by Joanna Wayne
Chapter Ten
Sydney’s fingers tightened around the phone, bracing herself as best she could for Jackson’s news.
“What is it?”
“We weren’t able to get any usable fingerprints from the exterior of Rachel’s car.”
Sydney exhaled sharply, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A fingerprint report was the least of what she’d been dreading, but she knew from his tone there was more.
“And inside the SUV?” she asked.
“We retrieved several different fingerprints. I’m sorry to have to hit you with this, but the prints of one of the missing women was found inside the car.”
The ray of hope she’d held on to that Rachel might not be one of the serial abductor’s victims disintegrated. She was disheartened, but not surprised. On some level of consciousness, she’d known that all along.
“Whose prints were they?”
“Michelle Dickens.”
Sydney had always had a keen short-term memory for relevant facts. She reviewed in her mind what she’d learned about Michelle at her meeting with Jackson’s team yesterday. Age twenty-five. Disappeared after leaving a friend’s parent’s vacation cabin near Winding Creek.
Michelle had spent two days there reuniting with a group of sorority friends from University of Texas. Attractive. Brunette as all the missing women were. Had no police record. Currently working as a petroleum engineer.
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked.
“I’m getting there. I was just trying to remember what I know about Michelle.”
“We have more information on her today than yesterday—on Michelle and the others. What’s the chance you can come by the cabin today?”
“Chances are always excellent if you have relevant facts. What time?”
“I’m available now, but I can make an appointment for later if that suits your schedule better.”
“Now works.”
“Will you be bringing Tucker Lawrence with you?”
“Will it be a problem if I do?”
“No. In fact, I’d welcome him.”
She hadn’t been expecting that response though the two men had seemed to bond at the wrecked car scene that morning.
“Any particular reason why you want him there?” she asked.
“He knows his way around the back roads and the rural areas and he has excellent connections in his brothers, who live here, his sister-in-law who owns the bakery and Esther Kavanaugh, who, according to Sheriff Cavazos, knows everyone around these parts. And except for a few speeding tickets, he’s whistle clean. And I’m assuming he told you he’s a championship bull rider. How’s that for tough?”
Tough and thoughtful. Those two didn’t always come in the same package. “Sounds like you ran a background check on him?”
“Of course. Don’t worry. He checked out. Plus we won’t be discussing anything that’s classified. Did Dani remember seeing Rachel in the bakery?”
“She did, even remembered selling her a piece of pottery. She didn’t remember if Rachel had been alone.”
“I expect that information to be forthcoming. We’ll talk more when you get here.”
“Thanks for calling,” she said. “One or both of us will see you in a few minutes.”
“Who are we going to see in a few minutes?” Tucker asked when she broke the connection.
“Jackson Clark, but you don’t have to go. I can handle this and I’m sure your brothers and Esther would enjoy some time with you.”
“There you go, trying to get rid of me again.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment.”
“Right. Ask any bull who’s ever sent me flying into the dirt. You mentioned fingerprints and someone named Michelle. What’s that about?”
“Michelle Dickens. She’s one of the women who went missing a couple of months before Rachel did. They found her fingerprints inside Rachel’s car.”
“Son of a bitch.” Tucker took her arm. “Excuse the outburst, but I know that finding out for certain she was abducted wasn’t the news you were hoping for. Not the news I was hoping for, either. But in a way it’s good news. It means the abductor kept Michelle alive for at least two months.”
“Yes, but living under the control of a madman.”
Tucker put an arm around her waist and started to his truck.
She stopped walking. “I need to take my own car this time before it gets labeled abandoned and towed to the pound.”
“I’m not even sure they have a lot for impounding cars in Winding Creek. But even if they do, you don’t have to worry. By nightfall, everyone in Winding Creek will know it’s your car if they don’t know it already.”
“I don’t see how.”
“The small-town grapevine. Rumors fly at the speed of light. But if you want to take your car, I’ll leave my truck here and ride with you.”
“I find it hard to believe you’re volunteering to become even further involved with me in this investigation.”
“I’ll be as involved as you’ll let me be.”
She should ask why, but she wasn’t certain she wanted to go there again just yet. His answer might be as ambiguous as hers would be if asked why she liked having him around. All she knew was it felt right and that was good enough for now.
“We can go in your truck,” she said. “My rental car is not a four-wheel drive made for back roads like the one to Jackson’s cabin or whatever shortcuts you may take to Dudley Miles’s ranch.”
“Are you certain that’s how you want to spend a chunk of your afternoon? Dudley’s one of the good guys. Always has been.”
“That doesn’t mean all his friends, employees and acquaintances are. He may know something and not even realize he knows it.”
“Do you want me to call and make sure he’ll be home?”
“No. I prefer the element of surprise.”
“Your game. Your call.”
“Then let’s go,” she said. Her game was deadly, and the clock might be running out.
Jackson was the only one present when Sydney and Tucker arrived at the cabin. He wasted no time in getting down to business, leading them back to the kitchen after a quick greeting.
Sydney knew he was well aware that finding Michelle Dickens’s fingerprints in Rachel’s car had shot the urgency level to the moon. The women might all be saved if they could track down the kidnapper fast enough. Every second counted.
“I see your left hand is bandaged. Did you get those wounds on your elbow taken care of, too?” Jackson asked.
“They’re fine. Just scratches. Esther and Dani’s sister-in-law, Grace, took good care of me.”
“Nice to have in-house medical care, but you need to watch for infection.”
“I will. No time for complications.”
“Soft drinks in the fridge, coffee in the pot,” Jackson said. “Unhealthy snacks on the counter. Help yourself.”
Sydney went to the fridge for a diet soda. The fridge’s contents consisted of Cokes, beer and a jar of salsa. “Is this what you’re living on?” Sydney asked.
“Not entirely. Rene picked up some greasy burgers and brought them over for dinner last night, and I stopped for tacos at a drive-through after we finally finished at the car scene this morning.”
Sydney sat down between the two men. Pens, notepads, files, a laptop and a portable printer had been shoved to the other end of the table, no doubt to make room for Sydney and Tucker.
“I also stopped by Dani’s Delights,” Jackson said.
“That’s odd. Tucker and I just left there and Dani didn’t mention meeting you.”
“I didn’t introduce myself. I wanted to be sure you’d had a chance to explain about Rachel first. And I wanted to get a feel for the p
lace before anyone realized I was FBI.”
“What did you think?”
“Busy. Lots of local people who knew each other. Not a place I’d expect a serial abductor to pick out his victims, but you never know. Some of the worst have proved to be a Prince Charming until the full truth came out.”
“An abductor and likely a killer,” Sydney corrected.
“Alleged killer,” Jackson said. “The deeper I get into this, the less convinced I am that Sara Goodwin’s killing is related to the disappearance of the others. She doesn’t seem to match the pattern.”
“In what way?” Tucker asked.
“She was sixteen and homeless. Didn’t have a car. The only tie to Winding Creek is that her body was found near here. The others were between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-two and all appeared to be in this area by choice. And at this point, they are only missing.”
“Has at least one of our agents interviewed the friends and/or relatives of all the missing women?”
“No, but we’re making progress. Rene’s at the airport now, taking the short flight to Shreveport to meet with Alice Baker’s roommate. He won’t be back until late tonight. I’ll shoot that report to you as soon as he gets it to me.”
“Thanks. Do you have any additional information from the Shreveport Police Department?”
“I just got off the phone with a detective who has talked to the roommate twice. He says her story hasn’t changed, so he has nothing new to add to his report.”
“Then the printouts and digital files you gave me yesterday are up to date on Alice Baker?”
“It’s all I have until we hear from Rene. Tim did an in-depth interview with Michelle Dickens’s parents this morning, but he’s driving back to San Antonio to give them the latest news in person.”
“What about Karen Murphy?” Sydney prodded.
“Next on the list. Her truck-driver husband will be home from his cross-country run later tonight, and Tim and I will be interviewing him first thing in the morning at their home in New Braunfels. That is unless a more pressing matter takes precedence, such as we had when you discovered Rachel’s car this morning.”
Jackson picked up a folder filled with handwritten notes torn from small notebooks. He shoved it across the table to Sydney. “These are copies of the notes the guys scribbled down yesterday during their research and interviews. I’d like you to do the same with your impressions from visiting the crime scene this morning. I want to keep us all on the same page.”
“Sometimes hastily scribbled notes are more useful than the formal reports,” Sydney said. “Off-the-cuff comments cut to the chase.” Sydney opened the folder. There were two sets of notes, carefully stapled together.
She picked up the top one. Michelle Dickens, age 25, missing since August 20.
Michelle was a kindergarten teacher in Kerrville, Texas, who was engaged to be married the first week in October. Got along with everyone. Athletic. Loved hiking, biking, rock climbing and snow skiing.
She was last seen at her parents’ house before driving back to Kerrville after spending the weekend shopping for a wedding dress. She didn’t buy one. Paper trail ended with a charge made at an Exxon station on the highway about ten miles from Winding Creek. Parents in state of almost-crippling panic.
Sydney understood that completely. She looked through the next set of notes. Alice Baker. Lived in Shreveport, Louisiana, with her roommate. An unemployed petroleum engineer, she had been traveling to San Antonio on March 9 for a job interview. She’d never kept the appointment.
She had charged a pair of Western boots at a boutique in Winding Creek and food and drinks at Caffe’s Bar and Grill.
Her roommate insisted she was extremely cautious, not the kind to even talk to strangers, much less get in the car with one. Alice was licensed to carry and always packed a small pistol when she traveled alone.
Obviously, she hadn’t seen trouble coming in time to use her weapon. Or if she’d hesitated to pull the trigger, the perp might have wrestled it away from her. That happened far too often with inexperienced shooters.
“Our perp is definitely not straying far from his community playground,” Sydney commented. “He doesn’t necessarily live here, but he spends a lot of time here.”
“If he sticks this close to home, he’s either extremely brazen or thinks he’s too smart to get caught,” Jackson said.
“Or he wants to get caught,” Sydney said.
“I plan to oblige him,” Jackson said. “I’m still puzzled by how and why he drove the car into the ravine. I can’t imagine he trusted Michelle to drive Rachel’s car while he followed her in his. Too much opportunity for her to escape.”
“Unless she’s experiencing the Stockholm syndrome and has bonded with the kidnapper,” Sydney said. “If that’s the situation, she might be helping him kidnap the others.”
Sydney was almost certain that Rachel would never let herself be brainwashed by her kidnapper. But she couldn’t be positive of that.
“You’re in cowboy country,” Tucker said. “First thing I thought of was horses. The second was four-wheelers. Almost every ranch has those.”
“If he had someone follow them on horseback, that would mean he has an accomplice.”
“Not necessarily,” Tucker said. “Based on the assumption he is local and holding the women nearby, he could have hauled a couple of horses up in a trailer. Same with an ATV. I noticed the SUV had a trailer hitch.”
“I missed that,” Sydney said, hating to admit she’d overlooked any detail. “But I would have seen a trailer if there had been one.”
“He could have come back for that later, in his car or whatever he drives.”
“Just thinking,” Jackson said, “but why bring the girl along at all if she wasn’t driving the SUV for him?”
“Maybe he was afraid she’d escape if he left her behind,” Tucker said.
“No, if he’s holding her prisoner, he has a way to keep her imprisoned,” Sydney said. “But maybe he wanted her to think he was taking her out to kill her and leave her body to rot in the woods.”
Or maybe he had done exactly that and the body hadn’t been found yet. Her insides quaked at that possibility.
“Dani said Sheriff Cavazos requested film from her security cameras this morning. Were you aware of that?”
“I am. He’d already pulled several places in town as part of his ongoing investigation. He’s sending us copies of those as well as film from several other shops, restaurants and bars that he’s collecting today. The locals trust him, so they’re cooperating fully. They also want that perp found. The natives are definitely getting restless and with good reason.”
“When will you get the film?” Sydney asked.
“Cavazos said by late afternoon. Then I’ll shoot it to Lane and have him work his analysis magic.”
“Let me know when you get that.”
“Believe me, I will. And if you come up with any kind of theory as to the identity of the perp, you are to get back to me at once. No going after him alone. Get that?”
“Of course.”
“Not the way you did with the Swamp Strangler.”
“Trust me. I will never make that mistake again.”
She finished her drink and carried the empty can to the trash basket.
“Where do you go from here?” Jackson asked.
“To pay a call on Dudley and Millie Miles. You must agree with me that it’s extremely coincidental that Rachel’s car was dumped in almost the exact spot where the Mileses’ grandson’s body was dumped.”
“I agree, but I talked to the sheriff and one of his deputies about Dudley Miles. Neither of them could say enough good things about the man. His daughter was another story—narcissistic with no sense of decency—but she’s in prison.”
“I told her the same thing,” Tucker said.
“I believe both of you. I just want to talk to the man. He must have a lot of cowboys running the ranch. He can talk to them and see if any of them came into contact with Rachel. The perp we’re looking for might even be one of his workers. We have no reason to weed out that possibility.”
“You’re right. Go with your instincts. Just get me a profile on the perp that leads us to him before he strikes again.”
“I plan to do just that.”
Hopefully talking to Dudley Miles would help that along.
Chapter Eleven
They stopped for a late lunch at Hank’s. The smell of hot grease, onions and spices made her nauseous. She knew it was more nerves than odors, but the only remedy she knew for that was to keep at it.
She spent most of her time there showing Rachel’s photograph to the few waitresses she’d missed the last time she was here and to some of the customers Hank pointed out as regulars who might have seen Rachel either in his place or around town.
People were sympathetic and took a good look at the picture. Again, no luck.
They left as soon as Tucker finished his burger. Her grilled chicken salad was untouched except for moving a few greens around with her fork.
She fought to keep the dark and frightening thoughts at bay. All her energy was needed to keep her focus sharp and driving. They were ten minutes into the drive before she noticed that Tucker was wearing the now-familiar brooding expression of a troubled man.
As depressing as the situation was that she’d dragged him into, she knew that was not the only thing he was dealing with. She’d noticed that the first night they’d talked, even before she’d interrupted his whiskey and gloom.
“I get the feeling you have something other than this investigation on your mind. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“No, I’m that intuitive.”
“Which is no doubt why you’re a great profiler. I have some decisions I need to make. Nothing nearly as critical or urgent as what you’re dealing with, so let’s not get into it today.”
His phone rang before she had time to delve deeper. He punched the answer button on his dashboard. A second later, Esther’s voice filled the car.
