Chapter 7

SEVEN

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Saturday, September 21

10:46 a.m.

Leigh's heart rate quickened as she shouldered out of the patrol vehicle.

The humidity was an assault to her entire body thanks to the breeze coming off the water. The gulf spanned from one side of her peripheral vision to the other even three hundred feet from the shore. Sky-piercing hotels and high-density condos demanded attention from either side of her as she tried to breathe through the sudden wave of heat coming off the asphalt. It was September. Back in Quantico, the ground would've already been covered in an inch of snow and ice. She'd overdressed, but she couldn't think about that right now.

They had reports of a body.

Detective Moore rounded the hood of her patrol car. Not so much as a bead of sweat spotting that impeccable uniform. Leigh would have to ask for deodorant recommendations as long as she was here. Because there was no way hers was going to cut it. She nodded toward the vehicle grinding to a halt behind them. "Didn't take the vultures long."

Two media vans skidded to a halt. Frantic cameramen and newscasters with exaggerated makeup, glaringly white teeth, and perfectly styled hair evacuated through the side doors. One was already holding a microphone, ready to face the local residents with a potential break in the story.

"Didn't take him long either." Leigh's stomach sank.

"That's the husband. Move!" The sharks had caught blood in the water. Both newscasters scrambled to beat each other to the finish line of sticking a microphone in Wesley Portman's face as he shoved free of the family SUV.

"You've got to be kidding me." Detective Moore reached back into the patrol car and untethered the radio from the dashboard. Requesting additional units. Gulf Shores was already running low on officers between the scene at the house and this new one. Now they had to save Wesley Portman from being eaten alive by the press.

"Mr. Portman, where is your wife? Did you have anything to do with her disappearance?" Question after question. Thrown like a bowl of spaghetti against the wall and hoping something would stick. Each volley meant to catch a target by surprise. To see what mistakes he made. "Is this where you hid her body? What went wrong in your marriage? Where is your daughter? Do you believe your wife's disappearance has anything to do with the teenage girl police can't seem to locate?"

"I didn't hurt Elyse, and my daughter's whereabouts is none of your business. Now, get out of my face." Wesley Portman brought both hands up to prevent the cameras from getting their six o'clock news shot, but it was too late. He narrowed uncovered eyes at Leigh as he advanced toward her. Car door left open. "Is it her? Is it Elyse?"

The sharks kept on the tail of their prey. "Mr. Portman, why did you do it? What are you hiding?"

That was a good question. Wesley Portman had a secret. She could feel it in every carefully constructed word out of his mouth. It was only a matter of time before she learned what it was. Leigh intervened, maneuvering Wesley behind her. "Take another step, and all of you will be under arrest for compromising a crime scene. You will have your answers as the case develops. For now, let us do our damn jobs."

"Hey, you're Leigh Brody. You're that FBI agent who exposed an entire police department's corruption in New Hampshire, aren't you? That coverage went national." The newscaster nearest her launched a microphone into Leigh's face. "Agent Brody, what can you tell us about these missing women? Are they connected to the case in Lebanon?"

"Come on, Caroline. You know we can't give you any information this early in the investigation, so you might as well take a hike." Detective Moore turned her back on the news reporters. She tried putting her face dead center of Wesley Portman's attention, but he was marginally taller than the blonde with all that weight on her shoulders at over six feet. "Mr. Portman, I need you to let us do our jobs. We don't have any facts at this point. Please get back in your vehicle. Go be with your daughter. I will contact you when we have more information on your wife's disappearance."

"This is my fault. I knew something wasn't right." He scrubbed a hand through thick hair, and the cameras locked on him ate it up. No longer the confident data scientist Elyse had described in months of conversations. Now he resembled something like an empty seashell Leigh could pick out even this far from the shoreline. "I should've done more."

"Mr. Portman, can you tell us more about the earlier attack on your wife?" Caroline—thin, stressed, and most likely used to leveraging her flawless appearance to get what she wanted—tried to maneuver around Detective Moore for an answer. "According to my source, the investigation is still open. Is her disappearance connected in any way?"

"What source?" The detective wasn't having any of it. In a move Leigh had only read about in incident reports and witnessed in crime shows, Henrietta Moore unholstered her cuffs, angled the newscaster's hands behind her, and bent the woman over the back end of the police cruiser. "Who the hell have you been talking to within the department, Caroline?"

The microphone hit the pavement and rolled toward the remaining news teams, most of whom had taken to putting as much distance between them and the incident as possible.

"Come on, Henrietta!" Caroline struggled in vain. Despite Detective Moore's petite frame, there was a whole lot of punch beneath that uniform she wasn't afraid to use. "Friends are supposed to help each other. I just need something for the producers."

"We haven't been friends since tenth grade when you ditched me to start sleeping with a group of losers." The detective wrenched the patrol cruiser door open and angled Caroline the newscaster inside. Cracking the window, she slammed the door without so much as an out-of-control inhale. "Anyone else want to test me today? How about you, Manny?"

Caroline's cameraman shook his head.

"Great. We ready?" Detective Moore set both hands on her utility belt.

"They think I had something to do with Elyse's disappearance." Wesley Portman seemed more defeated than defensive right then.

A ping registered in Leigh's gut. Yeah. Guilt had a funny way of creeping in when you least expected it. At least in her experience. Despite knowing there wasn't a single thing she could've done for her brother all those years ago, she'd taken his disappearance personally. She should've kept a better eye on him. That was what big sisters were supposed to do. She should've seen Chris Ellingson's interest in her brother as more than a school counselor trying to provide accommodations to a student. Honestly, how many school counselors gave students gifts? How many made home visits? In the end, Leigh understood none of it would've made a difference. Chris Ellingson would've found a way to get to his prey one way or another. And telling this man that doing more wasn't a guarantee Elyse wouldn't have gone missing wouldn't make a difference now either. He would insist on carrying the guilt. No matter who tried to ease the burden.

Leigh closed the distance between them. To give Wesley Portman something she'd craved from the investigators looking into her brother's disappearance. To give him hope. "I'm going to find her, Wesley. I give you my word I will do everything in my power to find Elyse, but right now, you need to focus on Ava. You need to be there for her. Understand?"

Wesley Portman seemed to snap out of whatever panic he'd succumbed to, locking that dark gaze on her. It was easy to see why Elyse had fallen in love with him so quickly. A teenaged version of this man would've knocked any straight woman with a pulse off balance without even trying. But there was a charm beneath that grieving mask Leigh didn't trust. The kind that convinced anyone in his sights that fairy tales were real, and happily ever afters were a given if you worked hard enough. That spun webs of fascination and dreams and gifts to keep anyone from looking too closely. Wesley nodded, broad shoulders sinking in defeat, and Leigh had the impression he didn't allow many people to see him this way. Simply… broken. He retreated to his vehicle. Hesitation kept him from getting behind the wheel for a moment, but he wasn't going to win this battle. He had to know there was no way he'd be allowed to set foot within a hundred feet of an active crime scene.

Detective Moore stared after Wesley Portman as he backed his SUV out of the parking lot and headed for the main road. "You make a habit of promising victims' families you'll find their loved ones?"

Leigh understood the implication. Investigators were discouraged from making promises they couldn't keep. There was no telling where a case would lead. And there were no guarantees it would end in a happily ever after. But she hadn't lied to placate a grieving husband. She would do whatever it took to find Elyse. Even if that meant identifying the body waiting for them on the beach. "He just needed something to believe in."

"You say that as if you have personal experience," Detective Moore said.

"The mere fact you're asking me that means you haven't googled my name." They headed for the beach access posted with a white and blue sign asking visitors to leave only footprints. No glass, no animals, no metal shovels or tools, tents, or excessive digging. Considering she and Detective Moore were on their way to a body dump site, the city might want to revise their list. No human remains.

"Unfortunately, we get a few bodies on the beaches this time of year." The detective's voice dropped in reverence. "Swimmers tend to ignore red flags posted along the beach. They get caught in the rip currents then wash up a few days or weeks later. I sincerely hope Elyse Portman wasn't one of them."

"So do I," Leigh said.

The wood platform dropping them onto the beach was under attack from encroaching weeds and beach grass. Sand worked into Leigh's loafers as they trudged the bare landscape. Every step felt as though she was walking through peanut butter, leeching her energy in small increments. An L-shaped covered boardwalk stretching toward the shore shaded two Gulf Shores PD officers. Blue roof tarp rippled in response to the breeze, almost giving the impression of ocean waves. Any other day, she would've taken the sight of them as nothing more than two officers trying to stay out of the sun. If not for the yellow crime scene tape tied to the boardwalk's underbelly.

"Something tells me this body didn't wash up on the beach." Leigh's insides refused to release. She couldn't get the visual of all that blood staining Elyse's tile out of her mind. They didn't have a typical friendship. Anyone looking to do a background check of her life wouldn't have given Elyse a second consideration. They didn't meet up for lunch. They didn't go to the movies or go on runs together. All they had was the cancer. Each with a story of their own. Of loss. Of survival. Of grief. Elyse had been her first real friend in twenty years. Someone Leigh couldn't scare away with the details of her past and the dangers of her current job. How many people actually wanted to know the truth about her knowledge of serial crimes and patterns? Not many, in her experience. And the possibility of finding her only friend beneath this pier hurt. More than Leigh wanted to admit.

"What do we got?" Detective Moore pulled up short of the tape.

"Whoever dumped her knew what they were doing." One of the officers broke the line of shadow in the sand at their approach. Then stepped aside. "Tried to hide her far enough under the slats we never would've found her if it hadn't been for a runner's dog."

Leigh buried her nose into the crook of her elbow to combat the odor of decomposition.

"Son of a bitch. It's her." Detective Moore crouched to get a better view. The reverence was gone from her voice. Something inside the detective broke as her knees hit the sand beside the body. "We were too late."