Disarming Detective (12 page)

This case just got stranger and stranger. Ella tried to digest the new development. “Logan, you said your family were the last people to see Theresa in town before she died, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And now this. Maybe this isn’t about Theresa at all. Maybe someone’s trying to frame you.”

Logan pounded a fist against the steering wheel. “You think someone kidnapped—and
tortured
—Theresa to hurt my family?”

Ella rested her head against the seat, clutching the food she’d barely touched. She wasn’t hungry anymore, as dread burrowed inside her. “You’re right. It doesn’t quite fit. It’s not a very good frame-up if it was this much of a stretch for us to even find the information. Plus, the burns are personal to him. I know they are. That’s not about your family, or even about the victim, really. It’s about
him
.”

“So, what? This can’t be coincidence,” Logan said, his knuckles bone white as he squeezed the steering wheel.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was part of a lure? Maybe Theresa thought she was meeting someone from your family there?” Even as she said it, the words sounded far-fetched.

“How? And why? We haven’t gone there in years. And Becky was the last person to talk to Theresa, so who would have told her to meet us there? And since she talked to Becky on her way to the airport, why would she go? Why wouldn’t she have said something to Becky? And why would she miss her flight to meet us at a deserted farm?”

Ella shook her head, feeling as frustrated as Logan sounded. “I don’t know,” she said again.

They both fell silent as Logan’s Chevy Caprice sped toward the farm. It took a while for the lights of busy neighboring towns to fade, for the land to shift into something that might have once supported farms.

By then, Ella felt the need to admit what they both had to be thinking. “I was wrong, Logan. Whatever the purpose, however this guy got her here, this wasn’t a quick ambush. This was a complicated lure. He wasn’t waiting for Theresa to take the usual route and then picking out the most suitable place for an ambush.”

She shook her head. “Either he knew Theresa personally, or...” A heavy weight seemed to settle on her chest. “This guy is a baiter.”

Logan must have caught her change in tone, because as he pulled the car to a stop outside an obviously deserted house, he turned toward her, waiting.

Ella shifted, looking into the green eyes that had tempted her into a supposedly quick dinner and review of a case file only a few days ago. It felt like so much longer. So much had changed in that short time.

And yet, the one thing she’d ultimately come to Oakville for wasn’t going to change. This killer
was
a baiter. And Maggie’s rapist liked to ambush his victims. They were very different methods, used by different personality types.

She felt an old pain swell up, and her voice trembled as she told him, “This isn’t my shot to catch Maggie’s rapist. This is a totally different killer.”

Chapter Nine

Logan felt queasy as he picked the lock on his grandparents’ old house. It had sat empty for a decade, but his mom couldn’t bring herself to sell it. He hadn’t been to the house in years, but he had so many good memories here. If they went inside and found evidence that Theresa had died here, it would tarnish all of them.

A gag worked its way up his throat and he swallowed it down, focused on fitting the pick into the old lock. When the lock finally clicked and he pushed the door open, he froze, not wanting to go inside.

Growing up, he’d always felt safe here. Greers had lived in this area going back six generations. And on his mom’s side, it had been almost as long. They had history here, and even now, most of the family had stuck around. He’d taken the police job to keep the hometown he loved safe. Now, with Theresa’s death, it all felt tainted by something dark and ugly.

Ella squeezed past him. “Why don’t you wait here, Logan?” She glanced back at him with understanding in her eyes. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

“No. I’m coming with you.” He just hoped if they found something, he didn’t contaminate the scene by throwing up.

With a deep breath, he followed Ella inside. Into the living room where his grandpa’s ugly comfortable plaid chair had once sat in the corner, where the doilies his grandma made once covered all the tables. Now it was bare, covered with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. But no evidence anyone had been through the house recently. At least not in this room.

He followed Ella toward the back of the house, but it was the same there. To his relief, it looked completely deserted, as if no one had been inside for years.

Ella turned to him.

“Are there any outbuildings on the property?”

“No.” Logan studied the house again, remembering the way it had once been, filled with the smell of the cigars his grandpa used to smoke, the smell of his grandma’s perfume. Filled with laughter as he and Becky had run down the stairs and out into the backyard. He remembered the sound of his grandma’s voice calling after them, admonishing them to slow down, trying to hide the smile in her voice.

The memories faded, leaving behind the image of the empty, dusty house as it was now, as Logan unlocked the back door and stepped outside. The property stretched for miles, but it was fairly flat and unobstructed. Although the area was pretty deserted, it seemed unlikely that someone as smart as this killer would have tortured and murdered Theresa outside.

Logan turned back to Ella. “What do you think?”

“It doesn’t look like anyone has been here. Maybe she met the killer here and went with him somewhere else? He might have lured her here, then knocked her out. He probably could have left the car here without attracting attention, then come back for it later. It does seem odd, though. Why here? If he was going to grab her, why not do it on the way to the airport, like we originally suspected? And if he was going to lure her somewhere—if he’d charmed her enough to get her to meet up with him—why bring her here? Why not just meet her wherever he killed her?”

Logan shrugged. “I have no idea. None of this makes any sense. But I don’t like it. This feels too personal, this guy picking my grandparents’ house. How did he know about it?”

He headed back through the house, ready to lock it up and leave. Even though they’d seen no evidence that Theresa had been here, his nerves were twitching, telling him something about the whole scenario was off. It made him want to get out of there fast, as if he could outrun what had happened to Theresa, somehow undo it.

“Maybe you should call Becky,” Ella said as they got back in his car for the return trip to Oakville. “See if she ever mentioned this place to Theresa. Maybe Theresa was the one who suggested meeting here, and not her killer.”

Logan nodded, stuck his hands-free device in his ear and dialed. After a short conversation, he told Ella, “Yeah, my sister mentioned the house, but just in talking about my grandparents. They never discussed coming here.”

Logan pulled out onto the highway, reaching for the drink he hadn’t touched on the way up. The coffee was cold now, but he gulped it down anyway, wanting the caffeine hit. “The more answers we find in this case, the more questions we get. I’ve investigated a couple of homicides since I made detective, but nothing like this.”

Frustration built inside him, together with the fear that this killer was going to outwit him. That he’d never be able to bring the guy to justice. That he’d fail Theresa, fail Becky.

Ella’s cool hand sliding behind his neck, kneading the tight muscles there, surprised him. He glanced over at her, and he could tell from the tilt of her head, from the expression in her eyes. She understood exactly how he felt.

He relaxed his shoulders, focused on the road, and let Ella work her magic on his neck. Slowly, he felt himself relax.

He smiled at her. “Thanks.”

She removed her hand and unwrapped her sandwich. She took a huge bite, then asked, “Were Becky and Theresa together the whole time she was here?”

“Pretty much. Becky had the week off work, but she did have a few things she had to take care of while Theresa was here. Theresa told her she was going to the beach while Becky was out. It was a couple of hours, tops, both times. I asked Becky about it when I first talked to her after we found Theresa’s body.”

Ella nodded, looking pensive. “So, it’s possible she met someone Becky didn’t know about, set up a meeting.”

“It’s possible,” Logan agreed. “But it still seems strange that she wouldn’t mention it to Becky. And that she would set up a meeting for
after
her flight was supposed to leave. And if it was arranged at the last minute, how did the guy contact her if he didn’t call her? If he ran into her somewhere, then why wouldn’t they just drive together?”

“I’m not sure any of this is going to make sense until we figure out why Theresa didn’t take that flight.”

Logan frowned. “Any ideas on how to do that?”

He felt Ella’s eyes on him as she said, “Nothing brilliant, no. We can try to follow up on the beach angle, see if we can find someone who remembers seeing Theresa with a guy. Maybe put out a request to the public for information. You could use your media contact.”

“Lyla?” Logan snorted. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. I’ll talk to her if you think that could work, but I should warn you that she’s tenacious. Once she gets hold of something, she doesn’t stop chasing it. I can guarantee you that if she has any chance to get back into the police station, she’s going straight back to her profiler story.”

“Well, that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

Logan decided he’d talk to Lyla, do his best to convince her to leave Ella out of it, but ultimately, Lyla did whatever Lyla wanted. She always had.

And even trying to leave his personal feelings for Ella aside—which was pretty near impossible—his gut said that if he wanted any chance of nailing this killer, he was going to need her.

* * *

A
S
SOON
AS
Logan parked at the station, Ella sank low in her seat and he let out a string of curses.

Out front, far enough away from the station that Logan knew Chief Patterson had thrown a fit, but close enough that the station would be in the long shot, was a television crew. Lyla stood by the camera in a fire-engine-red skirt suit, looking as though she’d primped for hours. She had a microphone angled toward Kelly, the woman who’d reported her friend missing a few days ago.

Far from the hungover, terrified mess Kelly had been then, she now looked as if she’d spent all day getting ready to be on TV.

Logan scowled. He’d seen this in other homicide cases, loved ones of victims trying to get media mileage out of their loss, but it always made him feel sick.

As he stepped out of the car, he heard Lyla’s voice ringing across the lot, “So, you were led to believe that a serial killer abducted your friend?”

Logan tightened his jaw hard enough that his neck hurt. There was a lot he’d loved about Lyla, but her determination to get the story, which he’d originally found attractive, now grated on his nerves. What she was doing with this case bordered on irresponsible.

Doing his best to ignore it, Logan made a beeline for the station doors, refusing to look over at the spectacle that was the “news.”

He felt Ella close on his heels and he held open the door for her to duck inside. But inside the station wasn’t much better.

“I thought your fiancée left town when she left you,” Hank O’Connor muttered darkly, as he walked past them.

Logan thought Hank was going to keep walking; but instead he stopped, turned around and poked a finger at Logan’s chest. “This
serial killer
angle is getting out of control. Is this your idea of how being a detective works?”

Logan looked down at the beefy finger pointing at him and clenched his fists to keep from reaching up and twisting it until it snapped.

Beside him, Ella took a step forward, getting Hank’s attention. “I’ve worked with a lot of detectives over the past few years.”

Ella’s voice was too even, too sweet. Logan shot a questioning look at her.

“The best ones chase down every lead, no matter where it takes them.” She pivoted and walked past Hank, calling over her shoulder, “Even if they’re not happy about it. Even if it leads to a serial killer.”

Hank watched her walk away, then turned back to Logan with a smirk on his face. “I guess I’d cry serial killer, too, if it got me a cute little piece of—”

Logan got in his face fast. “You don’t like me, fine. I don’t like you much, either. Leave Ella out of it.”

Hank was a big guy. In a brawl, he’d have a definite advantage over Logan. But as Logan stared him down, fury in his eyes, Hank nodded and backed up.

“Sorry,” he choked out, not sounding particularly sincere. But then he rolled his massive shoulders and added, “Whoever this killer is, let’s just find him, fast.” He gestured out the doors to where the camera crew was packing up. “Because the last thing we need is more panic.”

Logan held out his hand. He and Hank would probably never be friends, but they did have to work together.

Hank looked at it skeptically for a minute, then locked his beefy hand around it and shook. “So far, we’ve got nothing on Laurie’s whereabouts. I still think she’s sleeping it off somewhere, but...” He glanced back in the direction Ella had gone, then added, “We’ve run out of places to look. If you need help running something down, let me know. I want to find this girl alive.”

Logan nodded. “Believe me, so do I.”

He sighed as Hank walked away, because as much as he hoped Hank was right about Laurie, he was banking on Ella’s expertise and his own gut here. And both told him that Laurie had met the same fate as Theresa. That if they found Laurie at all, it wasn’t going to be alive.

Forcing aside that gruesome thought, Logan made his way to the conference room. Inside, he saw Ella hunched over the table, writing frantically.

“What are you working on?”

She looked up, blinking until she seemed to focus on him. “Questions for the officers searching for Laurie. They’re still talking to locals and tourists at the bars and anywhere else Laurie might have been, right?”