by Susan Lund
Whatever the case, they had to find the actual creep who was responsible for the murders, and Gene's father was increasingly looking like he fit the bill. Daryl was and always had been a creep of the first order. He'd obviously been involved in several murders, including Janine. Of the two men, Michael liked Daryl as the dominant serial killer of the duo. Maybe John Hammond had gone along because he was implicated in the child porn. Whatever the case, they'd never know, now that John and Garth were dead.
All that was left was the scum Daryl Kincaid himself.
They could tie Patrice to him directly through the videotape of him killing her at the old service station. They had several other hits on missing girls that matched locations and dates that he was doing deliveries. That would take several cases off the books.
All in all, it was satisfying to close up so many at once. Hopefully, they'd interview Daryl and get him to confess to the rest, although with someone as psychopathic as Daryl, it would be quite a game; whoever interviewed him would need to keep their wits about them. Serial killers were notoriously close-lipped unless they wanted to rack up the kills for the fame. If they could get Daryl to confess to others, it would lift a burden off the police who were still carrying the cold cases on their rosters. Families would get closure, even if it wasn't the news they hoped to get. People could mourn their dead and move on with their lives.
Michael was certain they'd find evidence of Lisa Tate somewhere in the mess of houses and buildings and the stash of pornography.
If so, he, too, could move on with his life, having closed the Lisa Tate case from his teenage years. He was certain that would remove a psychological burden that had lain heavy on his conscience for all those years.
On his way home, he passed the local electronics shop and decided to go inside, thinking it would be a good thing to have a GPS tracking device in Tess's vehicle, just in case anything happened, and she got lost. He bought two, one for each of their vehicles, and planned on setting them up when he got home.
Considering that they had both been attacked, it was the least he could do.
Chapter Four
Tess sat at the dining room table and went over her notes. Ever since she’d learned about the bones found in her father's attic wall, she'd been stewing over it and what it meant. When Michael arrived at the door, she glanced up and checked her watch.
"You should have called," she said and went to where he stood. When he’d finished removing his jacket and shucking his boots, she gave him a kiss. "I would have come and picked you up."
"I know, but I wanted to walk, clear my head of all the cobwebs from sitting around doing nothing. It was good for me."
They kissed again and embraced, and Tess enjoyed the feel of his body against hers.
"Besides, I got these little babies," he said and pulled the bag with the two trackers out of his jacket pocket. "GPS tracking devices. We should have one with us at all times. Just in case."
"Oh, Michael. You're really that worried?"
"Better safe than sorry," he replied.
He pulled her back into his arms. "Now that I have you, I don't want anything bad to happen to you. Until we know who attacked us, I want you to be safe. You have to make sure to take this baby with you every time you go out, so it can track your position. That way, if anything happens, I can find you."
Tess examined the GPS tracker. It was a small black device, designed to be attached to a keychain.
"How do I turn it on?" she asked and looked for a switch.
"No, you turn it on using an app on your cell phone. We'll set it up later. I'll add it to my cell so I can see where you are in case anything happens."
"You're scaring me," she said and looked in his eyes.
"I want to scare you," he said. "Both of us have to be safe."
He kissed her, pulling her against his body tightly. Of course, Mrs. Carter picked that as the perfect moment to pop her head in from the back hallway.
"Michael, there you are! Did you hear the news?"
They broke their embrace.
"What news?"
"Weren't you just down at the station with Chief Joe?"
"I was," he said, his voice hesitant, like he didn’t really want to tell his mother.
Mrs. Carter came over, an expression of horror on her face.
"You haven't heard about the bones?"
Mrs. Carter glanced at Tess. She turned back to Michael and put her hands on her hips. She shook her head. " Of course, you know about the bones.”
“You shouldn't know about the bones, but I guess Tess told you." Michael glanced at Tess, his eyebrows raised. "Chief Joe was clear that I shouldn't let you know in particular, Mom. He knew if you knew, the rest of Paradise Hill would know since you are one of the most important parts of the town's grapevine.”
They all laughed at that. Mrs. Carter smiled. "You know I'm second on the vine, after Martha down at the gas station. But I'm flattered that you think I'm more important."
They went into the kitchen and Tess and Michael sat at the island, while Mrs. Carter put the coffeemaker on”
"So, spill the beans, Michael. What do the police and FBI think of it?"
Michael shrugged. "You know as much as I do. They're going to do a DNA profile on the bones to see who it is and which case they can take off the books."
"But who did it?" Mrs. Carter asked, her tone impatient. "Was it Ron?"
"I don't think so," Michael said. He took Tess's hand and squeezed under the countertop. "I think Ron has been the unwitting accomplice in all this."
Tess turned to him, checking his face to see if she could see any hint of deception. Was he just saying that to be nice or did he really think her father was innocent?
"I hope you're right," she said and sighed. "There was so much evidence in his house. I don't know how you can think he wasn't involved."
"He was a shut-in the last few years of his life. He was a hoarder. We know he took the contents of John's storage shed into his house when John couldn't afford to pay for it any longer. His house would have been a perfect place to store stuff you didn't want anyone to find. I wouldn't be surprised if John or Daryl hid things in his house because, given the mess, your father probably wouldn't have even known about it."
"Your mom said my mother suspected my father of using prostitutes on his route back when he was still driving," Tess said.
Mrs. Carter raised her eyebrows, nodding. "Sorry, Tess, but it's true. I'm only telling you what your mother told me back when you were just a child.”
"I know," Tess replied, her mood dampening again. "There's no reason not to suspect him, given everything."
"No," Michael replied and shook his head firmly. "I just don't see Ron being part of this. But anyway, we'll see whether Ron shows up on the hard drives and memory cards, but I don't think they'll find anything linking him to any actual murders."
To Tess’s relief, they moved on to talking about Daryl Kincaid and how the police and FBI would be interviewing him, confronting him with evidence and trying to extract a confession. How they hoped Daryl would offer to disclose locations of bodies and names of victims so they could close cases in return for a reduced sentence. Daryl would never get out of jail, but he might get better conditions if he cooperated.
"How long until they can get an ID on the bones?" Tess asked.
"They'll put a priority on it. Hopefully, with the new PCR tests, it'll come back in forty-eight hours."
"I sure hope it's not Lisa," Tess said softly.
Michael squeezed her hand. "Even if it is, it still doesn't mean your dad did it."
She nodded but didn't say anything. She couldn't escape the fear that her father was just as guilty as John or Daryl. The only thing that could assuage her fears would be proof that he’d had no idea, but how could that be?
How could he not have known what was in his attic?
For the next two days, Michael and Tess spent time working on the cases, filling in gaps in Tess's know
ledge for her article. The website The Missing was abuzz with discussion about the cases in Paradise Hill, and speculation was rife that they would soon find other missing girls.
Early Saturday morning after breakfast Michael was sitting with Tess at the dining room table, working on her article, when he received a call.
"It's Chief Joe," he said and raised his eyebrows. "Hello, Chief Hammond. What can I do for you?"
Michael listened and nodded.
"Go on," he said and then turned to Tess, holding a finger up in the air. "That's what I thought. He probably used it as a kill site."
A surge of excitement and dread went through Tess. The mention of 'kill site' could only mean they’d found a location where one of the girls had been killed. That meant evidence.
"Thanks for calling. I'll be happy to come and sit in."
Michael ended the call and put his cell down on the table.
"Well?" Tess asked. "Can you tell me?"
He shrugged. "Technically, I'm not supposed to know, but Chief Joe wants my advice on how to deal with the FBI, so that's what I'm doing—sort of an informal consultant. On a hunch, Chief Joe sent a couple of detectives to Lake Hayden, where Daryl Kincaid had a cabin years ago before he went to jail. Seems they found some evidence there of a murder. An FBI forensic team is processing the scene now."
"Oh, God, how many girls did they kill?"
"We'll have to see what the forensic tests turn up. In the meantime, he wants me to go with him up to the cabin."
"You're going to go?" Tess asked, feeling a stab of concern for him in her gut. She worried that he was getting involved in the case again too deeply, before he was physically ready. "You're still on medical leave."
"Yes, mother," he said and smiled indulgently. "I'm fine. There's no way in hell I'd miss the chance to go up to the cabin and see what Kincaid and Hammond were involved in."
"Your therapist might not like you getting involved."
"My therapist is just there for advice. He doesn't control what I do on my off-time. Police often hire outside consultants to provide advice on cases. That might just be my new occupation, if I can't do field work anymore."
"Okay," Tess said, realizing that Michael was going to do what he was going to do. She didn't want to presume to disapprove of his decision. They were seeing each other, but they hadn't made any kind of longer-term commitment. He was his own man, and she had to respect that.
But she still didn't like it. While she understood his need to become involved, especially given the possibility that Lisa's remains had been found, she worried that he'd be so absorbed by the case that he'd ignore his health. He had been put on medical leave for a reason, but so far, he didn’t seem to be taking it seriously, downplaying the reasons for his breakdown.
He was so driven by his sense of guilt.
Tess felt the same. She held an image in her mind's eye of Lisa the way she was that night: her cheeks pink from the cool autumn air, her blonde hair long, her blue eyes wide as she listened to Kirsten tell scary stories by the light of the flashlight.
Unfortunately for Lisa, the boogeyman was real, and had probably been watching them from the forest behind the house, just waiting for the moment when one of the girls had been vulnerable. It could have been any one of them—even Kirsten, who had seemed so much braver than Tess and especially Lisa. Kirsten had been afraid of no one. Tess imagined that if some man had approached her, she'd have kicked him in the balls and screamed, but you never knew how any given person would react when threatened.
She watched as Michael pulled on his boots and then helped him with his weak shoulder; the arm was still in a sling so the jacket couldn't be put on completely.
"You'll be cold," she said and adjusted his jacket. "Don't forget to wear your seatbelt even though you've got your arm in a sling."
He smiled indulgently and bent down to kiss her. "Yes, dear."
She frowned. "Seriously, Michael. You're still healing. Be careful. If you want the injury to heal properly, you should take it easy. Nothing strenuous for six weeks, remember?"
"I know, I know," he said and kissed her again, still amused by her attempts to care for him. "I just can't turn this opportunity down. You have to understand. Tell me you don't want to come along."
She shook her head. "Of course, I do, but you have to think of your shoulder. If you want to shoot again…"
"I'll be fine."
Mrs. Carter came out of the back of the house.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her expression concerned.
"I'm going to Lake Hayden with Chief Hammond," Michael replied, his tone light, like it was nothing at all. "There's a potential crime scene and he wants my advice. I'm doing some consulting work for him."
"Oh, Michael, you shouldn't—"
Before she could finish, Michael held up his good hand, and pointed to her.
"Not you, too. Tess has already given me the third degree about it. I'm being careful, and I'll be fine. I have to hone my skills as a profiler, just in case I can't go back to field work. Consider this my start."
He smiled at Tess and then his mother.
“We'll see you when you get back," she said finally. "Enjoy yourself."
"I will," he said and gave her another quick kiss.
Tess watched as Michael walked down the driveway to the street, where a black sedan idled. It was Chief Joe.
She waved at him and he smiled and waved back, then she watched as they drove off towards the road out of town.
"It makes him happy to be involved," she said to Mrs. Carter, who stood beside her, watching as the vehicle disappeared around a corner.
"It also makes him sad," Mrs. Carter said. "What matters is which one wins."
Tess glanced at Mrs. Carter, whose brow was furrowed as she turned away.
"You're worried about him," she said, wanting to comfort the woman.
"Aren't you?" Mrs. Carter asked.
"Yes," Tess replied. "But he has to make his own decisions."
"Let's just hope he makes the right ones,” Mrs. Carter said with a sigh. “For his own sake."
Tess went back to the dining room table, determined to get as much work done on her article as she could while Michael was away.
Chapter Five
The trip to Lake Hayden took just under two hours.
On the way there, Chief Joe went over the evidence they’d found there so far. The cabin was located in a heavily wooded area on the north side of the lake, back from the water a few hundred feet. Only one narrow drive led to the cabin, and the building itself was weathered and decrepit looking, the wood gray from years without attention. The brush was overgrown and when they arrived, a team of white-suited technicians was working away, digging in the yard.
Luckily, the weather was sunny; it was still chilly, but it was better than rain for the technicians working at a pit beside the cabin.
"What have you got?" Chief Joe asked, glancing down as he stood beside the pit.
"Bones," one of the techs replied. “Human. Maybe more than one body. Looks like they were dismembered before being buried. Cut marks on the bones.”
"Jesus Christ," Chief Joe said, then turned quickly to Michael. “Pardon my French."
"No worries," Michael replied. "Looks like we found another missing girl. Maybe two."
"Looks like it," Chief Joe replied.
They went to the cabin itself and opened the door to find another technician working away in the interior, taking fingerprints and collecting other samples.
Chief Joe grabbed some white cloth shoe covers and handed a pair to Michael, who knew the drill for a crime scene. They both slipped them on, then went into the kitchen, where another tech was photographing the counter and sink.
"Jesus," Chief Joe said and shook his head. In the drawer beside the sink, Michael saw a collection of knives and other instruments that had clear bloodstains on them. The sink was also stained with old dried blood, that appeared black because it was so old.
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Michael picked up a heavy cleaver after slipping on his gloves.
"Looks like something you could use to dismember a body.”
"That it does," Chief Joe said. “Then there’s this,” he said and picked up an axe. He slipped it into an evidence bag and handed it to a tech.
They left the kitchen and headed for the bathroom.
"Well, looky here," Chief Joe said when he went inside and glanced in the tub.
Michael followed him and saw dark stains on the tub and in the drain. Someone had used the tub to wash blood off of something but hadn't cleaned the tub afterwards.
That was sloppy. It meant that whoever used the cabin to commit their crimes wasn't worried about anyone finding it and discovering evidence. The technician was taking samples from the bloodstains, swabbing the area, then slipping the swab into the sterile medium, which would be sent to the crime lab. Another technician was photographing the crime scene for the record.
It was a busy place.
Just as they were leaving to go back out to where the techs were digging, Special Agent Nash drove up, parking beside Chief Joe's sedan. He had a coffee in hand and was eating the remains of a bagel.
"There you are," Nash said and nodded to them. "I drove into town to get something to eat." He turned to Michael. "I didn't think you were supposed to get involved in the case."
Chief Joe stepped forward and laid a hand on Michael's good shoulder. "I'm using him as a consultant. You know, help me understand all the details. We haven't had many murder cases in Paradise Hill over the years. Never had a serial case before or had to work with you Feds."
Nash waved his hand to signal he didn't care. "I'm good. Far as I'm concerned, I can use the help. What have we got so far?"
The three men stood together while Chief Joe went over what they'd found so far, including potentially more than one body, bloodstains and murder weapons.
