Melinda took a deep breath, then another. Looking toward the cabin, she said, “I guess the first thing we have to ask ourselves is who is taking primary on this one.”
Boyd’s eyebrows climbed. “It’s my jurisdiction.”
The two of them were going to start another pissing match? Daniel barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Instead, he shook his head and offered a solution.
“We cooperate. We bring Sheriff Chaney up to date with our investigations so he doesn’t have to start from scratch. We don’t keep anything from each other.”
Boyd smiled slightly.
Melinda’s lips thinned, but she kept her mouth shut.
“Do you plan to assign a detective to this?” Daniel asked Boyd. “Or work it yourself?”
“I’ll assign my senior detective, but look over his shoulder. He has zero experience with a murder investigation, but he might as well learn.”
“Unless you were military police,” Melinda put in, “you don’t, either.”
“I’ve killed people. Seen friends go down. Does that count?”
Daniel was starting to get a headache. Clearly, he needed to take point where the sheriff’s department was concerned.
“We don’t have many murders in the county, not counting domestics or bar brawls. We all learn as we go.” He was the one exception, having worked major crimes including homicide in Portland for a couple of years before deciding to come home to eastern Oregon, but he didn’t say so. Melinda probably knew, and the last thing they needed was this to become a three-way tug-of-war.
“Fair enough,” Boyd said. “I’d like to join you to interview the caseworker, even if you’ve already talked to her. I’ll have my detective canvass my other employees to find out if they heard anything or saw anyone around the Haycrofts’ cabin. Or, for that matter, anyone unfamiliar out here on the ranch. If you can email me whatever you have so far, I’ll let you know what I learn from the CSI team.”
“Good. Let me give you my phone number.”
Melinda offered hers up, too. Daniel couldn’t help noticing that Boyd didn’t enter it in his phone. Because he had no intention of talking to her? Or was it already in his contacts because they had some sort of previous relationship?
None of my business.
MONDAY MORNING, LINDSAY parked as close to the front door of the office as she could manage. If only the back door wasn’t kept locked.
Two journalists with microphones in hand and cameramen to back them hovered by the double glass doors. Did they know what she looked like, or could she slip in with a head shake and “no comment”?
The latest murders had been the lead story on local news and featured in eastern Oregon newspapers as well as the Portland Oregonian. Unfortunately, journalists had been able to access public records and find her name.
She grabbed her briefcase, closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, then jumped out. Her car beeped behind her as she used her key fob even as she hurried toward the entrance.
“Excuse me!” one of the men called. “Are you Lindsay Engle?”
The second journalist, a woman, stepped between her and the door. “How do you explain your involvement with the families preceding all four murders?”
“I have no comment for you. Please let me by.”
“Have the investigating officers interviewed you?” the man demanded to know. “Do you have the sense you’re considered a suspect?”
Shaking inside but outwardly composed, Lindsay met the woman’s eyes. “If you don’t step out of my way, you’ll be speaking to the police yourself.”
The reporter moved, her expression huffy. “We’re giving you an opportunity to share your perspective.”
Hand on the door, Lindsay paused. “You should respect the fact that Child Protective Services keeps names and the results of investigations confidential. Speak to the police detectives.”
She slipped inside, the closing door cutting off their voices.
Dear God. How could she keep coming to work? But how could she not? This was what she did. Hiding out would make her look guilty. No, it wasn’t an option.
Celeste Klassen, the receptionist, hurried around her desk, her wary gaze darting to the view through the glass. “Lindsay! You’re okay?”
“Hasn’t been the best week,” she admitted. No, nearly two weeks now.
Celeste hugged her. “We’ve all been worried about you. What’s happening is weird. And creepy.”
Lindsay smiled wryly. “I totally concur.”
“Sadie asked to see you as soon as you came in.”
There was a surprise.
“Thanks.” Lindsay went to her supervisor’s office and found the door standing open.
Sadie glanced up from some paperwork on her desk. “Oh, Lindsay. Come on in. Take a seat.” She set aside her reading glasses. “I’m sorry you had to run the gauntlet outside.”
“Everyone else must have, too. Can’t we ban them from the property?”
“That’s easier when it’s private property. State property is theoretically owned by all taxpayers.”
Lindsay wrinkled her nose. “We still shouldn’t have to be harassed coming to work.”
“Did they recognize you?”
“They asked questions as though they did.”
“Tell me about the Haycrofts. I wasn’t assigned here then. I’ve read about it, but that’s not the same.”
Lindsay repeated what she’d told Daniel, and added a few details she’d withheld from him.
Her supervisor listened, interjecting only a few questions. At the end, she shook her head. “I’d say why now, but it was obviously one of our agency’s more dramatic cases.”
“And now it’s even more so.”
“Yes. What’s most disturbing is that this murderer either has to be an insider or has somehow got access to our records. The IT department has looked but found no indication a hacker gained entry,” she added. “That said, we both know there are people out there who can sneak past any safeguards.”
Lindsay nodded her agreement.
Sadie picked up her glasses and began fiddling with them. “For now, if I have to assign any new investigations to you, I’ll keep them routine.” She held up a hand, although Lindsay hadn’t protested. “This is no criticism of you. I hope you know that. But…let’s not tempt fate.”
The ban, if that wasn’t too harsh a word, might not be meant as criticism, but it didn’t feel good, either. Call it a pointed finger, because she might not be at fault but was, in some roundabout way, responsible.
Since Lindsay had already made the same decisionbut not yet discussed it with Sadie, she nodded and rose to her feet. “I’m going to try not to step out the door today. I’ll have lunch delivered.”
Sadie laughed. “I may do the same.”
Easy for her to be amused. She wasn’t the one being hunted.
IT WAS A WEIRD, unsettling day. Lindsay pretended to work more than actually accomplishing anything. Her ability to concentrate was shattered; like light bouncing off so many irregular fragments of glass, it was impossible to focus on one thing.
To start with, she couldn’t slip quietly in from Sadie’s office and go to work. Instead, the moment she appeared, the five caseworkers who happened to be at their desks all lifted their heads.
“Wow,” Ashley Sheldon said. “I don’t look anything like you, but I had to practically produce ID to prove I wasn’t you.” Ashley preened, as if anybody with eyes couldn’t tell she was far prettier.
Or maybe Lindsay was just feeling sour.
“Yes, having the press hanging out in our parking lot is a nuisance,” she said, without elaborating.
The newest hire, Jenn Armstrong, asked, “Is there anything you want us to say?” She flushed. “I mean, what should I say?”
“‘No comment,’” Lin
dsay told her. “Just keep repeating it. I already reminded them that our work is kept confidential.”
“Yeah, like that’ll work,” Matt Grudin sneered.
Unless she was imagining things, his gaze held acute dislike. Had she just never seen it before? He might have moved on from her refusal to go out with him, but did he hold a grudge?
She raised her eyebrows, refusing to look away. “Do you have a better suggestion?”
“Yeah, tell them to shove it up their—”
Before he finished, Gayle Schaefer, a quiet woman in her fifties, interrupted. “Sure. Sadie might have something to say about that.”
Lindsay felt a physical relief when Matt turned his sneer toward the other woman.
“Then I’ll tell her where she can go, too. I’ve started looking for another job anyway. I can hardly wait to get out of here.”
Gayle shrugged and turned her attention back to her laptop.
Ray Hammond caught Lindsay’s eyes and grimaced, his expression friendly.
She smiled back, but not so widely as to encourage him.
And then, having opened her laptop, she stared at her screensaver and asked herself if any of her coworkers could be hiding enough rage to kill so ruthlessly. Could someone so brutal be hiding behind an ordinary mask?
Jenn—no. Lindsay really hadn’t gotten to know her, but she was straight out of grad school and had only worked here at CPS for six or seven months. She’d inherited Hank Cousins’s caseload, but otherwise hadn’t been assigned any of the heartbreaking cases. Of course, she could have grown up in some kind of sick situation and had plotted for years—four years for an undergraduate degree, another two to three for her master’s—just so she could be in a position to punish every man like her father or uncle or whoever it was that hurt her. If so, she was the best actor Lindsay had ever seen. No, she wouldn’t believe it.
Ashley Sheldon wasn’t one of Lindsay’s favorite coworkers; she could be a bitch. But Lindsay couldn’t see her as a possible suspect, either. She was too self-centered. How would these murders help her?
On the flip side, she didn’t seem to like Lindsay, either.
Gayle was quiet enough to hide a fuel tank full of rage, but Lindsay couldn’t see it. Gayle was kind, efficient…and used a cane. She’d returned to CPS a year and a half ago after a several-year absence. Lindsay had been told that Gayle had multiple sclerosis and was currently in remission. If that was true, she wouldn’t have been strong enough to overpower any of the four men.
Lindsay sneaked a look toward Matt Grudin, still at his desk typing furiously on his laptop. Updating his résumé, maybe. He was obviously angry, and some of that was directed her way. More than she’d realized, in fact. At about six feet, he was solidly built. Physically, he was capable, she thought. But if he were the killer, wouldn’t he be trying not to gain attention?
Ray Hammond was more of an enigma to Lindsay, a handsome guy and a little too cocky for her tastes. That said, he seemed dedicated to his job and she’d seen him handling difficult people with ease and showing compassion to scared children. But who knew? He could be more burned out than was apparent.
That left the three coworkers not here at the moment, probably meeting with witnesses or family members. And she couldn’t forget Sadie, who had worked in Child Protective Services longer than any of them, albeit not in this office, and who did still take on some investigations. Oh—and Celeste, of course, although that stretched credulity.
Work, Lindsay told herself, but five minutes later her mind had circled back to the beginning. Could Matt really hate her that much…?
She looked up from her laptop but again, as with every time she did, she found her coworkers surreptitiously watching her. Her eyes flew back down to her screen.
She thought her day couldn’t get any worse. Untill Daniel—Detective Deperro—and Boyd Chaney, Granger County sheriff, showed up to escort her into the conference room again to interview her.
Chapter Eight
Thursday, Daniel parked at the curb two doors down from the Norris house. More accurately, from the house where Paige Norris would soon live alone if she didn’t sell it. For the moment, yellow tape still stretched across the front door; Paige was staying in a hotel.
There were a few neighbors he had yet to catch at home. Some had apparently been away for the weekend, and unavailable the other times he’d knocked on their doors.
Today, Melinda was tied up with another investigation. Daniel had figured lunch hour might be a good time to find someone home who hadn’t been at other times of the day.
With the sun high in the sky, the heat hit Daniel as soon as he stepped out of his unmarked SUV. This was one of those moments when he wished he didn’t have air-conditioning in it, not to mention the police station and his home. The plunge from low to high temperatures was what got to him. He’d be sweat-soaked in no time.
What were the odds he’d learn anything at all helpful from random neighbors who hadn’t thought to call 9-1-1 and say, I saw this man carrying a bloody ax running out the back door? Sure, and the witness also saw the make, color and model of the car the ax-wielder hopped into.
Daniel was not optimistic.
Here they were, nearly two weeks since the first murder, and they now had four bodies. And no leads. No witnesses. Nobody had heard anything, noticed an unfamiliar car in the vicinity. Nothing in the background of any CPS worker jumped out at him to justify formally interviewing him or her.
Monday, after he and Boyd had talked to Lindsay at the CPS offices, he’d managed to start casual conversations with Matt Grudin and Ray Hammond. A couple of the women had jumped in, too, but he’d focused on the men. Hadn’t taken him thirty seconds to discover how intensely he disliked Grudin, but he knew he’d started with a bias. That said, the guy did carry a boatload of anger coupled with arrogance. The fact that most of his coworkers must know Lindsay had turned him down wasn’t something he took lightly. He didn’t succeed in hiding how pleased he was that Lindsay was in trouble, an attitude that shot him straight to the top of Daniel’s list of suspects. Grudin ticked a lot of the markers Daniel was looking for.
Hammond maintained a bland facade that made him unreadable. Unremarkable, too, if Daniel hadn’t known that he, too, had unsuccessfully pursued Lindsay.
His next stop had been to talk to the IT unit, who claimed there’d been no hacking of the database, and to Sadie Culver, who wasn’t surprised at his interest in the caseworkers she directed but either didn’t have so much as a nugget of suspicion toward any of them or chose not to share it.
After the interviews, he’d ruled out a couple of the women he didn’t see as physically able to commit the murders. And he hadn’t been able to narrow his interest in the others enough to justify going beyond background checks and some general questions about the caseworkers’ schedules and whether any of them had been involved, even in a secondary role, with any of the CPS investigations that had ended in murder.
Although Melinda and Boyd were as baffled as he was, frustration didn’t seem to ride them the way it did Daniel. Boyd was mostly peeved that a man like Howard Haycroft had slipped by the employment vetting at the ranch. Melinda’s dark mood had to do with her determination to be the one to crack the case. Proving she was more competent, smarter, than Boyd Chaney was her reason for getting up in the morning, as far as Daniel could tell. She hadn’t done or said anything so far that would compel him to issue a warning, but her simmering competitiveness irritated him.
Monday hadn’t been improved by the gauntlet of journalists, some with TV cameras, he and Boyd had had to run to get into the state DHS offices to talk to Lindsay. “We are not at this point prepared to make a statement” didn’t even slow the shouted questions. Daniel hated knowing that it had to have been worse for her. He had called her several times during the week, ostensibly to ask additional questions of his own but really to
find out how she was doing. Every time, the strain in her voice had been a reminder of her face during the Monday interview: too pale, the bones seemingly more prominent than usual, purple circles beneath her eyes.
He’d wanted to do a lot more than call her, but had reined himself in enough to know he needed to keep his distance. He shouldn’t have taken her riding at his place that one time.
The week had passed with excruciating slowness. Now here he was on Thursday, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Who was next to die?
Shaking his head, he rang a doorbell, stepping to one side of the door while he waited for a response. No, he didn’t suppose the middle-aged man who resided at this address intended to whip out a shotgun and blast him through the door, but better safe than sorry.
To his mild surprise, he heard footsteps and a minute later the door opened.
Daniel held out his badge and elicited the information that this was the homeowner, Ralph Brown.
“Sir, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” He nodded toward the Norris house. “I’m sure you heard about the murder.”
“You kidding?” The guy stepped out on the porch and followed Daniel’s gaze. He looked older than his years, his face weather beaten and heavily lined, his hair steel gray. “That’s all anyone talks about. I only knew those folks to wave at, but it shakes you up.”
“I understand. Is there any chance you were home between, say, eight-thirty and eleven in the morning that day? Might you have seen Mrs. Norris leave for work?”
“Yeah, I did. Real pretty woman. Always friendly.”
Daniel smiled. “Yes, she is.” Allows her husband to sexually abuse her young daughters, but hey—she smiles at the neighbors. “Did you see anyone arrive at the house, before or after she left?”
“No, I left probably twenty minutes after she did. I remember running a little late. I can’t see their house from any of my windows, you know. It’s blocked by my next-door neighbor’s place. I only noticed Mrs. Norris because I happened to be looking out when she drove by.”
The Hunting Season Page 9
