Amy-Rose Rydell, Lily Hayes and Dahlia Anderson. You can make a wrong right."

He shifted in his chair, listening to Fiona catalog the women missing who had flowers in their names. They couldn't say concretely that the killer had these women, but it was a solid deduction.

"Did you ever give rides to any of these women?" She laid out the photos of the missing women. "You recognize their names or faces?"

"Just Ahnah Hemmingway."

"What else can you tell us?" she asked.

Ty remained still—Skipper wasn't responding to him like Fiona. She had a soothing way with her voice when she wanted to; when she didn't, she could use it to take someone to the grave.

"I don't think someone wanted you to get into trouble, Ethan. Someone knew you couldn't be charged with accessory after the fact because there's no proof a crime was committed, and it's clear we'll never find Jenny Davis if you dumped her in the water. Seems to me someone wanted Mr. Swain in hot water. Is that person you? Are you seeking revenge for what he made you do? Or for something else?"

"Me? No." He violently shook his head. "He paid me real good. Enough I could quit my day job if I didn't love it so much. But I love the water. Love fishin'."

"Then why did you come forward? Who are you afraid of?"

"I don't know," he whispered. "I got a message from a random number on WhatsApp. Said to go to the sheriff and tell what Swain asked me to do and to make sure the SCU team knew. And not to worry about prison or an arrest. If I did it, I'd get paid a hundred grand."

"Did you get paid?" Ty asked.

"I did. It was in a brand-new white cardboard box on my boat when I got out of this place. Crisp new bills."

"Why did you believe this random message?"

"Dude knew the details. He knew where I dumped her. Must have been out that night fishing or something. I didn't see him, but if he was in the marsh in a canoe or kayak, I wouldn't have."

WhatsApp had strict policies. They didn't store data for law enforcement and even had that information on their website. "Did you delete your account with them?"

"He told me to, so I did."

Ty swore under his breath. If the accounts had been deleted with the company and their server, then the message was gone. "Can you tell us exactly where you dumped the body?"

"About twenty miles south of the Swain property. Just weighted her down with concrete blocks and dumped her over. But if you try to arrest me again, I'll recant."

If he thought he could, then Ty would let him think it. Ty ran his palm across his face. "Would it be common for someone to be on a boat that far out at night?"

"Sure. Lots of reasons. Fishing, hanging out, being with a woman, stargazing... I can go on."

Maybe the killer had known about Patrick Swain's little side gig and had been biding his time watching, waiting for something like this to use in some grand scheme.

It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Their killer crafted and planned this elaborate show to bring Ty to the Outer Banks. He clearly had enormous amounts of patience. What was in it for him, though? What benefit would it be to him to get Patrick Swain in trouble or on their radar? Maybe he couldn't care less. If he wanted to send Ty on a wild-goose chase simply because he could, then he'd accomplished his mission. Ty wasn't ruling out the idea Patrick Swain himself might be toying with him simply because he could. Face-to-face and Ty none the wiser.

"Thank you for being honest, Mr. Lantrip," Fi said.

Nothing more here for them.

They left the office and headed back to the beach house. Ty told Fiona his thoughts. "What do you think?"

"That you're right. This guy has been plotting for a long time. Fantasizing over it."

Ty's blood froze. "Fi, could this be his fantasy? Could Patrick Swain be orchestrating this whole thing for someone—or maybe it's his fantasy? To be brought in for murder with no way to be charged or tried? His fantasy is getting away with murder and revenge on me. But I don't know him."

"Doesn't mean he doesn't know and hate you."

"Maybe I'll have more information tomorrow after taking a stab at Rand Granger. He can ignore my calls but he can't ignore me."

"How do you feel about that? Seeing him?"

"In one word? Bad."

She grinned. They passed a rain-soaked teenager on a red mountain bike. Then they pulled into the drive and Asa opened the door, greeting them with a grim face. "What is it?" she asked.

Asa held up an envelope. "Teenage boy on a bike brought this by. Said a tall guy with blond hair and a beard offered him five hundred dollars to deliver it to this address. Guy wore sunglasses. Nike T-shirt and jeans. I don't think our guy is dumb enough to reveal his true identity to a kid we're going to question so I think it's a safe guess that he was disguised."

"Have you opened it?" Ty said.

"No. Just got it. I was about to but you pulled in." Asa handed him a pair of gloves. "It's addressed to you."

A chilly draft swept over him as he slid his hands into the latex and took the envelope. He carefully opened it, making sure not to tear too much in case they could get DNA, but that was a pipe dream. Inside was a solid white piece of paper written in the same handwriting as the first note to him and the cards left on the victims.

He read it aloud. "‘Agent Granger, how did you like the puppet strings? Do you like dancing for me? My garden girls love to dance—no strings attached. I have a favorite flower, but she doesn't want to bloom. She's feisty and I know you care deeply for her, but Agent Granger, flowers that won't bloom, wither and die. When one flower won't bloom, I'll have to pluck another who will. Keeping your loved ones close won't save them. I know who's next. Don't you wish you did too?'"

How was he going to tell Bexley that Ahnah might not make it because he couldn't find her in time and that no one close to him, including her, was safe?

A rap on the glass door startled Ty, and he turned to see Bexley standing there, hair wet and rain slicking down her cheeks—or that might be tears.

He hadn't even had time to gather his thoughts and plan out how to tell her. He rushed to the door and opened it. "What are you doing here?"

"Probably signing someone's death warrant. Probably mine."