The Forgotten Widow

by Layne, Kennedy

  “We can’t tie Oliver to Viola Chambers in any way,” Chaz said, having taken point on that lead. “I’ll keep on digging, though.”

  “I thought Guthfield was out of the state at the time of the murders,” Evans said, taking his cap off and tossing it onto the table. “Dwight, didn’t you mention the other day that you had the manifests for his flights?”

  “I forwarded the email from the airport yesterday.” Dwight leaned back in his chair, away from his laptop. He motioned to the monitor. “You’ll see Guthfield’s name is crossed out. I personally spoke with the pilot and the flight attendant who works for the private charter company that caters to certain businessmen in the area. They confirmed Guthfield was definitely on the two flights in question. No doubt in their minds.”

  “Which now leaves two possible unsubs who fit the profile,” Dean stated, reaching for his coffee. Kenna mentioned yesterday that she’d received a message from Brighton regarding the receipts for the pub’s renovations, but she hadn’t returned his call. Dean had asked her to hold off just a day or two until he finally received footage of the street camera in front of the pub during the time of Quinn Simmons’ break-in. “Anything new on Benjamin Henry?”

  “Henry certainly fits the profile better than Brighton, but there’s nothing to say that the unsub wasn’t born in another state and transplanted to Winter Heights. We talked about this before,” Linc said, not looking up from Tamara Johnson’s file. “The unsub’s family could have moved here during his formative years right after the death of his father, leaving Winter Heights the only home he remembers.”

  “That type of research could take months,” Dwight warned, rubbing his chin in thought. He motioned toward the monitor. “I could attempt to go through public records, but I’d really need access to the school databases to get a list of those who attended kindergarten or first grade in the local school district.”

  The probability of obtaining that information on such a tenuous probability the killer was in fact a locally grown offender was next to zero, given the privacy laws in place. They’d have to come up with another way to generate more leads into their suspect pool.

  “Henry goes into work every day, puts in his eight hours, and then comes home without fail.” Chaz shrugged when Dean gave him a questioning look. They didn’t have the manpower to monitor Henry twenty-four-seven. “What? I call into the man’s office, ask the receptionist if I can speak with him, and then hang up before he picks up his line.”

  “Let me guess,” Dean offered what everyone else in the room had already figured out. “You call into the man’s place of business at approximately zero eight hundred and then again at sixteen hundred hours. And after he clocks out? I highly doubt you’re calling his house and speaking with the man’s mother to do the same.”

  “I do have my limits,” Chaz acknowledge without compunction. “Deputies patrolling the area say Henry only ever goes out on a Wednesday evening, and that is to drive to the grocery store. He’s a very methodical shopper, if you wanted to put that in your notes. He takes a list with him, and he never buys the impulse items at the checkout lanes.”

  Chaz’s need to go above and beyond his call of duty was the main reason Dean had wanted to keep local law enforcement involved with the investigation. It was nice to see his decision pay off, and he would be sure to note that in the case documents should something of this magnitude ever resurface. One could only assume this town had suffered at the hands of evil enough for one lifetime.

  “Daryl Brighton.” Dean had been doing his best to remain impartial, but that was hard to do when the man had close ties to Kenna. “Evans? Have you heard or seen anything at the pub?”

  “Nothing of worth.”

  The weight of Chaz’s stare told Dean that there was only one outcome to that response, but Dean wasn’t so quick to make the decision to pull Evans’ cover.

  “Dwight, anything from the street cameras the night Quinn Simmons’ townhome was broken into?” Dean also noticed another lead on the monitor that hadn’t been crossed off. “And did we ever obtain the old footage on the night of the first murder from Connor Pryor, the previous owner of the pub?”

  “Daryl Brighton did not leave the pub on the night in question, and Connor Pryor said that he gave all the old footage to Brighton. He in turn claims that the tapes are not in the office anymore and that he replaced the entire system with a more modern digital system as part of the business upgrades.”

  Linc continued to remain silent as he quietly turned the pages in Tamera Johnson’s file. He was staunch in his opinion that Brighton wasn’t their unsub based on the fact that both the man’s parents were still alive. Another profiler would have given an inch in his opinion, especially considering the timeline of events.

  “What are the chances of obtaining a search warrant for the pub’s office and storage room?” Evans asked, clearly knowing his time undercover was coming to an end.

  “There’s enough plausibility that we’d probably be granted one to confirm his alibi.” Dean jotted a reminder in his notebook. “I’ll get the paperwork started on it, and we’ll see what that yields us. In the meantime, get someone out to the company that installed the new security system. I want to know if they hauled away the old system or possibly the tapes. What about the hotline?”

  “Calls are slow, especially now that Quinn Simmons has been relatively quiet about the unsub contacting her,” Linc replied, finally looking up from the Johnson file. “That’s about to change, but she is definitely our link to generating calls from the public.”

  Evans choked on his coffee at the inference of the wording Linc had used, so close to his own name, and even Chaz had given the profiler a double take after Dwight had handed him some paperwork. Linc’s dry sense of humor hadn’t changed over the years.

  “Seriously,” Linc pressed forth, already over the humor in his selection of verbiage. He leaned back in his chair with a frown. “The unsub is using personal information to blackmail Miss Simmons, although I do believe it’s the threat of a new victim that has her printing his letter in tomorrow’s paper. She’ll go into more detail during her podcast, which will no doubt catch the attention of the country on a national level.”

  Dean loathed being given deadlines, but Quinn had given them one anyway.

  “I ran a complete background check on her. I’m just waiting on Erin to send me the file to rate our probabilities of digging up the same dirt.”

  Dean lifted the lid to his laptop, waiting for the sleep mode to turn off. His email updated, and the file he’d been waiting for had finally come through. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. If they could mitigate whatever fallout came from Quinn’s secret being revealed, then maybe they stood a chance of keeping that letter out of the hands of the public. As for the threat of another victim being taken, Dean was positive they could get her to see that nothing was going to stop this man from brutally killing another woman.

  “Well?” Linc asked, an edge to his tone that Dean had never heard before.

  He should have been able to answer relatively quickly, given that there wasn’t that much information to be had on the reporter. He quickly started from the beginning and made his way through the background check once more.

  “Nothing from what I see,” Dean replied, mystified to find that Quinn Simmons hadn’t even had a parking ticket in her thirty-one years of life. “She’s clean.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing,” Dwight said, clicking on a few keys himself until a list of flower shops was displayed on the monitor. “There are good people out in the world, Agent Malone.”

  It was hard to miss the way the tension released its grip from Linc’s fist that he’d made around his pen. Dean hadn’t been the only one who’d been expecting something to be found in Quinn’s background check. Had she given a reason for Linc to believe that the unsub had reached out to her for more than just her career?

  Not even Kenna, who had a heart of gold, was squeaky c
lean. She currently had three unpaid past due parking tickets that he’d already arranged to have paid for her, but the point was that there was always a blemish or two to be found. They were all human, and not one of them was perfect. So how was it that Quinn Simmons appeared to be such a flawless individual on paper?

  “I’ve been keeping in touch with the owners of the flower shops, and—”

  Chaz abruptly stood up from his chair, causing everyone in the conference room to follow his gaze to the bullpen. Governor Richard Compton had been granted access past the security entrance by Deputy Chen, and the man seemed hellbent on being given answers where there were none to be had. This didn’t bode well for a day that Dean had set aside for them to regroup and search for another approach.

  “Fuck,” Chaz muttered, making his way to the door. “I should have listened to my wife and gone to work for her father selling insurance.”

  Tonight was finally the night that she would find peace.

  He twirled the red rose in his gloved hand, his gift to her. It had taken him the standard amount of time to monitor her daily routine, and she’d gone back to her monotonous schedule after the holiday. She hadn’t even spent the day with her own family. That alone told him it was time to bestow his gift of peace.

  He mulled over his letter to Quinn Simmons as he slid behind the steering wheel. It hadn’t been very nice of him to threaten another woman’s life for the sake of blackmailing her to do the right thing. She should understand his reasonings, but instead she’d ignored the truth—this was his calling. There was no reason to wait any longer, either. She’d already promised her readers and listeners that something juicy was to be released tomorrow, which meant she’d already submitted his letter to the local paper. The moniker she’d chosen for him would be on the lips of everyone. He would finally be hailed the hero he knew himself to be.

  “Only I know how to make it better.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I was hoping you’d say that, Mom,” Kenna replied, closing the filing cabinet in the corner of her home office. She’d put in a full day, having taken off quite a bit of time last week. It had felt good to get some clarification on her clients to see what was needed by the end of the month. She’d already sent out the year-end notices to start gathering details as a prelude to scheduling consultations for tax season. Her planning ahead allowed her enough time to decorate for the holidays. “I think you and Dad will really like Dean. He’s…”

  Kenna broke off, surprised at what she’d been going to say aloud.

  “Someone Justin would approve of?” her mother replied, knowing her daughter almost as well as the back of her own hand. “Kenna dear, Justin would have wanted you to be happy. He loved you with all his heart in the short time that he had with you. Your happiness meant more to him than his own. And the same goes for me and your father, as I’m sure you’re aware. We look forward to meeting him.”

  Kenna smiled, recalling the time that Justin had almost said the same thing word for word during their wedding vows. It was getting easier to remember those special times without the physical ache in her chest. He would forever be a part of her, but she was still breathing and experiencing what life had to offer. She wouldn’t take that for granted anymore.

  “What we aren’t too happy about is that you’ve chosen to stay there while these murders are taking place,” Marie stated in that serious tone of hers that told Kenna she was in for another lecture. “I think that once Christmas is over, you should drive back down to Florida with us. I’m sure your new beau would agree wholeheartedly.”

  “Mom, Dean is literally here every night while he works out of the Winter Heights Police Department.” Kenna wasn’t about to get into another long and drawn-out discussion about her decision to stay in her own home. “How much safer could I be with a federal agent staying underneath my own roof?”

  Kenna realized that she’d left her office blinds open, so she reached over for the string to pull them shut. The glow of the streetlamps glistened off the wet asphalt. It had been drizzling rain most of the day, although the meteorologist had warned that the rain would turn into snow as night approached. He’d been right, as big flakes began to drift down and disappear into the shadows. Before Kenna was successful in fully closing the white wooden slats, a flash of white and brown caught her attention.

  “Mom, I have to go,” Kenna announced, hurrying around her desk. “Rocky or Adrian, I’m not sure which one, escaped their backyard.”

  Kenna rushed down the hallway and into her kitchen, sidestepping Spartacus as he popped out to see what all the fuss was about. It was highly doubtful that he’d want to help save a nemesis. She’d left her winter boots near the garage door, so all she had to do was slip her socked feet inside, giving her a chance to stroke Spartacus in reassurance.

  “I’ll be right back,” Kenna whispered to the tomcat, who was already walking away. “Mom, I’ll call you later.”

  “We are not through with this discussion, McKenzie Rose,” her mother warned while Kenna sent a silent message of thanks to whichever English bulldog had decided to have a little fun tonight. “Call me the second you get back.”

  Kenna didn’t even bother to reply, but instead disconnected the line and set her phone on the counter. She put on her jacket and zipped it closed before disabling the alarm. The system had been installed without any issues, and she could even see who was at the door without even leaving the comfort of her own couch. She was pretty sure she’d almost given the UPS driver a heart attack though, when she’d greeted him through the app on her phone.

  The moment Kenna opened the garage door, she realized that this little excursion was going to require gloves. The temperature had definitely dropped throughout the day, so it wasn’t a surprise that the rain had turned into snow. She already had her gloves on by the time she hit the driveway.

  “Rocky!” Kenna had taken a guess on which English bulldog had decided to make a run for it, patting herself on the back when the excited pup came ambling up the driveway with a big slobbery grin on his face. “Don’t give me that smile, Rocky. You can’t go running off on Adrian like that.”

  Bob had his dogs pretty well-trained, if one managed to ignore Rocky’s penchant for digging holes. Once in a blue moon it was Adrian who decided to take advantage of such an opportunity, but Rocky beat her to it this time around. Kenna grabbed his collar, hoping to see Bob walking down the street any second.

  “You know that Adrian is going to rat you out,” Kenna said, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Bob realized that one of his furbabies was missing. “Come on. Let’s get you back home.”

  Bob lived next to the McGees’ house, which meant it was a short walk. Kenna wasn’t willing to let go of Rocky’s collar, just in case he decided he wasn’t done with his jog through the neighborhood. She’d caught sight of headlights from a car turning onto their street. She somehow awkwardly maintained her hold on Rocky as they made it to the sidewalk, her back practically screaming in pain by the time they’d made it to Bob’s front door.

  His blinds were open, giving a clear view of his living room. The television was turned on to an old sitcom, but he was nowhere to be found. She certainly wasn’t expecting the door to fling wide open before she had a chance to knock. Her fingers slipped from Rocky’s collar, and Adrian’s bark had him barreling past Bob to join his best friend.

  “Thank you, Kenna,” Bob said with relief, clutching Rocky’s leash to his chest. “I heard Adrian barking at the back door and knew right away what happened. I appreciate you bringing Rocky home.”

  “Anytime,” Kenna replied, the cold finally hitting her now that she’d had a chance to breath. It was a good thing that she was wearing gloves, or else her fingers would been numb by now. “I saw Rocky running down the street when I was closing my blinds, but he came right to me when I called him.”

  Bob leaned down to pet both Rocky and Adrian when they came sidling up to him at the sound of their names. He was telling R
ocky what a good boy he was to listen to a neighbor. She exchanged some small talk, but she declined his offer to go inside for a cup of hot cocoa.

  “Another time, maybe,” Kenna replied with a smile. She pulled the zipper of her coat up a little higher. “I left my garage door open, so I need to get back.”

  “No problem. We can get caught up at the McGees’ holiday party in a few weeks. I appreciate you bringing Rocky home.”

  “Not a problem, Bob. You have a good night.”

  Kenna waved at him before he closed the door, Rocky and Adrian already being told they were going to get treats. She carefully made her way down the slightly slanted driveway, having almost slipped on a slick spot when Rocky had been dragging her toward the house. It wasn’t long before she was back on even ground with the asphalt firmly beneath her boots.

  A gust of wind came through the area rather steadily, causing a faint whistling sound through the two large pine trees in front of the McGee’s residence. The neighborhood was quiet otherwise, with those visiting family members no longer around now that the initial holiday had passed. That would change as they got closer to Christmas and New Year’s. There was a black vehicle parked across from her house, which must have been the car she’d seen entering the neighborhood. No one was inside, but she could hear the crackles and pops coming from the cooling engine.

  Kenna was just a few steps away from her garage when the light suddenly clicked off, reminding her that she’d never hit the actual light switch when she’d left the house. The light had come from the garage door opener, which was set on a timer. She slowed her pace, stopping right at the back end of her Jeep Cherokee.

  The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise, and it had nothing to do with the cold weather. She was most likely being paranoid, hearing Dean talk on his phone almost every night about the investigation with details that were made of nightmares. A glance over her shoulder though, made her realize that she’d never actually seen anyone get out of the vehicle and walk up to the McGees’ residence.