The Hunting Season

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  He had no trouble interpreting the message. Norris had been raped and his heart broken. Exactly what he’d done to his stepdaughter.

  This fire had been set in a copper kettle on the hearth that probably held newspapers or kindling during the winter. Today, it had been stuffed with paper of some kind that had burned down to ashes. The fire had leaped up high enough to char the white-painted brick fireplace surround. Not intended to burn down the house, but then this killer had staged the body with care. He—or, damn it, she—wouldn’t want that effort to go to waste.

  One of the techs glanced up and greeted Daniel, who nodded in return. This was an ugly crime, but they would all do their jobs. Compartmentalize, which meant tucking away what they’d seen before they went home to their families.

  He found Melinda in the kitchen on her phone. He waited until she ended the conversation and set down the phone.

  “You saw?”

  “I saw,” he said. “This wasn’t subtle.”

  “No. I gathered that Martin Ramsey was beaten, just like he’d beaten the kid. That could have been chance, but when I saw what was done to Norris…”

  “We have two kids who were badly injured. Now the assailants are dead in a way that resembles what they did to the kids. I couldn’t be sure about Ramsey, but after this—” Daniel shook his head. “I hope you don’t mind working together. The small fires at each scene are as good as a signature. We have one killer.”

  She nodded. “I agree. But what is he trying to tell us with these fires?”

  “I wish I knew,” he said in frustration. “How old is the girl?” If she’d said, he didn’t remember.

  “Two girls,” she corrected him. “Kaila and Kira. Twelve and fourteen. Turns out he’s been raping Kira for a couple of years. Now, Kaila. I don’t like to say a victim deserved what he had coming, but I’ll make an exception for this creep.” After a discernible pause, she added, “That’s assuming, of course, that he really was guilty.”

  Daniel knew what she believed. “This killer didn’t wait for you to gather enough evidence to be ready to file a charge. We have a sort of vigilante who has killed twice now, and only four days apart. That’s fast for someone who has never before committed murder.”

  “Are we sure he hasn’t?”

  Turning so he could see a slice of the living room, Daniel grimaced. “I looked for anything similar in Oregon. Choice of victim, use of a fire as part of his MO, attack meant to mimic what was done to the victim. Unless our killer’s a recent transplant—”

  “And then how did he learn about the assaults on these particular children?” Deeper than usual lines etched her face. “No, you’re probably right. We just have to figure out what triggered this guy to start now. The assault on Shane Ramsey sounds as if it was savage, but not that unusual.”

  He knew what she meant. There was a reason Child Protective Services had a unit here in Sadler the size they did. Child abuse was all too prevalent, pretty much everywhere.

  He didn’t like saying this, but had to. “Is it coincidence that Lindsay Engle is the caseworker involved in both instances?”

  Melinda frowned. “She’s been with the unit for several years. Besides, she’s been good to work with. I don’t want to believe she’s capable of anything like this.”

  “I don’t want to think she is, either,” Daniel said roughly. “But I can’t help noticing that, except for the wastebasket fires, she’s all that ties these two murders together.” He frowned. “She know about this yet?” He nodded toward the living room.

  Melinda shook her head. “I haven’t even notified the wife. I suppose we’d better confirm the whereabouts of the two girls, although I can’t imagine…”

  He couldn’t, either. Doug Norris had been average size rather than big and brawny, but he’d still have been a lot stronger than any young girl—even two of them trying to take him on at once. Just thrusting the knife in so deep required more strength than most people realized, as well as some knowledge of how to direct the blade under the rib cage and upward to reach the heart. As a method to kill, it wasn’t for the squeamish. And then there was the suggestive staging. By two kids with no history of trouble or gang affiliation? No.

  A woman who had spent years building rage toward this kind of offender? Who’d had plenty of time to do her research, who although slim had appeared fit, whom Norris would have let in the front door?

  Like it or not, Daniel and Melinda had to seriously consider Lindsay as a suspect.

  LINDSAY WAS LESS than thrilled to pick up the phone to hear the receptionist say in a hushed voice, “There are two detectives here to see you.”

  Wonderful. Was Detective Deperro still fixated on her, or did he have more questions about Shane?

  “Send them back,” she said, then wished she’d asked for their names. This could be different detectives, here to see her about another case—except the SPD didn’t have a very big investigative unit.

  She rose to her feet and braced herself. Maybe she wouldn’t feel any impact from Daniel Deperro’s presence this time.

  Wrong. Even though he allowed Detective McIntosh to precede him into the room, she saw only him. Daunting shoulders, dark eyes, unreadable expression. She had the sense that he saw only her, too. She couldn’t be imagining that.

  The other caseworkers present lifted their heads from whatever they were doing to watch the pair of detectives weave their way through desks to Lindsay’s. Silence fell over the room.

  Detective McIntosh nodded civilly, although she, too, had an air of reserve Lindsay hadn’t felt when they talked yesterday.

  Deperro said coolly, “Ms. Engle.”

  So much for being on a first-name basis.

  “I can grab another chair.” Lindsay looked around.

  “Do you have a conference room available?” the woman detective asked. “It would be better if we had some privacy.”

  A chill spreading inside her, Lindsay said, “Of course.” They followed her to a room designed for small groups. She took a seat and waited, from long practice keeping a pleasant expression on her face. Once they, too, had taken seats around the table, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

  Detective McIntosh jumped in. “Well, first I wondered if you’d had a chance to talk to Doug Norris again.”

  Surprised, Lindsay focused on her. “No, I haven’t even tried. As I told you, until you’ve completed at least an initial investigation, I won’t make any further contact with either the girls’ mother or stepfather.”

  “That’s what I understood,” she said.

  Deperro didn’t bother with the niceties. Without any trace of the warmth she’d glimpsed in him when he persuaded her to work with him to find Shane, he said, “Can you tell us what you have done and who you’ve seen this morning?”

  The chill deepened to the point where Lindsay wondered if her core temperature had dropped.

  “I had to put a bunch of investigations on the back burner for Shane and then Kaila and Kira. I’ve managed today to talk to half a dozen people regarding allegations made by neighbors, teachers, in one case a school nurse.”

  “Did you speak to them here?” Deperro asked brusquely.

  “No. I made appointments to meet them at a coffee house or at their homes. In one case, at a school.” She looked from one face to another. “I’ve worked with officers from SPD often and been cooperative, but I’m getting a bad feeling here. This meeting is over unless you tell me what happened to bring you here this morning with your current attitude.”

  They didn’t even exchange a glance, and yet she could feel communication humming between them.

  It was Detective McIntosh who inclined her head. Big surprise there; she made a far more natural “good cop” than would her partner.

  “I had an appointment this morning to speak to Mr. Norris. When I arrived at the Norris home, I f
ound him dead.” She paused. “Murdered.”

  Lindsay quit breathing, only stared. Dizzy, she sucked in air at the same time as she pushed her chair back from the table. “And you think I—”

  In his deep voice that now sounded like a growl, Deperro said, “I’m sure you’ll agree that we should be concerned by the fact that you’re the caseworker for both children whose guardians were murdered within forty-eight hours of you removing the kids from their custody.”

  She couldn’t look away from his hard, accusatory face. It was absurd to feel hurt, even if they’d worked together and she’d caught him watching her in a way that surely meant he was attracted to her. Maybe all he’d been doing was softening her up. Face it, he’d made no bones about his suspicion after Shane’s uncle was killed.

  Doing her best to shake off the hurt, Lindsay rose to her feet. “I won’t meet with either of you again until I have an attorney present. You know your way out. Please excuse me.”

  “Ms. Engle.”

  Her back to him, she stopped in the doorway.

  “If you’ll just give us your schedule for the morning, let us verify that you didn’t have a gap of time—”

  She kept walking.

  “SHE HAS BEEN COOPERATIVE,” Melinda said mildly. “Did you have to come on so strong?”

  He’d been a jackass, Daniel knew that, without quite being sure why. He’d been…relieved earlier on to be able mostly to dismiss her as a suspect in Martin Ramsey’s murder. He liked her. He could more than like her, which had to be the problem. Now, after the second murder, he was infuriated to suspect she’d played him, manipulated him from the get-go. Maybe he was mad most of all because she exerted a pull on him that was damn near irresistible. Now he felt betrayed—and that was dumb as hell. In his heart, he couldn’t believe she was a killer. To eliminate her, he had to ask questions—but if he’d come at those questions differently, he wouldn’t have alienated the woman who was, at the least, a central witness in their investigation.

  A woman who was unlikely to lower her guard around him again.

  Melinda had every right to come down a lot harder on him than she had so far.

  He scraped a hand over his jaw. “I’m usually smoother than that.”

  Perturbed lines showed on her forehead. “Yes, you are.”

  “Maybe if I leave, she’d talk to you.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. She didn’t have to say, Fat chance.

  Lindsay was nowhere to be seen as he and Melinda passed back through what resembled a squad room, the half dozen occupants unashamedly staring. Had he thought she would return to her desk and continue calmly doing her job? She was probably closeted with her supervisor…or out shopping for a criminal defense attorney.

  He called himself a few names, but he kept his mouth tight and his face blank. Out front, they passed the reception desk, Melinda nodding politely to the woman who was on the phone but also keeping a sharp eye on them.

  He pushed open one of the double glass doors to let Melinda go first.

  Behind him, the receptionist called, “Wait!”

  He turned to see she had hung up the phone. “Yes?”

  “Ms. Engle left something for you.”

  A mousetrap, to break a few of his fingers? He doubted she could come up with a cherry bomb that fast.

  The receptionist handed over a manila folder, so thin it couldn’t hold more than two or three sheets of paper. He didn’t open it until he was in the car. Behind the wheel, Melinda leaned toward him so she could see, too.

  Two pages. The first was a copy of today’s page from a day planner showing that, indeed, Lindsay had jam-packed her morning with appointments. Page two, scrawled names and phone numbers.

  Though angry, she’d still given them what they had asked for.

  “If she actually met with all these people, I don’t see how she could have worked in a detour to kill Doug Norris.” Tone still mild, Melinda was going out of her way not to sound critical.

  Squeezing a murder into this schedule looked pretty damn unlikely, Daniel had to concede. His mood lightened a little—but they still had to verify that neither Lindsay nor another party had canceled one of these meetings.

  “Do we know TOD?” he asked.

  “Jim Stamey texted me. Said his best guess for time of death was three to four hours ago, but may change his opinion after the autopsy.”

  Daniel nodded. Stamey would have checked the body’s temperature and half a dozen other indicators before venturing his opinion. In Daniel’s experience, the guy had never been far off.

  “That puts Norris’s death at somewhere between nine and eleven this morning,” he calculated.

  “Yes. I suggest we notify the wife and find out when she left for work. That might narrow the window.”

  “I’ll make some calls from this list while we’re on our way.” That would also serve the purpose of distracting him. He hated being a passenger.

  Without further comment, Melinda backed the department-issue car out, swung around and made the turn onto the street that led to the light at the highway. He didn’t know where Paige Norris worked, but obviously Melinda did.

  By the time they pulled up at an insurance office downtown, Daniel had spoken to three of the people Lindsay had met with that morning. So far, so good…but he had yet to reach three more people, one of whom hadn’t answered or responded to the message he’d left.

  Inside the insurance office, he had his first look at Paige Norris, who didn’t yet know she was a widow. From behind a desk she lifted her head to beam at them before she really saw them.

  If not for Ramsey’s murder, he’d be looking hard at this woman. With the abuser now out of the picture, she might get her daughters back. What if she really hadn’t believed the girls’ claims, but her husband had given himself away and now she knew they’d told the truth? Women were known to do the unthinkable to protect their children.

  This woman, though…she was petite and appeared ultra-feminine, wearing a fuzzy pink cardigan over a matching pink top. His gaze fell to her long fingernails, also painted pink. It would be hard to kill a man without breaking a nail or chipping the polish.

  Unless she’d managed a quick visit to a manicurist on her way to work. Could those be fake nails?

  Sometimes he wished he didn’t so readily suspect people of the worst behavior.

  In this case…he couldn’t imagine she’d beaten a large man to death as a cover for when she murdered her own husband.

  Alarmed, Paige Norris shot to her feet. “Why are you here?” She was all but whispering. “My bosses don’t know anything about the girls and…and all the ridiculous stuff they said. I could lose my job if—”

  “We need to speak to you.” Melinda could sound tough when she needed to. “Is there a conference room available?”

  “I—” Mrs. Norris drew several deep breaths as if to steady herself. “Yes. I suppose.” She hustled them halfway down a short hall and into a plush room with a table surrounded by six upholstered chairs. “I’ll be right back.”

  Daniel heard her talking to someone a short distance away, explaining that she needed to speak to someone about an issue at school and could this someone else please answer the phone for a few minutes.

  Apparently the coworker agreed, because she reappeared, whisking into the conference room and yanking down a shade over the inset window before taking a seat and gazing at them anxiously. “Now what?”

  Daniel deliberately chose a chair off to one side. Melinda was familiar to the woman; she’d respond better to her questions. Observing felt like the smarter tactic.

  Too bad he hadn’t kept his damn mouth shut earlier with Lindsay.

  “First, let me ask what time you left home this morning,” Melinda said.

  Her anxiety increased. “I don’t understand.” It took some low-key urging, but fin
ally Mrs. Norris said, “Eight forty-five. I usually leave at eight-thirty, but Doug was unsettled about having to talk to you, and—” She stopped. “Wasn’t he home? I know he intended to be.”

  “Mrs. Norris—Paige—I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  She pressed a hand to her throat. “What could possibly—”

  “When I arrived at your house, the front door was unlatched and open a few inches. I called for your husband, and when I didn’t receive a reply, I stepped inside. I found him dead, Mrs. Norris. He was murdered.”

  The woman let out a piercing cry, the kind that haunted cops who made too many death notifications.

  MAD AS HELL but also a little scared, Lindsay explained to her supervisor what was going on.

  Her boss for a year now, Sadie Culver had been brought in from the Bend office when Glenn Wilson retired. She’d been thrilled with the promotion and especially the transfer, because she and her husband, a third-generation cattle rancher, already lived near Sadler. Lindsay guessed her to be in her early forties, and both liked her and had found her to be a supportive manager.

  Sadie was aghast to learn that the police might suspect one of her caseworkers of a crime as horrific as murder.

  “You’re the last person I could imagine going off the deep end like that,” she exclaimed. “I mean, with this job, burnout is always an issue, but you haven’t exhibited any sign at all.”

  Lindsay sat facing Sadie’s desk, feeling like a school child called in by the principal. “Thank you for saying that,” she said, relaxing a little. “I understood why after the first murder the detective had to look at me, because I found the body. Now it’s come down to me being the caseworker involved with both families.”

  “We don’t have that big an office. If someone is knocking off abusive parents, it could be chance that you were investigating both.”

  Lindsay shuddered. “What if someone really is? These two murders weren’t even a week apart.”

  Sadie studied her with obvious concern. “Good Lord. I’ll look to be sure our records haven’t been hacked. Otherwise, how do you want to handle this?”