“I can tell you what Lisa had for breakfast two weeks ago, I can tell you about the nightmare about clowns she had in April, I can tell you about the color scheme she’s been playing with for a new marketing plan, I can tell you what kind of wedding dress she wants, and I can tell you, with certainty, that she hates counting calories.” Sophia blew out a frustrated sigh. “But what I can’t tell you is why she wrote down ‘Dolphin Lot.’ Why a twenty-nine-year-old woman can’t seem to write in coherent sentences is beyond me.” Cara reached over and patted the top of her hand. “What about you? Anything?”
She shook her head. “All the complaints filed have been small ones.” She picked up the piece of paper closest to her. “Mrs. Miller called last week about the neighbor’s dogs barking. A week before that it was Mike Anderson fussing about a rusty car that was parked outside of the Realtor’s office.” She lowered her voice. “He’s a real stickler about keeping up good appearances.” She put the paper down and took a gulp of coffee. “Other than that, there’s not much in here, but I’ll keep looking.”
Sophia decided to take the break in work to ask something that had been in the back of her mind.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked the officer without any relevant conversational segue.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I understand being professionally polite but you seem to...I don’t know...” She paused looking for wording that didn’t make her sound rude. “You just have been genuinely nice to me and you don’t even know me.”
Cara didn’t smile at first, which made Sophia afraid she’d offended her, but after a moment the officer’s lips pulled up into a grin.
“You know that saying, ‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle’? Well, I’d say you’re in the middle of one of those.” Her smile fell. “Plus, we’re all in this together now.”
The two women jumped back into their jobs, each digging for some kind of clue. Sophia looked up every so often to see Thatcher answering calls, pacing back and forth, talking to Tom and the captain who was now heading the Dolphin Lot investigation. When the phone calls were through he would sit back down at the computer, his fingers clicking away at the keys. It wasn’t until three-thirty rolled around that he rose from his chair and came into the conference room.
“I think I know why Nathanial came back,” he announced, leaning against the table. That grabbed Sophia’s and Cara’s attention. They looked at him expectantly. “I found a local news story from a paper in Arlington, Texas, where a Lucille Williams overdosed on pills two months ago.”
“Lucille Williams?”
“That’s his mother. Apparently Dave Williams passed away five years ago, though I couldn’t find the cause.” He rubbed his eyes. It was the first time she noticed the matching baggage that hung beneath each.
“So, his mother supposedly kills herself and he snaps?” Sophia said.
“He wants someone to blame and picks the person he already holds responsible for his brother’s death,” Thatcher finished.
“Terrance kills himself and then his possibly still-grieving mother goes the same route. Two suicides in one family... That has to be hard,” Sophia said.
“Tragedy isn’t a free pass to do whatever you want, though,” he added.
“True. Have you been able to track him? Do you know what he’s been doing since her death?”
He shook his head. “That’s the kicker. The last trace of him I could find was two years after he left Culpepper. He finished up his undergrad then disappeared. The only mention of him since then was the article about Lucille and it was just one line saying she was survived by her oldest son.” He turned to Cara, sliding her a Post-it with a number and a name written down. “I need to run to the hospital to talk to the medical examiner about Trixie. That’s the number of the newspaper that covered Lucille’s death. I want you to talk to that reporter and find out if he knows anything about Nathanial.” She nodded and left the room. Thatcher faced Sophia. His eyes softened, those pools of blue putting her at an ease she shouldn’t have been able to obtain in this situation. “Stay here and keep working through that. If anything happens or you find anything—”
“I’ll call you immediately,” she finished with a smile. “I’ve proven that it’s my first reaction anyway.”
It was his turn to smile, though it only lasted an instant. “Be safe.” With that, he was gone.
Chapter Ten
The Culpepper medical examiner confirmed what Braydon had already known—Trixie hadn’t killed herself. In fact, like Officer Murphy, she had been strangled to death. The shot through her head had been postmortem, staged to get Braydon’s attention and keep it.
“She was dehydrated but not starved. There’s also no sign of sexual assault.” She moved the sheet aside and brought Trixie’s hand up to show him something.
“What am I looking at?” he asked, stepping closer.
“Nothing,” she said.
He tilted his head. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s the point,” she said. “There is no dirt or cuts, no skin or blood under her fingernails.”
“She didn’t fight back,” he filled in.
“I don’t think she did, no.” She put the woman’s hand back down. “Did you know her, Detective?”
“I might have seen her once or twice at Green’s but beyond that, no I didn’t.”
“I didn’t know her all that well, either, but I did know she was an avid runner. I would see her running past my house occasionally. Her health before her death was impeccable—her muscles were strong.”
“Then why didn’t she fight back?” he questioned aloud. The ME snapped her fingers.
“That’s what I wondered, too.” She walked to the head of the table and uncovered Trixie’s head. Braydon tried not to look too closely at her face, remembering the way Amelia looked when he had found her. She pointed to a red bump on the woman’s neck.
“A mosquito bite?” It was a normal occurrence in the South. The little bloodsuckers fed off of the masses like a plague. “At first, that’s what I thought, but I think it’s an injection site.”
Braydon’s brow furrowed. He leaned closer to inspect it.
“You think he drugged her? With what? A tranquilizer?”
“I don’t know yet but I sent the blood work out a few hours ago. I should hear something back by tonight,” she said. “When I do, you’ll be the first I call.”
“Thanks.” He stood straight, ready to leave when the ME sighed.
“It’s sad, really. I saw her just last week running her little heart out.”
Braydon nodded in sympathy when a thought occurred to him. “If you don’t mind me asking, where do you live?”
* * *
“SOPHIA!” CARA YELLED from outside the conference room. The sudden sound made her jump. She wasted no time in rushing out of the room.
“What? Are you okay?” She expected to see Nathanial standing in the room, ready to exact his wrongful revenge, but she was met with a giant smile from the female cop.
“He changed his name!” she exclaimed before turning to the computer.
“What?”
“I finally got a hold of the reporter who wrote that story,” she said, beginning to type. “I asked if he knew Nathanial. At first he said no but then he told me that he was threatened by the son to not include his name in the article. So, I asked what that son’s name was. You’re never going to guess what he said.” She hit Enter and a list of search results showed up in the browser. Sophia came closer and gasped.
“Terrance.”
“Yep. He took the name of his deceased little brother.” Cara whistled. “That’s a special kind of creepy right there.”
Sophia had to agree. She looked at the list of articles. The f
ourth from the top was an article congratulating those awarded a Founder’s Scholarship almost eight years ago. Sophia took the mouse and clicked the link. The article popped up along with a picture of a group of college students. Among them stood the younger Nathanial but in the picture credit it said “Terrance Williams.”
“It’s almost brilliant if you think about it,” Cara said. “That’s the one name we wouldn’t have searched.”
“Thatcher especially,” Sophia agreed. It was an entirely different level of crazy. They took a moment to read the article. Due to his high test scores and grades he was being awarded a scholarship that would help pay for the pharmaceutical engineering program he had just entered in New Jersey. The man may have had a few screws loose, but Thatcher had been right—he was smart. This fact did not help ease her worry.
Cara clicked out of the article and to the next one. “But at least now we have a name to search.”
Sophia went back to the little blue book while Cara went to work putting together as much information on Nathanial/Terrance as she could find. She flipped through the pages again, having already looked at each one. Her mind began to wander, despite her determination.
They were working under the assumption that Nathanial had snapped after his mother’s death, but what if he had been crazy all along? Sure, it wasn’t unheard of to name a child after a loved one, but to rename yourself? And only two years after the death? That kind of mind frame wasn’t a stable one.
It made her wonder if he had changed his name as a misguided sentimental gesture or if it had been a part of a plan to drop off the grid—to hide from the eyes of cops almost nine years later. Was Nathanial’s grudge that powerful or had it just worked out for him in the end?
She sighed. Her coffee was wearing off. The lack of caffeine wasn’t helping the questions that buzzed around in her head like hundreds of angry bees. She took the pen she had been chewing on and started to doodle what they might look like. First, a big circle head with long hair and a stick body; second, the round insects with stingers and wings; third—
She stopped, remembering something she had seen in the middle of the notebook. Her heartbeat sped up as she flipped through pages. After a minute she found what she was looking for—Lisa had drawn a picture the size of a dime.
It was a dolphin.
Chapter Eleven
Lisa had always been horrible at Pictionary. Her drawing skills were less than desirable. Sophia had refused to be on her team whenever they were asked to play. It wasn’t like she was much better, but Lisa couldn’t draw any semblance of a circle and she even managed to mutilate stick figures. However, right then, Sophia could have kissed her sister’s cheek.
The dolphin Lisa had drawn wasn’t half-bad. Sure the fin was bumpy and the tail was crooked, but she was able to recognize it for what it was—an ugly, yet informative dolphin.
On top of the dolphin’s head was a cone with wavy lines coming out the top. Sophia couldn’t figure out what it was at first until she took another look at the dolphin’s deformed tongue. It was a party hat, the tongue an uncoiled party horn that the dolphin was blowing out. Lisa had drawn one more addition to the festive creature—the number 630 on the edge of its fin, no doubt put there to look like it had a tattoo.
Lisa hadn’t written out the message. She had drawn it.
She had gone to the Dolphin Lot at six-thirty in the morning to talk about a party.
It was her turn to yell out that she’d found a clue, just as it was Cara’s turn to jump in her chair. She showed the cop the drawing and watched as its meaning sunk in.
“Don’t ask me why she couldn’t have just written it out,” Sophia said. “Just be thankful her drawing skills won this battle.”
Sophia grabbed her cell phone and dialed Thatcher. She didn’t know how the information would help but she was glad to announce she had found a clue. It brought her a sense of purpose, a sense of usefulness. She was helping find her sister, not just sitting on the sidelines wrapped up in self-pity.
“You okay?” he answered, worry thick in his voice. It made her blush, something she seemed to do a lot when involved with a certain detective.
“Yeah, I found something. Well, we both did. Can you talk?”
“Shoot.”
Sophia told him about the dolphin and then about Nathanial’s name change. Cara had already texted him about it but had compiled more information since. She handed over the phone and listened as the woman listed the highlights of “Terrance” Williams’s past eleven years.
After Nathanial had left Culpepper, he went to finish the last two years of his bachelor’s degree in chemical engineering. The name change came soon after and as Terrance he was accepted into a pharmaceutical engineering master’s program in New Jersey. Two more years went by before he graduated with flying colors. Even as Terrance he disappeared for three years before showing up in a collegiate newspaper article as a source from a government research company called Microne, located in Texas. They specialized in running a national research lab, testing drugs created to target behavioral and mental disorders.
Sophia shook her head at that. It was like the pot calling the kettle black in a way. He was in charge of finding the right drug to help people who weren’t stable. She had to wonder again if that had been the whole reason he had entered the field—to find something to water down his own crazy or if it was just a coincidence.
He showed up one last time before he was mentioned in his mother’s overdose article. It was in a quarterly science publication less than a year ago. He had written a few paragraphs on his thoughts about sleeping disorders, but Cara admitted the words had been too big and she didn’t understand any of what he’d said.
The cop quieted as Thatcher commented on the new information. Sophia felt like a child, suddenly annoyed that she wasn’t in on the conversation. She had found a clue and now she wanted what? A pat on the head? A kiss from the detective? I wouldn’t mind that, she thought with a quick smile. Cara passed the phone back, unaware of the odd grin, and began a new search in the browser.
“I’m on the way to Dolphin Lot right now,” he started.
“Did the K-9 unit find something?” Hope and fear welled up inside. Hope that it was an even better clue to finding her sister, and fear that what they found was her sister.
“It looks like Nathanial had been camping out in the trees near Lisa’s car.”
“Why?” she asked, though didn’t expect a completely sane answer at this point. The more she found out about Nathanial, the more unbalanced he seemed to be.
“My guess?” His voice stiffened. “He was waiting for me to find Trixie’s body.”
“That’s starting to sound just like him,” she admitted, feeling uneasy. “Do you think he was there when we found her?” There was a pause in which she imagined he shrugged.
“I don’t know, but I’m hoping we can use whatever we find to track his location now. I’ll give you a call if we find anything.”
“Okay, be safe.” It slipped out before she could stop it, but she truly meant it.
“You, too.”
* * *
THE HEAT MIGHT have been bearable but the humidity was an altogether different story. It surrounded the men like invisible coffins—confining and inescapable. Braydon felt as though he was suffocating as he wove through the trees, following a cop from the county over. He didn’t envy any of the officers’ dark uniforms.
Captain Westin stood in a small clearing, looking like the only cop in Culpepper who wasn’t sweating. A task Braydon attributed to the man’s khaki shorts and white T-shirt. His badge hung on his belt and there was a cigarette lining his mouth. He looked like a regular Joe simply stopping in the woods for a smoke break.
“Captain,” Braydon greeted. He had barely seen the man since Sophia had arrived. Westin grunted an ackno
wledgment and motioned to the scene around them.
There was a camping chair set up in the middle of the clearing. It was positioned so it faced out with a view unobstructed by trees, yet far enough away that it would be hard to make out a figure from where Lisa’s car had been. A person would have to know exactly where to look and know what they were looking at to be able to see a man sitting there. Next to the chair sat a medium-size red cooler with its lid open. There was one unopened beer submerged in water. Empty beer bottles littered the area around both the chair and the clearing. Some were broken, lying at the base of a few trees.
“I’m guessin’ he got bored waiting and did some target practice,” the captain said, throwing an invisible bottle at the tree to their left.
“I’m just sorry it took me so long to find the car...and Trixie. He shouldn’t have had time to get bored.” The captain turned and clamped Braydon on his shoulder. The older man hadn’t meant his comment to sound accusatory but Braydon still felt it. “The beer is local,” he noted, looking at the Florida orange on the label. Only one place in town even sold it. He looked at the captain, comprehension dawning.
“Yep. I sent Tom out to get the security tapes from Tipsy’s. I guess that’s how he met Amanda Alcaster. Must have struck up a conversation with her while she was working behind the counter.”
Braydon was getting ready to leave, blood pumping faster. He had finally gotten a break. “I’ll go help him look through the footage.”
“Not so fast, Thatcher.” Braydon stopped in his tracks.
“Sir?”
The captain took a drag of his cigarette and blew out a long stream of smoke.
“When’s the last time you slept?” The question caught him off guard. His first reaction was to lie, knowing what would happen if he told the truth.
“Yesterday,” he said. Westin gave him a look that said he knew that wasn’t true.
“I want you to head home for a few hours and get some sleep. Tom and the rest of us can handle things in the meantime.”
Manhunt Page 10
