That pleasurable task was on Zane’s to-do list.
The rest of the interviews had been unremarkable. Six other rooms had been occupied the night before Vanessa was found. Besides Andrew Reynolds, the occupants were long-haul truckers. None of them had seen anyone resembling Vanessa Phillips during their stays. Kenny had run some background checks and discovered one of them was a registered sex offender. Tim Sessions. Zane studied the man’s photo. He looked like an eighth-grade science teacher.
Is this our guy?
His desk phone rang and Hank’s gravelly voice greeted him. “Merry day after Christmas, Zane. I hope you don’t have any more bodies for me yet.”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“Are you done already?” Zane asked.
“I’ve finished Vanessa Phillips. I had a hard time getting that girl out of my mind last night. I came in early to get things moving.”
Zane grabbed a pencil and note pad. “You found something?”
Hank sighed. “The girl was raped. Several times. And it was really rough. She’s got some heavy abrasions on her wrists and ankles, so she was bound at some point.”
“Semen?”
“Nope. Nothing like that. Someone tried real hard to cover his tracks. They thought ahead enough to wear a condom and clean her up with bleach after.”
“But . . .” Zane could hear the medical examiner had found something.
“She was drugged too. Can’t tell you exactly what was in her system. I had to send it out to a lab, but there was enough to give readings on my machine. I’ll warn you it was weak. I think she ingested it several days ago, and I don’t know if we’ll get anything useful back from the lab.”
“What about time of death?”
“She was strangled about twenty-four hours before she was found yesterday.”
Morning of the twenty-fourth.
“Her decay was significantly progressed. She wasn’t kept anywhere cold like outdoors for those twenty-four hours. I’ll speculate she was in a place that was at a comfortable room temperature.”
Zane made a note. “Strangulation is the official cause of death?”
“Yep. And she was moved to the motel quite a while after she died. The livor mortis doesn’t match the position she was found in.”
“Got it,” said Zane, knowing he meant that the blood in Vanessa’s body had formed dark marks on her skin, indicating how her body had been positioned after death. “We were pretty certain she hadn’t died there. I’m looking over Kenny’s interviews from last night and he talked to the housekeeper again. Turns out the towels in Vanessa’s room hadn’t needed to be replaced during any of the days she was there. Her luggage and things were in the room, so the maid knew it was occupied, but I don’t think Vanessa slept in there at all. It lines up with the timing of Bob Fletcher being filmed while putting a woman in the back of his vehicle. It’s looking more and more like he took Vanessa.”
“But did he kill her and put her back in the motel?” asked Hank. “You guys didn’t lock him up until Christmas Eve, so I think he had time to do it.”
Zane eyed the photo of the trucker who was the sex offender. “You know as well as I do that I need proof Bob killed her. I can’t stop looking until I have some facts. If someone else is responsible, I don’t want to let them walk away.”
“I’m about to get started on Bob’s autopsy. Even if he did kill Vanessa, there’s no way he killed himself. You definitely have another killer walking around in Solitude.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“If the doctor says no crutches yet then no crutches!” Standing in her mother’s living room, Stevie was ready to strangle Bruce. “You broke your leg. Do you want it to mend straight or do you want to be the guy that always walks in a circle because one leg is shorter than the other?” Beside her, Patsy gave silent support and lent her own disapproving glare.
“All right. Sheesh. Don’t gang up on me,” muttered Bruce.
Her younger brother looked like he’d gone a dozen rounds with a professional fighter, but clearly he was feeling better. When he’d heard Patsy ask Stevie to pick up his medications at the pharmacy, he’d requested that she rent him some crutches.
Patsy had recited the doctor’s orders about keeping weight off the leg, but Bruce had asked Stevie again once their mother had stepped out of earshot. Or so he’d thought.
“I’ll get your pain meds,” Stevie told him. “Nothing else.” She kissed her mother and flicked Bruce on the forehead with two fingers, darting out of the way as he took a brotherly swing at her.
Her mother walked her to the door. “He looks and sounds a hundred percent better than he did yesterday,” said Stevie.
“He’s young,” said Patsy. “And he can’t sit still. Pick up some crossword puzzle books or magazines or anything to occupy his brain. He’s about to drive me crazy.”
“Has he played the guitar?” Stevie asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder. Her brother was out of sight.
“He keeps picking it up. He’ll play for a second and then sets it aside. He’s really missing Amber Lynn. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet that she won’t breeze in the front door at any moment.” Patsy wiped an eye. “She was good for him, you know. I always knew it wouldn’t last, but I didn’t dream it would end because of her death.”
Stevie studied her mother, paying close attention as she always did when her mother casually talked about “knowing” future facts. Her mother had also said that her sister Carly and Seth were meant to be together, but they’d split up a year ago. It’d been the first time Stevie had doubted her mother’s gift.
Carly and Seth were back together and stronger than ever, and Stevie’s faith had been restored.
Stevie set three magazines, a sudoku book, two crossword puzzle books, and a kit to assemble a tiny Death Star model on the pharmacy counter. She’d added a fashion and gossip magazine to the sports ones simply to harass her brother.
What else were sisters for?
“Patsy said you were coming in to get Bruce’s prescriptions,” Donald said as he rang up the items. His eyes appeared slightly distorted through his thick lenses. “I’m sorry I don’t have enough tablets of one of his medications. I have a shipment coming soon, and I’ll call as soon as it’s ready. This is enough to last him a few days. How’s he doin’?”
“Driving Mom crazy.”
“Ah, good.” Donald beamed at her. She’d always thought of him as an odd duck. Donald Duck. “I’m glad to hear he’s feeling better. I was sorry to hear about his girlfriend,” he added with appropriate sympathy.
“Yes, that was horrible,” agreed Stevie.
“Horrible news about Bob Fletcher too.” Donald shook his head. “He wasn’t the best citizen, but no one deserves to be murdered in that way.” He paused. “I always wondered about him.”
Stevie heard the sound of town gossip slide into Donald’s tone and knew he wanted her to ask a question about it. He’d never married and had lived with his mother until she’d died two years ago, and after her death Patsy had done her best to make a match for him, feeling sorry for the lonely, owlish-looking man.
Some of the people in town regarded gossip as a profession. She hadn’t noticed Donald partaking in the chatter before, but it made sense. As the only pharmacist in town, he knew secrets about everyone. No doubt it was like gold in his pocket.
Stevie purposefully took the gossipy bait Donald had offered.
“What did they say about Bob?” she asked, counting out her bills, her gaze on her hands.
“Well, it’s all secondhand, you know. Might not be true.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire.” She gave Donald a smile. “Although since he’s gone now, no harm can come out of it.” Spill it, Donald.
“Well,” said Donald. “I heard he’d beat
up young Travis. Some of the other guys around here also had black eyes after run-ins with him. And he couldn’t keep staff on at his bar. They say he was a mean son of a bitch to work for.” The pharmacist raised a brow at her. “Pardon my French.”
Stevie gave him an unimpressed look. Everyone had agreed that Bob Fletcher was a bit of an ass.
“And I heard he might have been dealing out of his place.”
Now her ears perked up.
“Bacon?” she asked, immediately thinking of their drug problem from last summer.
Donald waved a hand, dismissing the homemade deadly drug. “No, the real stuff. Oxy. Percocet.”
She narrowed her brows at him. “Where’d he get it?”
“You’re asking the wrong person, Stevie Taylor. I run a tight ship here. I have to account for every pill that goes out that door. Including these ten tablets for your brother.” He sniffed. “I don’t know if it was true, but I’d had a customer get upset with my prices and say he knew where to get it cheaper. He indicated that the truck stop was the place to go shopping.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, Donald. I figured you’d be the one to help us with some information if someone like that was bypassing the official system.”
“Last year I told Roy about my suspicions. He said he’d look into it.”
Stevie’s heart sank. Roy had been a Solitude cop until his head had been turned by money and drugs. It’d killed him.
“I guess that was a dead end,” Donald said forlornly.
“I’ll pass it on to Zane,” Stevie said. “We need to find out who killed Bob. I don’t know if he’s looked into the drug angle.”
Donald beamed again. “I’m pleased I might have helped your investigation.”
“Of course,” said Stevie. “And you’ll let us know if you hear anything else? Seems like everyone in town has to come to you for something at one time or another,” she joked.
“They do,” Donald said proudly. “And I do my best to provide it.” He pointed at the Death Star model kit she was purchasing. “I had a twelve-year-old ask me to order those and now I can’t keep them in stock. It’s one of my best sellers.”
Stevie smiled. “What would Solitude do without you, Donald?”
She stepped out of the pharmacy, shuddering at the bitterly cold wind that’d started up that morning. She’d just climbed into her warm car when Zane called.
“Are you coming to work today?” he asked.
“Miss me?”
“I do. And I need an extra set of hands. Actually I need a set of ears. Can you go talk to Amber Lynn’s parents?”
“I thought you were going to do that,” Stevie said. She’d hoped to go with him.
“I want to interview Andrew Reynolds.”
Stevie searched her brain. “Who?”
“The real estate guy who wants to buy O’Rourke’s.”
The slick image of the big-city developer popped into her head. “He’s still in town? He didn’t go home for Christmas?”
“Apparently not. He’s still at the motel and wasn’t sober for an interview last night. I want to do it today.”
Stevie’s curiosity was piqued. What kind of person didn’t go home for Christmas and got hammered in a disgusting motel instead? “Sounds like a fun interview. Maybe I should take that one.”
“No, I’m going to talk to a few others while I’m there.” His voice was grim.
“Who else?”
“I’ve got a trucker who’s a registered sex offender. And I talked to Hank. Vanessa Phillips was raped. Repeatedly. And he thinks she was drugged. I wonder if someone in the bar slipped something into her drink.”
Stevie closed her eyes. “This is getting ugly. Do we have proof that Bob did it?”
“Not yet. Still looking.”
“And you want me to feel the Coopers out about Bob’s murder.”
“He killed their daughter,” Zane said. “I’m curious as to what they’ll say about his death.”
Stevie was too.
CHAPTER FIVE
Zane pounded on the motel door.
He’d already knocked twice and his patience was wearing thin. It was fucking cold. The clicks of bolts moving on the other side of the door encouraged him. The door was pulled open four inches until the chain stopped it. A bloodshot eye stared at him as alcohol fumes escaped from the room. “What?”
“Andrew Reynolds?”
“Yeah.”
“Zane Duncan, Solitude PD. I’d like to ask you some questions.”
The eye blinked at him. “Weren’t you here yesterday?”
“Someone stopped by, but you weren’t in any condition to talk. Feel like talking today?”
“Not really.”
“Well, we found a murdered young woman two doors down from you yesterday. I’d like to talk to you about it.”
Surprise filled the eye. “I hadn’t heard about that.”
“How about you put on some more clothes, and I’ll tell you what happened.” Zane gave his best “Dude, we’re buddies” smile.
“Hang on.” The door closed.
Zane turned and took a breath of clean icy air. He’d nearly suggested Andrew meet him in the lobby, but he wanted a look in his room. Parked directly outside the motel door was a black Hummer with a big dent. He heard the chain slide out of the lock and the door creaked open.
“Sorry about the mess,” Andrew said. “I’d offer you some coffee, but this place doesn’t have coffee brewers in the rooms. Who doesn’t offer that these days? And I had to ask for a hair dryer from the front desk. They looked at me like they’d never heard of one.”
Zane hadn’t used a hair dryer in twenty years. And didn’t know many men who did. If his hair wasn’t dry by the time he’d brushed his teeth, it meant he needed a haircut. But Andrew Reynolds had one of those hairstyles that looked like he spent a little more time. The man was almost . . . pretty. Except for the bloodshot eyes and dark circles below them. “You didn’t go home for Christmas?” he asked.
Andrew plopped onto the edge of his bed and waved a hand at the single chair. “No. The wife and I had a fight.”
“Kids?” asked Zane. He continued to stand. He didn’t want to spend a second more than he had to in the fumy room. Beer bottles and a half-empty fifth of Jack Daniel’s cluttered the nightstands. Three greasy paper bags on the floor indicated Andrew had discovered Nell’s fried chicken.
“No.”
“That’s good.”
“Nothing could have kept me away if we had kids.” Andrew looked him hard in the eye, and Zane’s estimation of him rose a degree. “What’s this about a murder?”
“Young woman, age twenty-five, with long blonde hair, was found dead in her room Christmas morning. We’re looking for anyone who saw her before Christmas. As early as four or five days before.”
“She stayed in this motel that long?” Andrew asked in a sour voice. “You sure she didn’t kill herself?”
Andrew flinched at Zane’s glare and held up his hands. “Sorry. That was tasteless. I have a fucking headache, and I just want to go home.”
“Why haven’t you left if you hate it here so much?” Zane was ready to help him pack.
“Because I’m not done tying up the loose ends on the O’Rourke property and everything shut down for the holidays. We’ve come to an agreement, but it’s not on paper yet. The only Realtor in this town took time off and so did my lender. If I went back to Portland, I’d have to turn around and drive the four hours back. Stacey’s pissed at me, and I don’t want to deal with her right now.”
“Did you see Vanessa Phillips during your stay here?” Zane shifted back to the business at hand. He held out a copy of the picture from Vanessa’s driver’s license.
“Was that her name?” Andrew took the picture. “Pretty girl. She was killed on Chri
stmas? That’s horrible. She doesn’t look familiar. I think I would have remembered her. The only people I’ve seen at this motel are truckers. I’ve ventured out a few times to get food, because no one in town delivers. I’m about to go stir-crazy.”
While Andrew studied the picture, Zane scanned the motel room. Except for clothing and towels on the floor, nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye. Andrew didn’t have any scratches on his hands or face; he just looked exhausted.
Zane felt off-balance in the man’s presence.
Or there were too many alcohol fumes in the room.
He took another look at the man’s hands, wondering if Andrew had the strength to subdue Bob Fletcher and slice through his neck. Zane guessed Andrew’s cell phone was the heaviest thing those hands had ever held.
Please don’t let the killer be a local.
The thought that someone he passed every day on the street had killed Vanessa and Bob made the acid in Zane’s stomach simmer.
He took the picture back from Andrew. “You haven’t seen anything suspicious? There’s a chance the girl was carried into the motel room. Possibly transported in a vehicle and maybe unconscious during that time.”
Andrew shook his head. “I haven’t seen anything like that.”
Zane handed him a business card. “Give me a call if anything occurs to you.”
He stepped outside and pulled the door closed. Being in the room had made him feel like he’d been sitting in a filthy bar all night. He glanced at his watch and decided to grab a cup of coffee before pounding on one more motel door.
Interviewing a sex offender would be a new experience for him.
Stevie slammed shut her patrol car door and eyed the Coopers’ single-wide. Her sister, Carly, had described her own visit, during which the stepfather Tony had expressed a financial interest in taking Amber Lynn’s daughter, Charlotte. He’d given Carly the creeps and unnerved her.
Dead in Her Tracks Page 3
