Man of Action

by Janie Crouch

  The officers were methodical and neat in their search. There was no need to destroy any property. They searched under the mattress, in all the drawers and thoroughly in the closet. Brandon was impressed by their thoroughness: he didn’t see anywhere they would’ve missed.

  They moved into the living room next, then the kitchen with the same methodical search methods but found nothing of substance. They searched through the mother’s room and the other bedroom that had been turned into an office.

  Nothing that suggested any crimes or linked Jarrod McConnachie to the women.

  The ranch hand who had let them in watched nervously as they moved from room to room. Each room was clean and orderly except for Jarrod’s, making the search easier. Brandon stepped outside to look around. They weren’t going to find anything in the house, at least nothing concrete.

  He could hear Kendrick speaking in Spanish with the nervous worker, explaining something about a work visa. The worker was worried about being deported, not being connected to a crime.

  Brandon felt Andrea join him outside the door as he looked at the small barn. “I don’t think there’s anything in the house. We should check the barn.” He called back to Kendrick. “Does the warrant cover the entire property or just the house?”

  “All of it,” Kendrick broke from his Spanish to respond. They all made their way over to the small structure that was beginning to become run-down.

  They almost missed the hatch altogether.

  Brandon saw it as they were beginning to turn away after searching the barn: a small hatch leading down into a tiny cellar. It was meant as an emergency hideout during a tornado, and unless you knew it was there, it was easy to miss. It was only big enough to fit two or three people and the hatch door was mostly covered by bags of feed.

  He opened the door and turned on the flashlight function of his phone, sliding it down into the dark space. Every law-enforcement officer there, including Brandon, pulled out their weapons as Brandon slowly took the half dozen steps down.

  “This is federal agent Brandon Han,” he called from the stairs. “I am armed and coming inside. If anyone is in there, make your presence known now.”

  He waited but no one spoke, so he slowly stepped down. Kendrick stood directly over his shoulder, ready to take a shot. Andrea, since she didn’t have a weapon, had done the smart thing and gotten herself out of the way.

  Brandon gave himself a few more moments for his eyes to adjust, then rapidly descended the stairs.

  No one was in the cellar, but there certainly had been someone there recently.

  Pictures of the dead women were all over the boxes that had been placed in the cellar. Pictures of them before they died and right after. There were candles lined all along the walls, as well as a roll of the same white mesh that had been used to cover the women when the police had found them.

  This was the killer’s preparation room. Might even have been where the killing took place, although getting the bodies up and down those stairs would’ve been difficult.

  Brandon didn’t touch anything, just backed out slowly. “Kendrick, call Gerardo Jennison. We need the best crime-scene investigators they’ve got.”

  “What is it?” Kendrick asked.

  “The killer’s preparation room. Jarrod is definitely the guy.”

  The older man whistled through his teeth before getting on the phone to call for the needed people to work the scene.

  Brandon called an officer over to him. “Under no circumstances is anyone to go down there until the CSI people have done their thing. That room is about as pristine as it gets, and we don’t want to mess it up.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young officer said.

  Brandon looked over at Andrea, shaking his head. “I guess Jarrod fooled both of us.”

  She nodded. “None of his emotions or nonverbal cues gave him away. I just didn’t think he had it in him.”

  “Me, neither. We didn’t give him enough credit.”

  Kendrick walked over to them. “Crime-scene crew is on their way. And we’ve got some even better news.”

  “What’s that?” Brandon asked.

  “We just picked up Jarrod McConnachie. Idiot went to The Boar’s Nest, just like he goes all the time. Guy had no idea we were onto him. They’re holding him in a cell back at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Mind if I question him?” Brandon asked.

  Kendrick slapped him on the back. “I was hoping you would.”

  * * *

  AS MUCH AS Andrea was saddened by the thought of Jarrod—someone she had known in high school and who had seemed friendly—as the killer, she was thankful that his arrest meant she didn’t have to go work at Club Paradise that night.

  Missing the DJ Shocker circus wasn’t upsetting at all. Andrea was ready to retire her bustier and short skirts forever. Those days were well and truly in her past.

  She wished she could talk Keira into doing the same, but knew no one talked Keira into anything. She would do it when she was ready.

  Andrea was on her way to see her friend now. Brandon had ridden with the local police back to the sheriff’s office to question Jarrod. Andrea would meet him there soon. But she wanted to talk to Keira first. Let Keira know that things were better between her and Brandon. She would show her Jarrod’s picture while she was there, see if that jogged her memory any.

  Hopefully Brandon could get a confession out of Jarrod. That would tie up the most loose ends. And then they’d be heading back to Omega.

  Honestly, Andrea wasn’t sure what that would mean for the two of them. But she knew, either way, it was time for her to make some changes in her life. Keeping herself distant from everyone at Omega wasn’t the way she wanted to live any longer.

  She pulled up to Keira’s apartment, a small one not far from where Andrea had lived during her time in Buckeye, and knocked on the door. Keira hugged her as she pulled her inside.

  “Hey, sweetie, what’s going on?” Her hair was up in giant rollers and she had the TV remote in her hand. “I’m just catching up on my television viewing.”

  Andrea looked, expecting to see some drama or sitcom, but found some sort of wildlife documentary on the TV. Interesting choice.

  “Just came to ask if you’d ever seen this guy hanging around Jillian. We think he might be the killer.”

  Keira took the picture. “Yes. Absolutely yes. More than once. But I don’t know his name or how to get ahold of him or anything.”

  “That’s okay. He’s already been arrested. His name is Jarrod McConnachie. He and I actually went to high school together before I dropped out.”

  “Jarrod McConnachie. Bastard.” She studied the picture a minute more before handing it back to Andrea. “I’m glad you guys got him.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Andrea looked over at the TV again as Keira put it on Pause. “And I also wanted to let you know that things are much better with Brandon and me.”

  Keira reached up and patted Andrea on the cheek. “I’m glad. And I’m not surprised. That man is crazy about you, girl.”

  Andrea laughed ruefully. “I’m not so sure about that. But we’re at least doing better. He apologized for getting upset about me at Club Paradise.”

  “I’d like to hear more about how exactly he apologized—” Keira waggled her eyebrows “—but I’m sure you wouldn’t give me the juicy deets anyway.”

  Andrea felt her face heat.

  Keira laughed. “I thought so. He seems like a good man, Andrea.”

  “He is.”

  “And more than that, you’re a good woman. Past is past. Future is future.”

  Andrea nodded and grabbed the shorter woman in for a hug. “I’m learning that. In no small part, thanks to you.”

  “Good. You’re a beautiful, compassionate, intelligent, classy lady
. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  Andrea could feel tears brimming in her eyes. “Thank you, Keira.”

  “All right, enough with all the girl talk. You’re welcome to stay here and watch my shows with me until I head into work.”

  “No, I’m going to the station. Help Brandon question the suspect if I can.”

  “Then I’ll catch you later.” Keira winked. “Hopefully not as long as it’s been since the last time I saw you.”

  “I promise.”

  Andrea said her goodbyes and made her way out to her car. There was no message from Brandon, so evidently nothing new with Jarrod.

  Andrea pulled the car out of the apartment complex and began driving north up Highway 85 toward the sheriff’s office. She passed Jaguar’s, slowing as she did so.

  She wasn’t going to let that place have a hold over her life anymore. As Keira had said, past was past. Future was future. Jaguar’s belonged in her past. She sped up, leaving it behind her.

  She saw a car pulled over on the side of the road a few miles outside of town in the direction of the sheriff’s office, smoke billowing from the hood. Andrea slowed, not wanting to put herself in a dangerous situation, but not wanting to leave someone stranded in the desert as it began to get dark.

  A plump older lady was leaning over her engine, wringing her hands. No one else seemed to be nearby.

  Andrea pulled her car over. The least she could do was offer a ride or to call someone.

  “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

  The woman—a little heavy and probably in her late fifties—looked over at Andrea gratefully. “Oh, honey, thank you so much for stopping! I was afraid no one was going to come along this road. Something is happening with my engine.”

  Andrea came to stand over next to the woman. “I don’t really know anything about cars. But I’d be glad to call someone for you or give you a ride.”

  The woman looked vaguely familiar to Andrea, probably someone she had known when she lived here, or maybe even one of Aunt Margaret’s friends. But honestly, Andrea didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to answer questions if the woman did know her from when she was younger.

  The woman’s primary emotion seemed to be anger, and maybe some firm resolution, but neither of those were unusual, given the circumstances. She could be angry at her husband for not servicing the car properly, or maybe just angry that she’d broken down in the middle of nowhere.

  “That’s so nice of you, dear.” The woman began to walk around to the back of her car. “Can you just come back here and help me carry these cables to the front? I think I might be able to do what my husband did to it last time this happened.”

  Andrea followed her, but really didn’t want to stick around while the woman tried to fix her car. Andrea would help carry whatever cables, then would offer again to give her a ride or call someone. She couldn’t spend hours on the side of the road.

  She wanted to get back to Brandon.

  She walked back and opened up the trunk for the woman. It was completely empty.

  “Um, ma’am, there are no cables back he—” Andrea felt a sharp sting in her neck. She reached up to swat away whatever insect had gotten her.

  Almost immediately she began to feel dizzy as the world swam around her.

  “What?” She tried to focus on the woman, who pushed Andrea down into the trunk.

  “Shame on you.” The bitterness in the woman’s eyes was clear now, although Andrea couldn’t seem to focus on them. “You’re just as bad as those other hussies. Leading men astray. You’re even worse, since you pretend to be the police, too. But I will make sure you’re purified.”

  The last thing Andrea processed was the trunk closing over her before the darkness pulled her under.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Even before going in to question Jarrod, Brandon tried to verify the man’s whereabouts during the murders. Jarrod had been at all the strip clubs for the DJ Shocker tour where the dead dancers worked. And sure enough, he hadn’t been at the tour stop for the night the truck-stop waitress was killed.

  Probably because he was too busy killing her.

  Jarrod’s friends, not knowing Jarrod was in custody or suspected of multiple murders, had given Brandon all the information they had. They’d been glad to talk about the DJ Shocker tour; it had been a hoot for them. They’d all independently backed up each other’s stories, with just enough details—but not the same details—for Brandon to highly suspect they were being authentic in their responses.

  He wished he had Andrea here to get her opinion on whether the men were telling the truth, but she’d gone to talk to Keira. She’d be here soon and he could at least get her opinion on Jarrod’s nonverbal behavior.

  Because, despite Jarrod’s friends’ confirmation of his location at the clubs and even despite what they had found in the cellar at his house, Brandon still had doubts that Jarrod was the killer.

  He watched Jarrod through the two-way mirror where he sat in the interrogation room. Everything about the man was unkempt. He had on a wrinkled shirt and dirty jeans. His greasy hair needed washing and he looked as if he’d forgotten to shave for the past four days at least. Not to mention the man had been picked up at the bar he frequented. He hadn’t even tried to avoid law enforcement.

  Brandon found it difficult to reconcile these aspects of the man’s personality with the cold, calculating nature of the purity killer. But maybe it was a disguise. Maybe Jarrod had fooled both him and Andrea, and Brandon’s pride just didn’t want him to admit it.

  God knew he’d been wrong an awful lot this week.

  Brandon knew where he would start the questioning: victim number two, Ashley Judson, the waitress who dabbled with prostitution on the side. She was the one who didn’t fit in the Angels and Devils tour theory. She didn’t dance, wasn’t a stripper. If Jarrod had picked all his other victims at strip clubs, what had led him to pick her, also?

  Brandon glanced at his watch. Andrea should be here any minute. He would go ahead and get started.

  “Hi, Jarrod. Remember me?” Brandon walked in the door and took the seat across from Jarrod.

  Jarrod nodded slowly. “Yeah. You’re that cop that was with Andrea at The Boar’s Nest last week. Why am I here, man? I told you everything I knew about Noelle then.”

  Brandon wanted answers, but more than that he wanted to make sure Jarrod went to jail for the crimes he’d committed. He certainly didn’t want him to get off on any technicalities. He would make sure his questioning fell well within the letter of the law. Having a law degree helped make that easier.

  Brandon read Jarrod his Miranda rights.

  “Yeah, yeah. They already read me my rights when they picked me up at the bar.”

  “I just want to make sure you know them. That you can call a lawyer if you want to.”

  Brandon hoped he didn’t want to. A lawyer would stall every question he had for Jarrod. He prayed Jarrod would think he was too smart to need a lawyer.

  “Naw, I don’t need one.” Jarrod sat back in his chair. “I don’t got anything to hide.”

  Brandon smiled. If Jarrod was a wiser man he would’ve been wary.

  Jarrod wasn’t.

  Brandon took out a picture of Ashley Judson, victim number two—a candid shot, a copy of one Brandon had seen hanging in the cellar at Jarrod’s house. He slid it over so Jarrod could see it.

  “Do you know this girl?”

  “Um... I’m not sure.”

  There was no doubt in Brandon’s mind that Jarrod recognized her. Even if they hadn’t just found that picture at Jarrod’s house, his nonverbal behavior—looking over to the side and down—was giving him away.

  “I think you do know her, Jarrod.”

  Jarrod shrugged. “Maybe. I know a lot of girls.”

&nb
sp; “How about these? Do you know any of them?”

  Brandon took out pictures of the women—all copies of the ones they had found on Jarrod’s property—and placed them on the table one after another.

  Jarrod’s face seemed to lose more color with each picture he studied.

  “What’s going on here?” he finally asked.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” Brandon sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “What exactly do you want to know? I know Noelle is dead. And I know I told you I didn’t really know her very well, but fine, I slept with her, okay? It was a fling. She was getting off of work and I was bored. But I didn’t kill her.”

  “And what about her?” He pointed to the waitress.

  “What? Okay, fine. I slept with her, too.” He spread his arms out wide across the pictures. “Great, yes. I slept with all these women. Is that a crime? It’s pretty damn freaky that the cops are taking a picture of all the girls I’ve banged over the last month.”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed. Either Jarrod was the best actor he’d ever seen, or he didn’t have any idea all these women were dead.

  “How’d you like these girls, Jarrod? Going to see any of them again? Not Noelle of course, but the others?”

  Jarrod shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe Jillian. She’s pretty hot. A dancer.” He pointed at Jillian’s picture, the woman who had worked at Jaguar’s.

  “All of them are dancers, right?”

  “Not this one.” He gestured to Ashley Judson. “She’s a waitress.”

  Brandon smiled, tilting his head to the side. He doubted Jarrod would notice his smile didn’t come anywhere near his eyes. “Yeah, I heard that’s not all she does. I heard she has a little business on the side with truckers or whoever’s willing to pay.” Brandon winked.

  “Is that what this is about? You think I paid for sex? I didn’t pay Ashley, man. It was completely mutual between the two of us. You can ask her.”

  It was time to move in for the kill. To see if he could force Jarrod into admitting something. All he needed to do was slip up that he knew any of the girls besides Noelle was dead and Brandon would have him trapped in a lie. Then it would just be a matter of wearing him down.