Chapter 12

Saturday, March 13

8:00 a.m.

A piercing rhythm punctuated through her senses. Bright. Assaulting.

This… wasn't her childhood bedroom she'd been sleeping in the past few nights. This wasn't her house. Exhales puffed from between her dry lips. Leigh lay on her side. Her arm had gone to sleep from the weight. Overhead lights burned her eyes, but a small plastic green figure took shape on the side table just out of reach. Troy's toy soldier. Watching over her.

"Mr. Reed wanted to drop it off personally," a voice said.

Chandler Reed. That was his name. The unit's forensic investigator had kept his promise to take as small a sample as he could to compare to the soldiers left with the recent victims. Only the tip of the infantryman's rifle was missing. A clean cut. He'd brought it back to her.

Her stomach overturned, and she reached for the mug of water on the table. "I need to throw up."

"I recommend the Jell-O." Heavy shoes scuffed too loud against the crisp white tile. A withered hand with perfectly short, manicured nails eased a plastic container of deep red gelatin into her vision. Then wiggled it back and forth. "The sugar will settle your stomach until you get your bearings back. Black cherry is my favorite."

"I prefer watermelon." Leigh rolled onto her back. Her entire body ached. Like she'd been shoved down an incline landmined with rocks and dead trees and freezing creeks by an unknown assailant. An IV tugged at the back of her hand. The rhythm she'd heard before still chimed in time with her heart rate. Embarrassment heated her face as she worked her way higher up the pillows stacked behind her, and that rhythm spiked. The newest member of Livingstone's unit had been lured and blindsided by a ghost in the middle of the woods. She could hear Boucher's taunts now. If the director didn't ship her back to Clarksburg first.

"They have that, too, but you'll have to get it yourself." The deep voice pulled at a string she'd tried to sever since leaving Lebanon, and it was only then she realized Detective—no, Chief—Brent Maynor was the one who'd handed off the container and a disposable spoon. Sunspots peppered a ragged face and accentuated the years that'd taken a toll. That light brown hair he'd had a habit of running his hands through had receded more. Thinned out, too. Wrinkles had congregated around brown eyes that'd always made her feel invisible. He smoothed that trademark black suit, white shirt, and black tie, hesitant. "I'm out of favors today."

A deep ache set up in her shoulders. She didn't even want to think of how she looked right now with dead leaves and dirt in her hair.

The plastic utensil aggravated the cuts in her hand, but she managed to pry the sealed aluminum lid free and took a bite of the rubbery contents inside. Her stomach practically welcomed the change in acidity, and her head cleared enough to register she was, in fact, in a hospital. Most likely Dartmouth-Hitchcock. Didn't explain how she'd gotten here though. Or what the lead detective assigned her brother's case was doing beside her bed. Still, she'd feel a hell of a lot better if she could get her bearings. "How long was I out?"

The chief checked his smartwatch as he took a seat in the pleather chair a few feet away. Despite the early hour, Maynor's suit had maintained its meticulously pressed lines. Same as the graying hairs around the man's face. Not a single one out of place. Maynor liked control. Having it, keeping it. Then again, it took an expert level of assertiveness and discipline to lie through his teeth for two decades. "Going on ten hours. Nasty bump you got last night out there in those woods. I take it you don't remember how you got it?"

Another flare of heat. The Jell-O had lost its taste. There was only one reason for the chief of police himself to wait until Leigh had gained consciousness: Her involvement with the unit and this case was over. She set the container and spoon in her lap. "Someone was at my house last night. He ran when I tried to confront him. I followed him into the woods. Bastard warned me to leave town then shoved me down a hill. I landed in the creek."

"Did you get a look at him?" Maynor asked. "Anything to identify him?"

"No." Flashes of shadow, and pain, and the unknown protested as she tried to push them into the box holding her childhood memories. Leigh gripped the Jell-O container a bit too hard. The plastic popped. "It was too dark, but I would recognize his voice if I heard it again."

"Well, it looks like you've managed to sustain a concussion. Not bad for your first injury in the field, Ms. Brody. Could've been worse." The chief reached for his feet then produced a large evidence bag. "Boucher recovered your gun at first light. He retraced your footprints into the woods. Found it halfway down the hill and wanted to make sure it was returned to you."

Ms. Brody. The blatant disregard of her authority filled the room until it wedged in her throat. Even after all this time, Maynor refused to give her the validation she deserved. "Did he find anything else?"

"You mean something that would prove someone had been in those woods with you last night?" Maynor didn't fidget. Didn't shift his weight. Completely at ease with carrying the conversation, but always on guard. "No. I imagine whoever spray-painted your garage knew the area and how to get in and out without leaving a trail behind."

She'd expected as much, which meant her attacker was trained. Either professionally or out of necessity. A hunter, but not the kind that required a license. "How am I here?"

"One of your neighbors called it in. Told dispatchers a crazy woman was screaming at the neighborhood. Something about you not leaving." A quirk of a smile hiked Maynor's ears higher up the side of his head. The lights overhead glimmered off his badge. This was the kind of leader who wanted to leave his mark and look good doing it. To prove he could. "Lucky for you, one of my officers lives only a couple doors down. He was on the scene within a couple minutes of your collapse. He also found your electrical panel had been sabotaged."

The lights. She'd lived in that house long enough to know the breaker wouldn't have overloaded with just the living room light on. "Right. I certainly feel lucky."

"What are you doing here, Ms. Brody? What is your plan?" The sharpness in Maynor's voice intensified. "You come back to Lebanon, start questioning the people of this town as though you have the right. Ready to accuse good people of being murderers because that's what you feel happened to your father. When are you going to accept the truth of what happened?"

A scraped-out sensation gutted her stomach.

"A good person didn't kill Gresham Schmidt and Michelle Cross, Chief, and in case you weren't aware already, I was assigned this investigation by the FBI. I was happy never to come back." Leigh didn't like this. Being in a hospital bed—trapped—as Chief Maynor interrogated her. This was an ambush at her weakest moment, and he'd planned for it.

"Well, you've certainly been busy since you got here," Maynor said. "Can't say I'm surprised given your personal crusade to undermine my investigation. Not much has changed, has it? You're still a pain in my ass."

"You say undermine. I say tell the truth." Every cell in her upper body protested as she tried a casual shrug. To prove the egotistical detective who screwed up her brother's case didn't affect her. "Tomato. Tomahto."

"The truth." Maynor dragged his chair closer. "Here's the truth, Ms. Brody. Your father was a very sick man. A very angry man. He used his influence and his authority at the school to get close to Derek Garrison then turned all that anger on his own son a month later. Now, I know as a seventeen-year-old kid that didn't make a whole lot of sense to you at the time. You loved your daddy. You saw him as a hero, and I bet some part of him loved you, but there comes a time when you've got to grow up. I arrested the man who killed those boys. I did my job, and you coming back now is just bringing up fears and memories best left alone. What happened was horrible, yes, but this town deserves to move on. We all do."

"But you didn't do your job." The accusation left her mouth harsher than she intended. Suddenly the aches and bruises and cuts from her trip through the woods didn't have the hold they did when she'd woken. She managed to sit straighter, stronger. "You let peer pressure and influence get to you, and it ended with a killer walking free. You were so concerned with meeting the expectations of this town and of the mayor that any evidence collected during the investigation would be questioned now. Two victims are in the morgue because you refused to stand up for my brother and his best friend. That's on you. Is that what you'd call doing your job?"

Maynor went white, his mouth as flat as the time he'd found her handing out flyers outside the police station yelling Lebanon PD had arrested the wrong man. "These recent deaths have nothing to do?—"

"So you believe it's a coincidence mere weeks after Chris Ellingson returned to Lebanon two victims have been killed using the same MO as my brother and Derek Garrison?" she asked.

Maynor flinched as though she'd touched a live wire to his skin. Electricity practically crackled through him. Cresting for release. His voice dipped into dangerous territory. "Young lady, I don't know how you got yourself involved with Livingstone's unit or what you think you're going to accomplish terrorizing the Garrison family, but I will make damn sure you and your lies don't hurt this town any more than they already have." The chief shoved to his feet, the scream of metal on tile from his chair triggering her nerves.

"It's Agent Brody, actually, and I wasn't terrorizing Katherine Garrison. I was doing my job, which is more than I could say for you during my brother's investigation." Her patience had worn threadbare coupled with the influx of pain over the past couple minutes. The painkillers in her IV were running low. "I don't know whether you're in denial or just plain power hungry, but I'm not a seventeen-year-old girl you can push around anymore, Chief. I've spent my entire life familiarizing myself with the minds of killers and helping put the ones who think they're too smart to be caught behind bars." She looked him dead in the eye. "Even the ones who hide behind a badge."

His forced inhale over-expanded his chest and stretched the buttons down his front.

"Since I became chief of police, there hasn't been one homicide in these parts. That's twenty years, in case you needed a history lesson. I've single-handedly launched programs for the people of this town to get involved, do their part, and it's worked. I've put more patrols on the streets, I've made sure residents feel safe in their neighborhoods by repairing broken windows or helping change out sections of fencing. You'll find my officers serving this community on their days off and responding faster to calls during shifts. In short, I've gained the trust back in my department after what your family did to this town and what you're continuing to do to undermine my officers. People are happy, and crime is down. They aren't scared anymore. I don't know any other city in this state that can say the same." Maynor pointed a harsh finger at the floor. "I did that, Agent Brody. Me. Now, do you honestly believe your little crusade to unbury the past is best for Lebanon? Or is it just what's best for you?"

There was the narcissistic self-promotion she'd been waiting for. Great speech. Efficient, too. The chief had done this before. Maybe even rehearsed it on the way to see her this morning. None of it would make a damn bit of difference in the long run if the infection inside the department had been allowed to spread under his supervision. "I've been working in the Criminal Justice Information division for two years now, Chief Maynor. My primary job as a criminologist is to find ways to deter people from killing each other, and you're right. The programs, the initiatives you've taken—it's a start. But do you want to know how you really gain back the trust of the people of this town?" She was taking a shot in the dark, trusting that what Chris Ellingson—a suspected murderer—had told her was the truth. But she needed to know for herself. She needed to know if Lebanon PD had been compromised without even realizing it. "You fight for them. Not for your own promotion."

A controlled scoff notched Maynor's chin a bit higher, but his expression had gone dead cold. No denial. No defense. "I was sorry to hear about what happened at your home last night. Seems you're not the only one nursing a grudge in this town, Ms. Brody." The chief shoved to his feet, swiping any wrinkles setting in from his suit jacket. Image-conscious, concerned with how others perceived him. A phony. "If I were you, I'd be very careful about what you say while you're here. In my experience, even the people you think you know can turn on you in an instant. But you already know that, don't you?"

Maynor headed for the door, most likely pleased with himself for having the last word.

But Leigh wasn't finished. "The police officer who responded to the 911 call last night. You said he lives a couple doors down from me. Who do I have to thank?"

The chief didn't bother to turn around this time and wrenched the door open. "Officer Donavon Pierce."