Chapter 6

Thursday, March 11

6:00 p.m.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

He wasn't supposed to ambush her in front of a hardware store. She was the one who'd wanted to surprise him, to catch him off guard. To finally make him pay for what he'd done. Had he followed her here? Been watching her? Waited until he could get her alone when she least expected it?

"You seem nervous." Chris Ellingson took a single step forward. The object in his hand solidified under Rathe's Hardware's spotlights at the front of the house. A padlock. Old from the look of it. Broken. Sections of hair escaped the frame of lean shoulders and accentuated a long face. "You never really liked me, did you? Even as a kid when I'd come to visit Troy—to help him with his anxieties—you kept your distance. Guess that's what has made you such a good agent though. Always suspicious, never happy with the answer you uncover. Can't say it's a healthy way to live, but I admire it all the same."

The edge of the plywood cut into her underarm as her brain worked to untangle his motive for being here. Leigh's attention went to the padlock he fiddled with between both hands. Chris Ellingson wanted one thing: to prove he wasn't a killer. That meant staying out of prison. He wouldn't risk attacking an FBI agent in the middle of a public street, but that logic had yet to release the tension in her hands. She might be FBI, but Director Livingstone had brought her into this investigation as a consultant. A consultant not authorized to carry a sidearm. "That's why you followed me? To talk about my mental health?"

His laugh tendrilled between them. It seemed to wrap around her lungs and squeeze until she couldn't take her next breath. "No. Just replacing a busted padlock on my garage. And, as you so diligently pointed out this morning, I'm no longer allowed to practice psychology. However, I'm always happy to lend an ear if you want to talk. Maybe about how you're handling coming back here after all these years. I imagine it hasn't been easy."

Ellingson gazed up at the stars, completely at ease. "You and I are in the same situation in that regard, I'm afraid, Leigh. The whispers, the glares, the way people still go out of their way to keep from walking on the same side of the street as you. It's disheartening, but you'll get used to it. In time."

Leigh. Not Agent Brody this time. He was trying to align himself with her, convince her he was on her side. That they wanted the same thing, could maybe even become friends. It was nothing more than a long con, a way to sniff out vulnerability and gullibility in his victims, but she wasn't either of those things, and she sure as hell wasn't a mark.

He settled that cold stare back on her. "It doesn't take a trained psychologist to see you and I have outgrown this town and everyone in it. They'll never appreciate what we've been through or how far we had to go to survive because their brains don't want to accept evil exists right here in front of them. They'll never understand us."

Her defenses rushed to deny the commonality between her and the son of a bitch responsible for upending her life, but she couldn't actually argue with his reasoning. The people in this town had turned against her and her family at the slightest upset to their routined, isolated lives. Neighbors who'd babysat her and Troy growing up rushed their young kids behind closed doors if she managed to brave going outside after her father's arrest. Grocery shopping became impossible without coming back out to her car graffitied in spray paint or the tires missing. There'd only been so much teachers and faculty could do at school, and even then, they'd sometimes had to ignore the incessant torment students rained down. Because they were scared. They were scared that two boys' murders could happen where they felt safest. None of them had thought to stop and ask how scared Leigh had been. How angry. "Then why stay?"

"Same reason you're holding a piece of plywood to fix up a house that's been abandoned since your mother died." His shoulders rose and fell as though she should've already surmised his reasoning. "This is home. It's part of us, whether we want to admit it or not, and what happened to poor Michelle Cross will only end up tearing this town apart all over again. That's why I thought I might offer my services. Get us what we both want: the truth."

"The truth." The words tasted foreign in her mouth, a bad aftertaste. She'd dedicated the past twenty years of her life to finding the truth—to proving who really killed her brother—with nothing but theories and dead ends to show for it. Did the truth even exist anymore? Was there proof? Leigh shifted her weight between both feet to counter the muscle tension from the plywood. "What is it exactly you're offering?"

"My psychological assessment of the man you're looking for," Ellingson said. "I'll admit, I'm not privy to all the details of your current investigation, but, as you know, I've studied the original case. I also have experience of being on the wrong end of an investigation of this caliber. Could help."

Leigh couldn't hold her expression as a scoff rushed past her lips. "There are details of the original case that never went public. The only way to build a profile on the person who murdered Troy and Derek is having access to the case files and evidence."

Or being the one who'd killed them.

"Let's just say Chief Maynor owed me a favor after I was cleared as a suspect." He said it so casually, it took a few seconds for Leigh to understand.

"Maynor gave you a copy of the case files?" She couldn't move. The idea the lead detective on her brother's case—now Lebanon's chief of police—had given a murder suspect access to case files once compiled against Chris Ellingson paralyzed her from the inside out. That was a serious accusation. One that could destroy the man's career, expose department corruption, and unravel everything Maynor had worked to erase since her father had been arrested. "Why?"

"Well, it took convincing, I'll give you that, but in the end, he saw the value of what I was offering." Ellingson slipped the padlock into his slacks pocket, followed by both hands.

"Let me guess." The edges of the puzzle leading to her father's arrest were starting to fit into place. "Your psychological assessment of the killer they were looking for?"

"Now, you make that sound like I'm the one who led police to your daddy, Leigh, but let me assure you, Joel walked his own path. It was all right there in the reports. There was a witness who saw your father lose his temper with Troy right here in Rathe's two days before your brother turned up dead. Not to mention his body was found under your home." Ellingson pitched forward on his toes then back onto his heels. "Joel was stressed. The principal had just given him notice they had to cut teachers, and well, you and I both know a main cause for a man to lose control is having his job ripped from him."

"I know the data." Her defensive instincts kicked hard. The incident in the hardware store hadn't come close to what'd been reported. Troy had been bored and started messing with Henry Rathe's table saw. She'd tried to stop him, but before she could find her dad, he'd accidentally hit the power button and fell forward. Their father had caught him a split second before Troy lost his hand. And, yeah, her father had laid into him right there in the middle of the store, but there'd been no physical contact, and that'd been the end of it. As for her father on the verge of losing his job, this was the first she was hearing of it. "What did you tell Detective Maynor?"

"I simply educated him about the kind of man who would take the lives of two innocent young boys, who could cut them multiple times, who could torture them for long hours while ensuring they didn't go into shock or pass out." Chris Ellingson seemed to freeze in time. Not even blinking. "Who understood the line between death and life, right up until he got tired of them."

Pressure built behind her sternum as a lightness entwined with his every word. He was enjoying this. Watching for her reaction. Leigh's hands shook, and an explosion of disappointment cut through her, handing over exactly what he wanted. It was that power to manipulate others that gave him a sense of control he most likely felt was so lacking in his life. His career prematurely ended, no real family left, no companionship or friends. Coming back to the source and the reminders of all that pain after his mother's death could be enough to turn dark impulses he'd buried on a woman who'd put Ellingson in the interrogation room in the first place. Michelle Cross. But that left the question, where did Gresham Schmidt fit in? "What kind of man is that?"

"Well, if I told you that, you wouldn't have any reason to bring me into the investigation, now, would you? But I can tell you you're looking for a male suspect. Someone who's obviously using poor Michelle as a tool to get what he really wants." A puff of crystalized exhale formed in front of his face, and Chris Ellingson took a second step closer, then a third. Challenge edged into his expression. He stopped short of arm's distance, suddenly bigger than she remembered. "Did you know the brain experiences euphoria right before it dies? In those last seconds, heightened conscious connections are made in a scramble to hang on. A few people experience tunnels of light, others feel they're floating out of their bodies." His attention diverted to the ground as though they were simply talking about the four inches of snow that'd already started melting from this morning. "What do you think Michelle saw?"

Leigh had the urge to drop the plywood and reach for any kind of weapon she could get her hands on. Because she had the distinct feeling they weren't talking about Michelle Cross. Not really. "I think she saw her killer, and I think, in the end, she would've done whatever she could to lead police to whomever stabbed her."

"Right." A sliver of a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth.

He wanted her to need him, to rely on him. To believe him. That was how he gained power. It was an obvious technique he'd developed and perfected as so many other offenders she'd studied had. In the end, that same need would force him to escalate and to make a mistake.

And she would be there when it happened.

He moved past her up the driveway. "Think about my offer, Leigh, but you may want to consider it sooner rather than later. I have a feeling whoever recreated Troy's murder isn't going to wait much longer."

Leigh turned to keep him in her sights. No telling when he'd strike, and she wasn't going to be taken by surprise again. "Wait for what?"

"Until he recreates Derek Garrison's." Chris Ellingson slowed, notching his chin over one shoulder without looking back at her. "You know, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about your brother. I liked him, but I have to wonder if what happened to Troy and Derek Garrison could've been avoided if they'd just listened to what they were told."

Rage seared through her. "You know what kind of person killed Michelle Cross, Mr. Ellingson?" Leigh took her own step forward as he turned to face her. "Someone who made a choice. There is no compulsion, no excuse for what they did, or mental disorder to blame. They wouldn't have kidnapped and tortured their victim in front of a police officer or anyone else. Because the only thing that drives them is proving they're someone they're not. That they're smarter than everyone else, in control of their life, and justified in their frustrations with the world. The problem is whoever stabbed Michelle repeatedly—whoever stabbed those boys and Gresham Schmidt—can't see how pathetic he really is."

Chris Ellingson lost his casual stance, straightening. Defensive.

Leigh took another step. The back corner of the plywood dragged against the asphalt driveway. "Based on past data, I'd bet he wet the bed deep into his teenage years. He would've started fires when he was younger, maybe even practiced his cruelty on small animals and children younger than him. As long as things are going well for him, he's not dangerous, but if a roadblock or a trigger occurs—say, a parent passes away—he loses his self-discipline."

Maybe like losing a mother in the past few months.

"He thinks he can get away with murder, that he's superior to police and authorities. He's convinced himself he has power, but in reality, he's nothing. He's just trying to get back at anyone who has ever spurned him through his whole sorry life." She pulled up short, within only a few feet from the man who'd taken her family. "Killing, for him, is solely to dominate and destroy his victims. To make sure they can't be recognized, to watch their loved ones suffer. He has no friends. No family left. No prospects or purpose. He's a ghost nobody takes notice of, which makes him desperate and will force him to escalate. He wants the pleasure he gains from his kills to last as long as possible, so he'll keep tabs on the grieving family. I'd bet he has a collection of newspaper clippings—maybe a journal—cataloguing his accomplishments that he can refer back to whenever he wishes. It might've worked for a while, but something must've happened. Something brought him back to his original hunting grounds. Now he's in familiar territory, and he's honing the skills he relied on to escape arrest the first time around. He views those original murders as masterpieces, but an artist can always be undone by his art. Don't you agree?"

The corner of Ellingson's right eye twitched. "Seems my offer may have been for naught after all, Agent Brody. I just hope you're wrong about the kind of person hiding all that darkness inside. I'd hate to think what he might do to you if you got in his way."

"Duly noted." Leigh dragged her oversized piece of plywood toward her car and loaded it into the trunk as Ellingson disappeared inside the hardware store. She took her first full breath since he'd ambushed her and collapsed behind the steering wheel. She clenched the shifter too hard as she surveilled her suspect through the windows of the store.

She'd poked the bear.

Now all she had to do was make sure she didn't end up mauled.