Disarming Detective (14 page)

But apparently, when it came to matters of the heart, she was a big wimp.

Buck up, Cortez.

She took a deep breath, but then Logan was saying in his back-to-business tone, “Last night I finished putting together a list of locals who own blue vans. I thought we could run them down today.”

“Oh. Okay. Great.” Ella felt a mingling of relief and disappointment at her missed opportunity.

“I included anyone from surrounding towns with blue vans, too. The list isn’t very long.”

“Well, file that in the good news department.”

“No kidding,” Logan said. “I figured we could run down the names together and interview anyone who looks like they could fit your profile.”

“Sounds good. I’d also like to talk to the ME who did Theresa’s autopsy.”

“Sure. I can call him. Why?”

“I want to ask him about the burns.” She wanted to confirm, once and for all, whether there was any chance this was connected to Maggie’s rapist. She didn’t think so anymore, but until she had a definitive expert opinion, she was going to wonder. And if it wasn’t connected, she could stop thinking about Maggie’s case every time she tried to analyze this perp’s possible next move.

“Okay.” Logan shifted, took his cell phone from his pocket, and handed it to her. “He’s in there. Just pull up ME in the Contacts.”

Ella raised an eyebrow. “You have the ME on speed dial? That’s just sad.”

Logan let out a short bark of laughter. “It’s easier than having to look it up whenever I get a homicide case. My Contacts list is a Who’s Who of Oakville law enforcement.” He gave her a goofy grin. “I even have the mayor on speed dial.”

Ella rolled her eyes, then called the ME. When he picked up, she told him, “This is Isabella Cortez. I’m consulting—”

“From the FBI,” he interrupted. “I watch the news. What do you need?”

Ella grimaced. She definitely had to get Logan to talk to Lyla for her. “I wanted to ask about the burns on Theresa’s body. Is there any possibility that they could have been branding?”

The ME went silent and Ella realized she was holding her breath. All her profiling instincts told her the new development in Theresa’s case meant it wasn’t connected to Maggie, but she found herself actually hoping she was wrong.

Finally, the ME said, “The body sustained significant damage when it was in the marsh. But my professional judgment is no, the burns weren’t made from a brand. I suspect they were made by literally holding a flame to the skin.”

Ella’s lips curled in distaste, but she had to ask, “Are you positive it’s not a brand? Even the one on her neck? The shape kind of reminded me of a hook.”

“Hmm. It does look a bit that way, doesn’t it? If I had to make a guess, I’d say the shape is because the flame caught her hair before it was put out. The burns looked controlled, as if this woman’s killer was trying to inflict specific damage, burn specific areas. If that’s the case, it probably wasn’t intentional, but I suspect the fire got away from him briefly, which would explain the way that particular burn hooks upward, toward the skull. It’s definitely not a brand, though. I can tell you that.”

Ella slumped, as disappointment gathered in her chest. “Thanks.”

As she hung up, Logan asked, “It’s not connected to your friend’s case?”

“No.”

The word came out slightly strangled, and Logan reached out his hand, folding it tightly around hers.

She gave him a half smile. “Because we now suspect baiting, I didn’t believe it was connected anymore, but...”

“You wanted the chance to bring him to justice. I understand, Ella.”

“But the fact that it’s not a brand tells us something, too.” Ella considered what the ME had told her, thinking out loud. “The burns were localized, specific. Were they just a means of torture or something more?”

She looked over at Logan as he parked the Chevy Caprice in the station lot. “Do you know anyone around here who’s badly burned?”

Logan shook his head. “No. Why? Do you think the killer is burning his victims because he’s scarred from burns himself?”

Ella thought about the autopsy photos she’d studied the day Logan had come to see her in Virginia. “Maybe. A brand is a sign of ownership. But a burn is different. It could be a way for the killer to torture his victims, especially if that’s his end goal. But it’s possible he picked fire because of a connection to his own life.”

She stepped out of the car and followed Logan into the station. “It’s really hard to say for sure at this point.”

With only one body, only one victim conclusively tied to this killer, it was difficult to form a complete profile.

And without more to go on, and with a killer this careful and controlled, it was going to be nearly impossible to find him.

* * *

E
VERY
OFFICER
IN
the station looked weary, frustrated and dejected.

As Logan and Ella walked through the bullpen, Logan’s colleagues looked back at him with bloodshot eyes. Most of them were running on caffeine now, and were well past the point of being fueled by the hope of finding Laurie hungover and apologetic. At this point, she’d been missing too long.

Still, Logan knew most of them didn’t believe she’d been grabbed by a serial killer. Some theorized she was hitchhiking home without Kelly, since she’d told people at the bars she was leaving. A few thought she’d shacked up with some local. Others thought she’d gone to the beach after the bar and drowned. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened to a spring breaker, and the ocean could take a body as easily as the gators in the marsh.

By now, most of the force was resigned to the idea that something bad had happened to her, but none were willing to make the jump to serial killer. They just didn’t want to believe serial killings could happen in Oakville.

As Logan bypassed the bullpen for the conference room, with Ella in tow, he wondered if it was time to give up on trying to track Theresa’s movements. Maybe they’d have better luck tracking Laurie.

Before he could suggest it to Ella, she asked, “Where’s that list of blue van owners?”

Logan booted up his laptop. “I’ve got it on here.”

“Great. Are rentals on there, too? From the closest airports?”

Logan sent her a disbelieving look. “I’m not a miracle worker, Ella. We can get those, but it’ll take longer. And I figured locals were our best bet.”

“They are.”

Ella settled into the chair next to him, making him want to scoot even closer. Making him want to resume the conversation they’d been having in the car, the one that started with her basically admitting she was jealous of his ex-fiancée and ended with him looking like a fool by trying to get her to admit to more.

But he was all too happy to look like a fool if it meant Ella would let him back into her hotel room, pull him down on her bed again.

“But even if Theresa’s murder isn’t connected to Maggie’s case,” she continued, “it could still be someone who’s been in the area long enough to scout it out for killing, someone who plans to move on. It could be why you don’t have any other bodies or reports of missing persons.”

Logan frowned. He’d assumed they’d found no other bodies because the gators had taken care of the evidence for the killer, but Ella was right about missing persons. The only missing person report they’d had in the past year was Laurie.

Was he as crazy as his chief and the rest of the force seemed to think? Was he imagining a serial killer here?

Logan forced back his doubt. If he was imagining it, Ella wouldn’t have come here in the first place.

“If we’re talking about tracking down rental vans from several months back, that would be a big project. And if we’re talking about someone who drove here in his own vehicle, we’ll never find it. If this guy isn’t a local, I think the van angle is a dead end.”

“Well, let’s see who we’ve got,” Ella said, but he could hear in her voice that she’d begun to feel as dejected as his fellow officers.

“Okay.” Logan pulled up the list he’d run, reminding himself to be impartial. He was probably going to know everyone on it. And he couldn’t think of anyone in Oakville he’d peg as a murderer.

“The first name on the list is Jane Franklin.” He tried not to snort as he showed Ella the DMV picture of Jane. “She’s fifty-seven years old, married, with two kids and one grandchild.”

“Does either kid still live at home? Would one of them have access to the van?”

“No.”

“Okay. Who’s next? We’re looking for a man.”

“Most of the list is women,” Logan told her.

“Okay.” He could hear the frustration in her voice as she asked, “Do any of them have men in their lives who might be driving the vans?”

“Besides one widow, they’re all married—”

“What about sons? Our killer isn’t married.”

Logan read over the names again, thinking. “All except one of these women have kids who are too young to drive.” He tapped his finger against one name, even as he shook his head. “Marissa Evans.”

“Evans?”

“Yeah, Lyla’s mom. Lyla moved up north a few years back, but her family lives one town over. And her brother still lives at home. He’s in his late twenties, but he’s autistic.”

“Is he high-functioning? Does he drive?”

“Yes. And yes. But—”

“Is he socially awkward?”

“Yes. But I’ve known Joe a long time. He’s not a killer.”

Ella’s lips pursed and he could tell she was trying to be diplomatic when she told him, “In my job, I see a lot of cases where killers hid their impulses so well that no one close to them suspected.”

“I get that, Ella, but trust me on this one. Joe isn’t a killer. There’s no way.”

She didn’t look convinced, and for a minute she seemed about to argue, but finally she nodded and said, “Who else do you have?”

“Two single men on the list of blue van owners.” He held up the first picture. “Adam Pawlter. Sixty-six years old. Unmarried.”

Ella studied the picture a minute, then shook her head. “The guy we’re looking for would be younger. Does Adam have kids?”

“No, but he took in his sister’s son after she died.”

“Does he still live at home?”

“I don’t know. I think Marshall was his name, but I barely remember him. He works for Adam in his shrimping business, but I doubt he still lives with Adam.”

“How old is he? Can you check his information?”

“Hang on.” Logan pulled up the station’s database, looking for anyone named Marshall, then shook his head. “No criminal record.” He stood and stuck his head out the door, calling into the bullpen, “Hey, Hank, you know Adam Pawlter, right?”

Hank ambled over, scarfing down a burger on his lunch break. “Yeah, he lives next door to my aunt. Why?”

“Does his nephew still live at home?”

“Marshall? The guy’s in his thirties. He has his own place.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just running down a lead.”

“On Adam and Marshall? They’re both nice guys. And hard workers. You ever tried shrimping?”

Logan sighed, not wanting to get into an argument. “No. Look, it’s not on them specifically. We’re running down anyone who owns a blue van.”

“Oh.” Hank frowned. “This something the rest of us should be on, too?”

Logan lowered his voice. “It’s a long shot.”

He absolutely believed Ella when she said there was a problem with the blue van that had followed her. But the truth was, Ella was a beautiful woman in a town still filled to capacity with drunken spring breakers, even after the exodus that happened when news of a potential serial killer hit. Whoever had killed Theresa probably wasn’t the only creep in town.

Seeing a blue van in the surveillance footage was suspicious, but it didn’t explain why Theresa was there in the first place. Because something had sent her toward Huntsville instead of to the airport that day, and whatever it was, it happened before she showed up at the gas station.

“Okay,” Hank said into the silence. “Let me know if you get anything you want help on.”

“Thanks.” He was surprised that the truce between him and Hank had lasted so long.

It must have shown in his voice, because Hank said, “Look, man, I’ve been thinking. I know I always hassle you about how you got the job, like a lot of the other guys do. But I realized it doesn’t matter. Because you do the work.” Hank shrugged. “Truth is, the chief shouldn’t have one detective working by himself anyway. I’m lobbying for him to add a new detective position.”

Hank grinned and added, “So, put in a good word, would you?” Then he shoved the other half of his sandwich in his mouth and wandered back into the bullpen.

Logan shook his head as he returned to the conference room. Hank O’Connor wanted to be his partner. If today was a day for miracles, maybe they’d find something useful in the van lead, after all.

“Who else do we have?” Ella asked as he sat back down.

The look in her eyes told him she’d overheard him call this a long shot, but apparently she wasn’t going to make an issue of it. Maybe she even agreed.

“One more name. Sean Fink. Thirty-six. Unmarried, no kids. Lives here in Oakville.”

“Tell me about him. Is he socially awkward?”

Logan laughed. “Sean? No. That guy tries to be the life of every party. He’s not married because he thinks he’s still in college, on perpetual spring break.”

“Hmm.” Ella frowned at his computer, then glanced at him, frustration all over her face. “It doesn’t sound like anyone fits.”

“Maybe the guy who followed you wasn’t connected,” Logan suggested, his instincts telling him it might have been Sean following her, hoping to pick her up.

“Maybe not.” Ella looked up at the ceiling, as though she might find the answer there, then back at him. “I’m not sure where to search next.”

Chapter Eleven

Logan rubbed the back of his neck as he stood on the stoop of the Evans family home. He hadn’t been here in two years, since he’d taken the promotion to detective and Lyla had moved away from Oakville, ending their engagement.

Beside him, Ella kept shooting quick glances his way, as if he wouldn’t notice. She looked almost as uncomfortable as he felt.