Chapter 4

Thursday, March 11

4:00 p.m.

The scent she'd abhorred as a teen penetrated her pores.

A bite of sweat, cleaning products, and failed air freshener burned down her throat as Leigh stepped into the front lobby of Lebanon's police station.

Original square gray tile set with white grout that'd seemingly gone bad butted up against the brick wall structuring the front desk. The green deposit box for unwanted medication, a trophy case beside the desk window, and a tan container meant for sharp objects hadn't budged. The only change was a plasma screen television above the row of plastic chairs lined along the wall to her left. A simple distraction from the horrors people faced inside these walls.

Her reflection cast back at her from the trophy case's glass. She couldn't help but note the difference between the seventeen-year-old who'd spent countless hours in this station to the woman standing here now. Her blonde hair had grown a bit longer, nearly to her shoulders now, her skin a little more scarred from breakouts and sun damage. She'd gotten braces since then and replaced the tooth she'd chipped with a full crown a few days after her brother had disappeared. Her body wasn't as soft as it used to be despite her intention to devour any pastry she came upon at the office. Really, Leigh wasn't the same woman anymore, but no matter how hard she'd worked to change her outward appearance, to separate herself from this town, Lebanon would always be home.

Her outline dissipated, sharpening the shiny silver mission statement anchored into the wall behind her. She didn't have to read it to remember the values engraved into the metal at the bottom. Accountability. Integrity. Respect. Fairness.

Promises never met. Not for her family.

"Can I help you?" the female officer behind the desk asked.

Leigh cut her gaze to the officer to get her bearings. "No. Thank you. I'm waiting for?—"

"She's with me." Boucher swung into the lobby with a blast of frigid outside air. He headed straight through the door she'd convinced herself held all the answers to her questions twenty years ago. "You can drop your stuff in the locker room."

He led her through booking with its mint green cabinets, cement floors, and white-painted cages. Cinderblock walls painted in the same white failed to heat the space, and her skin tightened from the drop in temperature. Boucher motioned at the steel lockers that lined the length of the room behind a full gym. "Take your pick."

"Thanks." Leigh removed her laptop from the depths of her overnight bag and hauled the rest of her gear into the too-narrow locker. Pocketing the small metal key along with her brother's soldier into her blazer pocket, she faced him. "I always tried to imagine what was on the other side of that door in the lobby. I spent so many hours out there in those damn chairs, there wasn't much else to do."

"What did you imagine? Rows of cells and interrogation rooms?" A hint of a crooked smile flashed uneven teeth that might've once been straight.

"Something like that." Exactly like that. Her voice betrayed the uncertainty burning through her. She'd made it personal between them, shared a secret she hadn't told anyone about that time in her life.

Rookie mistake.

It was one of the reasons she had never made many friends. The few she'd brought into her world slowly slipped out of her life as quietly as possible. Oh, your mother killed herself after your father was arrested for your brother's murder? And you have the most boring job ever, something to do with data? Turns out, I've got plans this weekend. So sorry. No. Most of her nights were spent assembling the latest and greatest Lego had to offer. The colors, the order, the simplicity of each brick meant for one purpose soothed her obsessive traits. Just for a little while. The therapist her commanding officer had forced her to see after news of her mother's suicide hit had once told her it was her way of finding control in an uncontrollable environment. Leigh preferred to think of her hobbies as a release valve. Focus on the pattern, kill the grief. Worked every time.

She collected her laptop. "Where to?"

"I've got Livingstone and the nerd she brought with her set up in the training room." He wound back through the gym and into the hallway, pulling her deeper into her own personal nightmare. Logically, she knew the station was made of nothing more than brick, steel, and wood. It couldn't hurt her, but this place had starred in one too many memories she couldn't bury. Boucher carved a path down the hall and directed her through another door. "Welcome to the command room."

Rows of wood tables with four office chairs each faced the podium and whiteboard at the front of the conference room. Three massive televisions hung on the main wall reflecting the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.

Director Livingstone spoke in low tones to a man Leigh hadn't met at the scene then turned in expectation. "Agen' Brody, Lieutenant Boucher, good. This is our federal forensic investigator, Chandler Reed. He'll be our point man when it comes to collecting and analyzing evidence from both crime scenes."

"Nice to meet you." Reed stretched a tattooed hand toward Leigh. Dark hair swept off to one side and accented the unkempt, burly beard trailing down his neck. An oversized watch and a leather, braided bracelet offset the man's deep tan and the rest of the tattoos snaking up his arm.

"You, too." Leigh noted the calluses in Reed's palms and a length of scar tissue failing to hide beneath the ink of a large skull and flames tattooed along his arm. From the look of the mass of designs protruding from his T-shirt collar, the investigator was long acquainted with pain. "You're the federal investigator?"

"Let me guess. You were expecting someone less… me?" Reed shook Boucher's hand next. Cologne tickled the back of her throat. Citrusy and tangy. Beaded necklaces struggled to free themselves from his shirt. Whatever she'd envisioned a federal investigator to look like, it wasn't him.

"No. I just meant…" She didn't know what she'd meant and couldn't see a way out of the condescending question. "I mean a button-down shirt tucked into your slacks wouldn't hurt. You could also put your cell phone clip outside your belt. Sell the part a little more."

Director Livingstone's laugh pulled her from the hole Leigh had dug for herself. In all honesty, she wasn't sure the woman knew how to laugh. "He might not look like a fed, but Reed is exactly who we need on this case. The shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary, the Boston Marathon bombing, the Golden State Killer case—he's been instrumental in every one of them. If there's evidence that points us to a killer, Reed will be the one to find it."

Leigh couldn't ignore the pride resonating in the director's voice. Reed was obviously an important part of the team, and she couldn't help but agree with Livingstone's assessment. All that experience would be key in proving Chris Ellingson was responsible for these latest deaths.

"The ME informed me Michelle Cross's forensic autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning." The director turned her sharp gaze to Leigh. "Have you two found anything that suggests why she was a target?"

"Agent Brody believes she was killed because of a negative character statement she gave against a man named Chris Ellingson during the investigation into the two murdered boys." Boucher folded his arms across his chest as though expecting Leigh to argue. "Ellingson was once a primary suspect, but detectives soon turned their attention to Joel Brody after one of the victims was discovered in the crawl space beneath Brody's home. His son."

Any warmth she and Boucher had shared up until now evaporated. The urge to defend herself exploded behind her rib cage, but emotion had no place in a case like this. One slip. That was all it would take for Livingstone to ban her from consulting, but her suspicion hadn't been built on nothing. "It's common knowledge Michelle Cross's statement ended Ellingson's career. We also can't forget Ellingson was originally suspected because he had a habit of gifting toy soldiers similar to the ones found on the victims' bodies to his students. In fact, I'm willing to bet the soldier we found this morning is the same toy Ellingson gifted Michelle when she'd been one of his clients. He's far more intelligent than police gave him credit for during the original investigation, and I believe he had the means, motive, and opportunity to get revenge on the woman he blamed for ruining his life. He also moved back to the area three months ago, so the timing fits."

"Common knowledge isn't evidence, Agen' Brody, even if there does seem to be a connection." Cold assessment froze Director Livingstone's expression in place. She settled back against the nearest table. "I take it you questioned Chris Ellingson. Did he give you any reason to suspect he was involved in Gresham Schmidt's or Michelle Cross's deaths?"

"No, ma'am." Leigh searched Boucher's expression for support, but she wouldn't find it. From his perspective, she hadn't earned it. Not yet. "He gave us an alibi."

"Then your next step is to verify that alibi so we can get a clearer picture of Ellingson's movements in the past two weeks." Livingstone's heels caught on fibers from the industrial carpet as she rounded to the front of the room. "Until then, we look at the evidence. I've got two patrol officers dispatched to seal off Michelle Cross's home and vehicle and to interview her neighbors. Boucher, I want you there to oversee the search. Get me a list of her friends, family, and coworkers. I want to know what was going on in her life, if she was having any problems, or if she had anyone new coming around. Killers like this don't choose their victims randomly. He would've gotten up close and personal with his target over the past several weeks or months."

"You got it." Boucher didn't bother with a goodbye as he headed for the door.

Leigh moved to follow.

"Agen' Brody, a moment." Livingstone nodded for Leigh to take a seat at the table directly in front of her. Reed busied himself with a laptop set up a few rows back, just beyond her peripheral vision. "I'm aware of your efforts to prove your father's innocence for the deaths of your brother and Derek Garrison after his arrest."

She didn't know what to say, what to think. "I was seventeen. I?—"

"I'm also aware this case is personal for you. Not only did you lose your brother to violence, but you lost your father. It was just two years later your mother took her life, is that right?" Livingstone shifted away from the podium, revealing the large Lebanon PD emblem on the front. She already knew the answer. "I brought you in to consult on this investigation because I believe Gresham Schmidt and Michelle Cross are connected to what happened to your family and this town, and no one, not even the detectives themselves, is as knowledgeable with that case than you are."

Leigh had learned how to read people long before she'd applied to the bureau as a criminologist. It'd started as a survival technique, a way to get through high school but had since proved valuable in her work during her time with Concord PD, consulting with other agencies, and with CJIS. Reed's attention pressed at the base of her neck, but she refused to turn around. "You're worried I'm too close to this case, that I'll let emotion get the best of me."

"Will you?" Perfectly manicured eyebrows arched higher up the director's forehead.

The walls of this station—this mausoleum containing a large chunk of the life she'd refused to take with her—started closing in. They crushed the defenses she'd built in Clarksburg. Until there was nothing left but the truth. Leigh slid her hand into her blazer pocket and set her brother's toy soldier on the table between them. The plastic had lost its shape in places, but there was no doubt in her mind Director Livingstone recognized it for what it was.

Reed made his way forward. "Is that?—"

"The toy soldier left on my brother's body." The past threatened to overwhelm the present and resurrect the demons she'd run from, but as long as she kept hold of this small totem, she was safe. Ridiculous, really. It didn't have any special powers. This police station couldn't hurt her either, but the deformed infantryman had guided her. To Concord after high school, to leaving law enforcement after her mother had died and spending the next few years learning everything she could about killers like the one who'd murdered her brother. She'd known she'd end up back here, but having a memento of Troy's had given her the courage to face it all over again.

Leigh ground the base of the soldier into the table. "It was a gift from Chris Ellingson during one of their appointments. Detectives weren't convinced his killer had left it on purpose because Troy never went anywhere without it, but I knew the moment I saw it. The placement was too perfect." She studied the bent tip of the soldier's rifle. One day it would break. One day it wouldn't give her the comfort she relied on.

"It's untraceable. There are millions of this exact model in the world, making it impossible to narrow it down to a single transaction. I can't prove where it came from, but to answer your question, yes." She rubbed her thumb against the small green figure. "This case cuts close to home. It will get the best of me. It will spark my emotions to the point I may see connections that don't make sense to anyone but me, but that isn't going to stop me from finding whoever murdered Michelle Cross and Gresham Schmidt."

Leigh slid her brother's toy soldier toward the director. Her insides coiled at the thought of letting it go, but canvassing had yet to produce any answers and Chris Ellingson would fight to the death to get away with murder. Surrendering the one thing connecting her to her brother was the only lead they had. A hollowness spread through her. "Take it. Reed can test it against the soldiers recovered with the victims' bodies. Derek Garrison's might still be in evidence here. If we can prove they come from the same set, maybe we can finally get some answers."

Reed collected the soldier with an evidence bag in hand and sealed it inside. "I'll take the smallest sample I can."

"This would've been considered evidence during the investigation, same as the soldiers we recovered from these latest scenes." Director Livingstone lowered her voice. "The original incident report stated your father was the one who found the body beneath your family home, but that was a lie, wasn't it?"

The small muscles in Leigh's jaw ached under the pressure of her back teeth. Leigh forced herself to meet the director's gaze. She reached for the control she'd let slip these past few minutes and stood. "As you said, Director. I've got an alibi to verify. I'll be sure to keep you apprised of any updates."

She didn't wait for an answer and headed for the door.