Chapter 28

Tuesday, March 16

9:00 p.m.

Carter Boucher was still out there.

She'd been so sure he was the one on the other side of that hatch door—had needed it to be—but Leigh had recovered something so amazing in his place.

Michael Agutter waved at her through the window looking into his room. Soft blond hair matted over his ears with traces of dirt and sweat. His strong jaw hadn't changed much over the course of the past few months, but there was a frailty in his eyes that hadn't been in the photos she'd collected of him. He was much thinner than he should be. She'd been able to count his ribs through his stained clothing while she'd ridden with him in the ambulance to the hospital. Bruised. But nothing permanent. At least, not physically.

It'd taken two officers to break the padlock so she didn't have to drag him through the tunnel back into the basement of the Ellingson house, and he'd gripped on to her the entire time, even in unconsciousness.

Leigh waved back, her palm cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. Based on his vital signs and with a good helping of food, it seemed Michael would make a full recovery. One she was glad to witness.

"He would've died if you hadn't been there. Now he gets to go home after three months of being separated from his family." Livingstone had snuck up on her despite the four-inch heels and the hospital's tiled floor. "I'm starting to regret not bringing you into the investigation before now. We might've recovered the boy sooner."

"Police would've found him, given enough time." Part of her recognized the lie she was telling herself. Knew it would've been too late for Michael Agutter, that the crime scene unit wouldn't have found the hatch until every box in that garage had been processed in turn. Question was why was he still alive? No other victims had been known to make it past the three-day mark. What made Michael Agutter so special? "His parents are already on their way in from Fruitland. They should be here within the hour."

"And what of Carter Boucher?" The director kept her gaze ahead, arms crossed over her chest. Impenetrable by things she saw in her case history, unaffected. "Anything at the scene that could tell you if he'd been there? If Ellingson was the one to take him?"

Leigh ran through everything she'd seen, everything she'd touched in that house and in the space behind the furnace. She hadn't heard any other voices calling out in the dark. No cries. No breathing apart from her own. No signs of anyone else. If Carter Boucher had been in that house, Ellingson had kept him separate from his long-term hostage. Radioed reports coming from the two officers posted outside Michael Agutter's door revealed Chris Ellingson hadn't just built one tunnel. There'd been an entire maze originating from behind the HVAC system. Any number of directions she could've gotten lost. She'd gotten lucky. She watched as the boy's doctor unstrapped the blood pressure cuff from his arm. They both had gotten lucky. "No. Just Michael, but we're still looking."

"Very well. I'll update Boucher in person if he hasn't already threatened his way onto the scene." Livingstone moved to leave but turned back. "I wanted you to know. Chief Maynor called for a press conference a few hours ago. Since you were literally under a rock, I assume you haven't heard the news."

Standard protocol. Feed the people what they wanted to hear while promising everything was under control. Finding Michael in that crawl space would be no different. Another case bulldozed by the chief's ego. "I'm sure it's nothing I haven't heard before."

"He admitted to being pressured by the mayor and the chief of police during the course of the investigation twenty years ago to make sure Joel Brody fit as a suspect. Talked about how he couldn't bear the weight of the truth anymore now that the FBI has connected Ellingson to Michael Agutter's abduction." Livingstone gave her a knowing look. "Maynor has officially stepped down from his position as chief of police, and the state is launching a full investigation into how far the corruption has spread through the department. Funny how he suddenly changed his mind. Especially considering I hadn't shared that information with him. It's almost as though someone just happened to let it slip."

"Guilt can be a funny thing, Director." Leigh had to force her face to relax, to give nothing away. Because sharing unverified information could've blown up in all of their faces. Not just hers. "I'm sure you know that better than anyone."

The corner of the director's mouth lifted, changing her entire countenance in the blink of an eye. It was gone just as quickly, never existing. "Yes. I guess I do."

Livingstone left it at that, striding down the hall.

Her phone pinged with an incoming message, and she slid it free from her blazer pocket.

Can we talk?—Hailey.

Teenage betrayal urged her to delete the message and leave hers and Hailey's relationship in the past where it belonged, but another part of her understood the danger surrounding a man like Donavon Pierce. If anything happened to Hailey or her kids because Leigh had ignored a message, she'd never forgive herself. She sent back a message with her location.

She smiled as Michael waved again, lighter than she'd felt in a long time. She'd saved a life today. Maybe more with the state investigators looking into Maynor's past cases. But with that came a shadow of constriction in the background. The lead detective from her brother's case had finally given her what she'd wanted: validation. The case could potentially be reopened. Her father could be recommended for early release. She could finally move on now that Ellingson had gotten what he'd deserved.

Except there was another little boy out there who needed her, and they had no idea where he'd gone or if he was even still alive.

Air suctioned from her lungs, and the lightness evaporated. "They'll reopen the case."

A case the unsub had already punished and murdered four victims from simply looking into it. On top of that, Leigh's childhood home was nothing but a pile of ashes. An entire unit from the state was on its way to pull apart every facet of that investigation. There was no telling how far the killer would go to keep that from happening.

"Shit." Leigh grabbed for her phone and ran for the stairwell. Livingstone couldn't have gotten far. She'd agreed to stay until Michael Agutter's parents arrived, but he was safe now. Chris Ellingson couldn't hurt him anymore. As much as she hated the idea of leaving him surrounded by nurses, doctors, and police he didn't know, this wasn't over.

Her phone wouldn't connect. "Come on."

Shouldering out into the parking lot, she raised her phone higher to see if it made a difference in coverage. Damn it. She'd come here in the ambulance. She needed a ride to pick up her rental from the hotel in Concord.

A single bar lit up in the corner of the screen. She hoped like hell it would be enough to alert Livingstone to the potential of another escalation.

Pain exploded down her spine.

Leigh launched forward. Her gut slammed over the hood of a sedan, the force knocking her phone from her hand.

"You just couldn't help yourself could you, Leigh?" The ringing in her ears lessened enough to make out the voice. Hailey Pierce. "You had to go sticking your nose in everyone's business. Haven't you learned your lesson by now?"

A strike landed at the back of her knee and brought her to the asphalt. Leigh grabbed for the throbbing in her low back, barely making out the shape of a baseball bat in the woman's hand. Aluminum, same as the one Hailey had used on their high school softball team. Mind-splitting agony ripped over the sore skin. She blinked to clear her head, but it didn't make any difference. "Hailey, what… I don't… I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't give me that bullshit. You know exactly what I'm talking about." Another swing of the bat crushed the air from Leigh's lungs and dropped her face-first to the ground. "You were always jealous of me. You never wanted me to have him. You pretended to care, pretended to warn me about him, but the truth is you just wanted to make sure I was as miserable as you are. That's why you had the fire marshal arrest him, isn't it? That's why you made me a single mother."

Donavon Pierce had been arrested?

Hailey raised the bat over her shoulder. Streetlights intensified the rage etched around the woman's mouth. Nothing like the pulled-together barista Leigh had run into on her visit to Jack's Coffee Garage. "You ruined my life once, Leigh Brody. Do you know how long it took before people around here started talking to me again? Do you know what I had to do to convince them I had nothing to do with you after your dad went to jail? Years."

Her once closest friend took on a feral growl. "I was an outcast. The only place that would hire me was Jack's Coffee Garage, and I had to hide out in the back like pariah most of that time. Now I've spent so long there I can't go anywhere else. I've wasted my life being stuck in this hellhole all because you couldn't accept your father is some sick freak who liked cutting up little boys. I don't care what Chief Maynor said on TV. This town will never forgive you for standing up for a child murderer. They will never accept you because I'm going to make damn sure they don't. You deserve to be the one they hate."

Hailey swung the bat down.

Bone-deep pain echoed through Leigh's hand as it made contact in her palm. She held the metal mere inches away from her face. A direct hit would've resulted in more than a concussion this time, making Hailey Pierce the very thing she claimed she despised the most. Surprise and a hint of fear froze on the woman's face as Leigh got to her feet. She ripped the bat from between Hailey's hands, aggravating whatever damage inflicted from the strike to her ribs, and tossed it aside. Metal on asphalt rang—too loud—in her ears as exhaustion and acceptance combined.

"You're right. This town won't forgive me. The people here are too scared to admit they were wrong about my father, even when the facts are in front of their faces." Leigh limped around the hood of the sedan and collected her phone from the other side. Bending over hurt, but it was nothing compared to the truth she'd wasted her life for a lost cause. "I've spent my life banging my head against a wall trying to change their minds, yours included. We were best friends, and you turned on me without a second thought. And you know what? Carrying that around isn't worth it anymore. Not when I have the chance to do something good for this place. So go home, Hailey. Hug your kids. Because, honestly, the only reason I'm not arresting you for assaulting a federal agent right now is that someone else might die if I waste my time on you."

Hailey took a step back. That tired gaze flickered to the bat a few feet away but re-centered on Leigh. "You're going to wish you'd never come back to Lebanon."

"Too late." Leigh watched her former friend get behind the wheel of a minivan parked a few rows over before daring to look at her phone's screen. The glass had cracked at one corner, spidering in multiple directions toward the bottom, but it was still functional. Mostly.

She'd missed a call from Chandler Reed a little over two hours ago. Around the time she'd been pulling Michael Agutter from the tunnel beneath Chris Ellingson's garage. Pain stabbed behind her right eye as she tapped the federal investigator's contact information with one thumb. The line rang, ending in voicemail. She tried again. Same result.

The only reason the federal investigator would call was to confirm the blood from the duffle bag belonged to Michelle Cross. Leigh checked her voicemails. Empty. Then her email. One message stood out from the rest. From Chandler Reed. She visually followed Hailey Pierce's van out of the parking lot, memorizing the license plate number on the way out, as she opened the unread email. Leigh cut through the hospital's parking lot and across a path constructed of trampled snow between two trees to the main road. Lebanon didn't employ a lot of taxis, but police followed regular patrols. She might be able to get a ride back to her rental with one of them.

Nothing but a report attached to the email. Signed by Dr. Roxanne Jennings four days ago. The day before her body had been discovered. The report compared the first two sets of remains for similarities. Gresham Schmidt and Michelle Cross. The medical examiner must've swabbed each body and their clothing to try to narrow down a location of death for each victim. According to this report, they'd come back with the same result. "Stachybotrys. Black mold?"

Chandler Reed wasn't required to keep her in the loop. He worked for the unit. All information funneled through the director. But he'd made sure she'd gotten this report. Because she knew the area.

Her mind was already racing, barely taking in the passing vehicles. Black mold ranked as the most common and toxic type to grow in damp, dark areas. Given enough time, it was known to cause respiratory issues, depression, chronic sinus infections, fatigue, and a whole body-wide shut-down if not remediated professionally. Lebanon businesses and homes had seen their fair share of closures due to infestations, to the point any sighting had to be reported to the city. No matter the size.

But in order for spores to attach themselves to Gresham Schmidt's and Michelle Cross's remains recently, they had to have been kept someplace with a fresh infestation. Somewhere the mold had been given free rein to spread without attracting the attention of the health department. She mentally sifted through possibilities. Damp. Dark. Most likely abandoned and isolated from nosey neighbors or anyone who might hear or come across a hostage. Possibly been closed due to health concerns.

There was only one location she could think of.

Leigh stepped into the road and waved down the next vehicle, dialing Director Livingstone. She pressed the phone to her ear, and the line picked up. She didn't waste time with a greeting. "I know where the unsub has been keeping his victims."