Madison had revealed to Troy, Terry, and the chief that evidence had gone “missing” under Dustin Phelps’s watch in a previous investigation and that was part of what had started her digging into him.
Joel snarled.
“Now, if there’s something you’d like to tell me that might help your brother, I’m listening.”
Madison was smiling as she watched Terry work over Joel Phelps. They’d decided that if they could play to the brothers’ loyalty, they’d be able to use it against Murphy. It was apparent to Madison the bond between the brothers was a strong one, since it seemed obvious it had been Joel who’d put an end to Leland King’s nosing around Dustin’s affairs.
Joel remained quiet.
“Fine. We’ll bring your brother in.” Terry swept the pictures into the folder and went to stand.
“Stop. My brother had nothing to do with this, and neither did I.” Joel thrust a pointed finger toward Terry. “I want that on the record.”
Madison put her head on Troy’s shoulder. “It’s working,” she whispered.
“Consider it on record,” Terry said.
“I lent my truck to Garrett Murphy because he said he was working on a home renovation project and needed to pick up some lumber. He brought my truck back, and I noticed the damage to the grille guard. I asked him about it, and he said it must have happened in the parking lot.”
“And you believed him?”
“I did. Then Detective Matthews started asking questions. I realized something serious might have happened while he had it.”
“Why not come forward?”
Madison winced at Terry’s question, hoping it wouldn’t prevent Joel from replying.
“I was just in denial, I guess. I mean, Garrett’s a friend.”
“So you’re ready to go on record that he was driving?”
“I am.”
“I’m going to need some proof,” Terry laid out, speaking to Joel as if he were a friend now.
Joel fished his phone out of his pocket and keyed on it, then handed it to Terry. “It’s a text from my wife.”
Terry read it out loud. “Garrett just dropped off the truck.”
“See the time stamp?”
“Huh. It’s about half an hour after the accident happened.” Terry looked toward the glass. They had Murphy, but they had yet to prove motive.
Terry relaxed in his chair. “Do you have any idea why Murphy would ram Detective Knight’s car?”
“I can’t imagine what was going on in his head.”
“I see.”
Seconds passed.
Terry continued. “Maybe he was pressed into it.”
Joel’s eyes flicked to Terry’s face. “Someone forced him to? Nah.” Joel shook his head.
“I just know there are a lot of powerful people in Stiles. People who aren’t a fan of Detective Knight.”
Joel crossed his arms. “The mob?”
“Funny how you went right there.”
“I know her suspicions about them, about us—me, my brother, and Murphy.”
“How?” Terry pushed back.
Joel’s gaze met Terry’s. “It’s just— Maybe I should get a lawyer.”
“Was the mob behind the accident?” Terry put a photo on the table.
Joel’s face became shadows. “Where did you get this?”
“That’s your brother there, right? And Murphy? Also, this guy is Jonathan Wright. This woman here was a mystery at first, but her name’s Tatiana Ivanova, isn’t it? And I’m quite sure she’s involved with the Russian Mafia.”
“I’ll take that lawyer now.”
“Have it your way.”
Terry left and joined everyone in the observation room.
“You did great in there,” Madison told her partner. “Thank you. Murphy will be going away now because of you.”
“It pains me to say this, but your accident was premeditated. Still don’t know if the mob ordered it or not. I think he peed his pants when I showed him that picture with Ivanova though.”
Tatiana Ivanova was why Madison leaned toward the trio acting on their own to protect their secrets and not following mob orders. A star assassin of the mob didn’t attempt to take life; she succeeded. She turned to Troy. “Thank you for your help, too, and believing in me.”
“Of course.”
Andrea went over to them. “So this is how it’s going to play out. Murphy will be brought in, and a thorough investigation conducted. I’m going to request that Internal Affairs opens investigations into him as well as Dustin Phelps.”
“Thank you.” Madison smiled at her.
“That’s not all. The intel you’ve gathered may be extremely useful, and we might need more before this is all over. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
Madison looked at Troy, and he put his arm around her.
“We’re in this together,” she said, peering in his eyes.
“Very well. The road ahead won’t be easy, but if all works out, justice will be served.” Andrea addressed Terry. “And she’s right. Great job in there.” She shook his hand and left the room.
“I’m gonna head out too,” Terry said. “Nice ring, by the way.” He smirked before turning to leave.
Madison held out her hand and splayed her fingers. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
Madison and Troy were curled up on the couch after dinner, and there was a knock at the front door.
Madison answered, and it was Cynthia.
“Do you have a minute?”
“For you, always.”
Cynthia shivered as she stepped inside. “That wind’s bitter tonight.”
Madison gestured to the couch. “That’s why we’re cozied up in front of the TV.”
“Wait a minute.” Cynthia reached out and grabbed Madison’s hand. She grinned at the sight of the ring on her finger. “Troy,” she called out, and he walked to the entryway. “It’s about time you made an honest woman out of her. Congratulations, you two.”
“Thank you.” Troy wrapped an arm around Madison.
“And you,” Cynthia directed at Madison, “will need to fill me in on everything, but I don’t want to interrupt your evening.”
“Too late for that,” Troy said, and Madison pushed him in the chest.
“I just came to quickly say—in person—that I’m appalled by Garrett’s actions and so is Lou. He’s having a hard time accepting that his friend rammed your car, Maddy. But he said that he’s been different in the past few months. More secretive and seemed to find amusement in abusing his power as a police officer. I just wanted to let you know there are no hard feelings on this end. Hope you can forgive me.” Cynthia reeled her in for a hug. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”
Madison swallowed the urge to cry. Cynthia hugging her, Troy rubbing her back.
“Me too,” is what she said, but there were moments in the past few days she didn’t feel okay; she didn’t even feel fine. She felt sad. But as long as she had Troy and her other loved ones, she’d get through her grief, and she could feel the warmth of hope. She also felt like today she made it at least one step closer to her goal of ridding Stiles of corrupt cops. Maybe one day they’d all be behind bars—would be if she had a say. But who really knows what the future holds?
-
Don’t worry there will be more Detective Madison Knight,
but in the meantime, meet Detective Amanda Steele.
NEW SERIES
AVAILABLE NOW
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The smaller the town, the bigger the secrets.
Amanda stops just inside the doorway. Chad is on the bed in the center of the room. He seems so vulnerable in death; soft, human… even harmless. But she can never forget the evil he has inflicted. Her heart is hammering as she remembers her precious daughter, with her red c
urls and infectious laugh, and how she was lowered into that little grave…
-
If you loved solving murder with Detective Madison Knight,
get a thrill hunting serial killers with FBI Agent Brandon Fisher.
Find out what happens when rookie FBI Agent Brandon Fisher takes on his first investigation, and the serial killer turns their sights on him.
Click Eleven for retailer links now!
Join Brandon Fisher and his colleagues as they hunt the most heinous and disturbing serial killers the world could ever imagine
Brandon Fisher FBI series
Eleven
Silent Graves
The Defenseless
Blue Baby
Violated
Remnants
On the Count of Three
Past Deeds
Keep reading for more from Carolyn Arnold
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Read all of Carolyn Arnold’s books?
For a complete updated list of Carolyn Arnold books visit CarolynArnold.net/Books
Click each title to buy or download a sample
Brandon Fisher FBI series
Eleven
Silent Graves
The Defenseless
Blue Baby
Violated
Remnants
On the Count of Three
Past Deeds
Detective Madison Knight series
Ties That Bind
Justified
Sacrifice
Found innocent
Just Cause
Deadly Impulse
In the Line of Duty
Power Struggle
Shades of Justice
What We Bury
Life Sentence (prequel romantic suspense)
McKinley Mysteries
The Day Job is Murder
Vacation is Murder
Money is Murder
Politics is Murder
Family is Murder
Shopping is Murder
Christmas is Murder
Valentine’s Day is Murder
Coffee is Murder
Skiing is Murder
Halloween is Murder
Exercise is Murder
Matthew Connor Adventure series
City of Gold
The Secret of the Lost Pharaoh
The Legend of Gasparilla and His Treasure
Standalone
Assassination of a Dignitary
Pearls of Deception
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Continue reading for a preview of Eveven
Eleven Rooms. Ten Bodies. One Empty Grave.
When Brandon Fisher joined the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, he knew he’d come up against psychopaths, sociopaths, pathological liars, and more. But when his first case takes him and the team to Salt Lick, Kentucky, to hunt down a ritualistic serial killer, he learns what nightmares are truly made of.
Beneath a residential property, local law enforcement discovered an underground bunker with circular graves that house the remains of ten victims. But that’s not all: there’s an empty eleventh grave, just waiting for a corpse. The killing clearly hasn’t come to an end yet, and with the property owner already behind bars, Brandon is certain there’s an apprentice who roams free.
As the FBI follows the evidence across the United States, Brandon starts to struggle with the deranged nature of his job description. And if the case itself isn’t going to be enough to push Brandon over the edge, he’s working in the shadow of Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper, who expects nothing short of perfection from his team. To make matters even worse, it seems Brandon has become the target of a psychotic serial killer who wants to make him—or his wife—victim number eleven.
-
One
Nothing in the twenty weeks at Quantico had prepared me for this.
A crime scene investigator, who had identified himself as Earl Royster when we’d first arrived, addressed my boss, FBI Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper, “All of the victims were buried—” He held up a finger, his eyes squeezed shut, and he sneezed. “Sorry ’bout that. My allergies don’t like it down here. They were all buried the same way.”
This was my first case with the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit, and it had brought me and the three other members of my team to Salt Lick, Kentucky. The discovery was made this morning, and we were briefed and flown in from Quantico to the Louisville field office where we picked up a couple of SUVs. We drove from there and arrived in Salt Lick at about four in the afternoon.
We were in an underground bunker illuminated by portable lights brought in by the local investigative team. The space was eleven feet beneath the cellar of a house that was the size of a mobile trailer. We stood in a central hub from which four tunnels spread out like a root system. The space was fifteen feet by seven and a half feet and six and a half feet tall.
The walls were packed dirt, and an electrical cord ran along the ceiling and down the tunnels with pigtail light fixtures dangling every few feet. The bulbs cut into the height of the tunnels by eight inches.
I pulled on my shirt collar wishing for a smaller frame than my six foot two inches. As it was, the three of us could have reached out and touched each other if we were so inclined. The tunnels were even narrower at three feet wide.
“It’s believed each victim had the same cuts inflicted,” Royster began, “although most of the remains are skeletal, so it’s not as easy to know for sure, but based on burial method alone, this guy obviously adhered to some sort of ritual. The most recent victim is only a few years old and was preserved by the soil. The oldest remains are estimated to date back twenty-five to thirty years. Bingham moved in twenty-six years ago.”
Lance Bingham was the property owner, age sixty-two, and was currently serving three to five years in a correctional facility for killing two cows and assaulting a neighbor. If he had moved in twenty-six years ago, that would put Bingham at thirty-six years old at the time. The statistical age for a serial killer to start out is early to mid-thirties.
The CSI continued to relay more information about how the tunnels branched out in various directions, likely extending beneath a neighboring cornfield, and the ends came to bulbous tips, like subterranean cul-de-sacs.
“There are eleven rooms and only ten bodies,” Jack summarized with impatience and pulled a cigarette out of a shirt pocket. He didn’t light up, but his mouth was clamped down on it as if it were a lifeline.
Royster’s gaze went from the cigarette to Jack’s eyes. “Yes. There’s one tunnel tha
t leads to a dead end, and there’s one empty grave.”
Jack turned to me. “What do you make of it?” he asked, the cigarette bobbing on his lips as he spoke.
Everyone looked at me expectantly. “Of the empty grave?” I squeaked out.
Jack squinted and removed the cigarette from his mouth. “That and the latest victim.”
“Well…” My collar felt tighter, and I cleared my throat, then continued. “Bingham had been in prison for the last three years. The elaborate tunnel system he had going would have taken years to plan and dig, and it would have taken a lot of strength. My guess would be that Bingham wasn’t working alone. He had help and, after he went to prison, someone followed in his footsteps.”
Jack perched the unlit smoke back between his lips. “Hmm.”
I wasn’t sure how to read Hmm, but the way his gaze scrutinized me, I was thinking he wasn’t necessarily impressed.
“Anyway, you’ll want to see it for yourself.” Royster gestured down one of the tunnels and took a step toward it. “I know I haven’t seen anything like—” Royster didn’t catch his sneeze in time, and snot sprayed through the air.
Ick. I stepped back.
More sniffles. “Again, sorry ’bout that. Anyway, this way.”
Jack motioned for me to follow behind Royster, ahead of him.
I took a deep breath, anticipating the tight quarters of the tunnel.
Sweat dripped down my back, and I pulled on my collar again.
“Go ahead, Kid,” Jack directed.
He’d adopted the pet name for me from the moment we’d met, and I wished he’d just call me by my name.
Both Jack and the CSI were watching me.
The CSI said, “We’ll look at the most recent victim first. Now, as you know, the victims alternated male and female. The tenth victim was female so we believe the next is going to be—”
“Let me guess, male,” Jack interrupted him.
“Yeah.” Royster took off down the third tunnel that fed off from the bottom right of the hub.
What We Bury Page 29
