by Kylie Brant
“Helps a lot. Thank you.” Ethan and Alexa turned to make their way back upstairs. “With this and what you came up with last night, we’ve got enough to get a production order,” Ethan told her. “That will require the agencies to produce data and records about their clients for the last few days.”
Her eyes lit up. “This could be the lead we’ve been waiting for.”
Ethan didn’t answer. He’d seen too many similar leads fizzle at the end to allow himself to hope. But if they were going to catch a break in this case, this would be the time for it.
There were six CarsNow rental agencies in Nova Scotia, mostly congregated around Halifax and its suburbs. The one outlier was in New Glasgow, over an hour and a half away. The team would spread out, armed with copies of the production warrant and pictures of the offender. For once Alexa didn’t protest sticking with Ethan. He wasn’t sure if that was progress or if she was as wiped out by last night as he was. They would visit the agency in Dartmouth, go back to the RCMP headquarters to check the license numbers against the photo IDs in the DMV database, and if they were unsuccessful, they’d drive to New Glasgow.
While Ethan drove, Alexa brought up the company’s site on her phone. A map appeared, with the colored markers where their rental agencies were. “We know Fornier said Simard thought he’d seen Anis Tera in a white van the day before he died. Maybe that spooked the UNSUB. It might have been the moment he decided to get a rental.”
“Which then gave him two vehicles he had to deal with.” Ethan braked suddenly to avoid a running into a driver turning against a red light. “Our patrols have discovered nothing with the stop-and-checks they’ve been running. So he’s keeping the van out of sight somewhere.”
“Except when he uses it for the homicides.”
“Except then,” Ethan agreed grimly.
“Which brings up a point.” She half-turned in the seat to look at him. “According to Owens, the offender used a car to pick up Lawler. But his van was spotted by Grayson Quinton at the lake that night. Which means he transported her to wherever he was keeping the van, then drove that to the dumpsite.”
Ethan slowed to pay at the toll station before crossing the McKay bridge that would take them to Dartmouth. “If the offender thought Simard would recognize the Econoline, he probably used the rental to snatch him, too. I can’t see him just leaving the van out in the open in a motel parking lot. He seems too cautious for that.”
“These days, he could get a residential rental through Airbnb or a similar site. He might have a local home with a garage he’s staying in.”
It was feasible, Ethan supposed, keeping a close eye on the bridge traffic. There were too damn many possibilities, which was the problem. It seemed reasonable to assume that the UNSUB would stay in the vicinity since both victims were snatched from there. But it was impossible to know how far outside the metro area he might have strayed.
One would think that the offender would want to avoid people as much as possible. Which would make a remote two- or three-star motel attractive to him. One where there weren’t a lot of questions asked, and no one cared much about the occupants’ comings and goings. Which, Ethan supposed, could also be said for an isolated rental property.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“What?”
“Why…” she pounded lightly on her knee with a closed fist for emphasis. “…does he need the van at all? Yes, he likely drove it into Nova Scotia from New Brunswick. But once he had the rental, it seems like a car would be less noticeable.”
“Spaciousness,” he suggested, but now that she had him thinking about it, he was wondering the same thing. “We know he often uses a dolly to get the bodies from the vehicle to the dumpsite.”
“Okay, so he puts the body in the trunk and the dolly in the back seat,” she said logically. She bent over her phone. A quick glance told him she was looking up the measurements of dollies. His mouth quirked. Scientific to the end.
“Privacy. No windows for anyone to look inside.”
“Or maybe,” Alexa said slowly, “it is space he needs.”
Ethan slowed to a stop for a red light. “I think I said that. There are supplies he’d carry with him. The insects. Tape. Plastic bags. We know he had a power drill and scalpels or knives for the last two victims.”
She was still staring at her phone. This time she was searching the dimensions of the Econoline cargo vans. After a few minutes, Alexa murmured, “He could haul a lot in that big a vehicle.”
“Again, that’s what I—”
She raised her head to look at him. “But maybe he’s using it for more than that. Maybe it’s his kill site.”
A knot of tension formed at the top of his spine. “No way to prove that.” At least, he thought grimly, accelerating when the light turned green, not until they found the vehicle and had the forensic ident guys go through it.
“Obviously. But it would explain why you’ve never found the kill site for any of the homicides.” She was getting excited about her idea now. It sounded in her voice. “He’s killed in all seasons. In most of the provinces and territories. Many times, it had to have been in places with which he’s unfamiliar. No primary crime scene lessens the chances of leaving evidence behind. And it’d be one less thing to have to scout ahead of time.”
“He’d still have to keep the van somewhere isolated when he killed them.” But her idea wasn’t totally without merit. The problem was, it was all speculation, which this case had plenty of. It was facts and evidence that were in short supply.
Ethan remembered something he’d meant to discuss with Alexa. “I expected the UNSUB to reach out to you after the vigil.” Accelerating after he left the bridge, he glanced over at her. “I figured he’d be agitated by the way things went down. We could see in the film the exact moment he must have realized that Lavoie wasn’t you.”
The expression on Alexa’s face was more telling than a shout. He thought it wise to ignore it. The video clip showing the moment the UNSUB had approached the stand-in was chilling. Because Ethan couldn’t be certain the officers wouldn’t have behaved the same way if it had been Alexa there. Leaving her exposed and vulnerable. How close would the offender have gotten to her before their attention had returned to the woman they were supposed to be guarding? “I thought he’d contact you again if only to castigate you for not being at the park.”
She nodded slowly. “I feared how he might react if he discovered the decoy. But I expected him to respond in some way. I don’t think he would have felt threatened by the way the evening transpired. He would have seen it as going according to plan, up until the point when he realized I wasn’t there.”
“What do you think the UNSUB’s silence means?”
“It’s worrisome,” she admitted. “Not contacting me shows a self-discipline I didn’t expect. Because I think I reached him with the press conference message. He’s regrouping somewhere, considering his options. He may decide that these risks aren’t worth it and try to get out of the province.”
Somehow Ethan doubted it. “You don’t believe that.”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure. If four homicides in a short amount of time are him catching up for time lost, that says one thing about him. But I think it’s more than that. I’m guessing that the injuries he sustained at Fornier’s hand acted as a trigger that caused his escalation. If I had to make a prediction…right now he’s planning his next move.”
“I don’t know.” Molly, the young woman who’d greeted them with a cheery smile as they entered the Dartmouth CarsNow agency now sported a worried frown as she perused the production order Ethan handed her. “I mean…I’ve never seen one of these things.” She waved at the sheet of paper. “And my supervisor isn’t in yet, and I’d be in a lot of trouble if I didn’t follow procedure.”
“You’ll be in more trouble if you ignore the order, which has been duly signed by a justice of the peace.” Ethan tapped the signature at the bottom. “What this says is y
ou supply all client records for a window of four days.” Simard had seen the offender on Saturday. Owens had spotted Lawler being helped into a car outside Zoomey’s after midnight Thursday morning. “It narrows it down to Toyota Camrys, dark-color exterior with a light interior.”
“I don’t know,” Molly said again, doubtfully. “My supervisor is a real…I mean he can be difficult. And if I screw up one more time, I think he’s going to get rid of me.”
“Chances are he’ll know what a production order means.” Alexa gave her a friendly smile. “And if he doesn’t, I’m sure he has a boss to report to, and that person will. You won’t get in any trouble for following the law.”
“I wish I was as sure as you are.” But she sat down at her desk and began bringing up records. “Do you want drivers of both genders?”
“Yes,” Ethan and Alexa responded simultaneously. After last night, Ethan wasn’t certain what to expect. If the offender had obtained the license at a DMV station and given a false name and a phony address, the picture would be that of a man. It was far harder to pull that sort of charade in clear view of a DMV attendant.
But if he’d obtained false ID…people who forged documents for a living would have no compunction about someone attempting to disguise his gender.
“You got it.” The printer on her desk began to whir. “We’ve been pretty busy,” Molly said chattily. “What with the nice weather and it being tourist season. More and more people are asking for the small SUVs, but I always tell them, the mid-sized sedans are often roomier for luggage.”
“Were you working those days?” Alexa asked.
Molly nodded. “All of them. My day off is Wednesday.”
Alexa had brought in copies of the offender sketches, and she unfolded them now, holding them up for the young woman to see. “Do you happen to remember seeing someone who looked like either of these drawings?”
The young woman looked up briefly from her task and smiled delightedly. “Hey, yeah, I recognize him.” She tapped the sketch Patrick had helped develop. “Can’t remember his name, but he complimented me on my tattoo.” She stopped to slip her lightweight cardigan down her arm a bit to bare a shoulder emblazoned with an intricately detailed butterfly. “I just got this because it was pretty, but he told me all about it, like the real scientific name, but I can’t remember that. He said it was… Let me think.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “He called it a Luzon Peacock Swallowtail.” She pronounced the name carefully. “Said it was from the Philippines. We had a nice long talk about it. It’s endangered, you know.”
Ethan stilled. “What day would that have been?”
“Um…Saturday? Or Sunday, maybe. I told him he sure seemed to know a lot about butterflies and sort of teased him that maybe he should get a tattoo, too. But he said he liked dragonflies better.”
“Robert Merkel.”
Ethan sat back in his chair, stunned elation filling him. They’d gone back to the RCMP building in Halifax and inputted the drivers’ license numbers from the rental agency into the DMV site, which in turn emailed copies of the corresponding licenses. The copy of the photo ID he’d printed out was eerily close to the second sketch of the offender, with gray hair and a mustache.
“License is phony,” Ian said as he and Jonah crowded around to look at the sheet. “Seventy years old? No way a septuagenarian is hauling dead bodies through forests and down embankments.”
“Septuagenarian?” Jonah Bannon chuckled. “You’ve been doing those Word-a-Day challenges again?”
“I know words.” Ian sounded offended. “And a Bridgewater, Nova Scotia address? He’s struck as far away as British Columbia. Until his most recent spree, he’s never been this far east before.”
“Even a phony name might leave a trail,” Alexa said. She was trying to mask her excitement at the development, but she was all but bouncing in her chair next to Ethan. “And we have his matching credit card information.”
“We do indeed.” Ethan turned to Ian. “See if you can match the name to the ferry passenger manifest. We have lists from the days following the New Brunswick homicides.”
“Where are they?”
Ethan jerked a thumb at the corner of the room where the boxes of manifests had been stacked when they were returned by the Halifax PD. The other man looked at them resignedly before getting up to obey.
To Jonah, he said, “Send out a BOLO alert for the description we have of the offender’s rental car and plate number.” A BOLO would result in a much more targeted search than the stop-and-check for the white van.
The door to the room pushed open, and Nyle walked in. “All I have to say is, the CarsNow branch at the airport is the most disorganized…” He looked from face to the next. “You got him already?”
Ethan caught him up on the morning’s events and then added, “We need a warrant on Merkel’s financials. I’m especially interested in that credit card. He used it for the rental. He may have put the motel where he’s staying on it, as well.”
“If he went to dives and showed enough cash, he probably could have avoided using a card,” Nyle pointed out.
“We’ll soon find out.”
“What do you want me to do?” Alexa asked.
“Research,” Ethan told her. “We need to learn everything we can about Robert Merkel of Bridgewater.”
“Okay, the warrant on the Merkel credit card has been processed with the highest priority stamp, whatever that means.” The near-silence the group had been working in for the last hour and a half was splintered by Nyle’s return. Ethan noticed with amusement the man held a bakery box in his hand. The officer had a serious sweet tooth. Once they had this case solved, they might have to stage an intervention.
“It means the brass in Ottawa is getting personally involved in the process.” Which Ethan hoped was going to get them a rapid response.
“What’d you learn?” Nyle set the box on the table in the corner and as if on cue, Ian and Jonah got up and beelined for it.
“There’s no Robert Merkel listed on the ferry passenger manifests,” Ian McManus responded. He peered into the box and grabbed a napkin with which to make his selection. “Since the UNSUB also didn’t show up on the toll-road cameras, he probably used a different ID for the ferry.”
“The BOLO alert for the offender’s rental went province-wide.” Jonah Bannon nudged McManus aside and studied the contents of the bakery box intently. “It’s might just be a matter of time at this point. He could be spotted driving anywhere.”
Could be, Ethan thought grimly. But the alerts depended on manpower and location. If the offender stuck to back roads, his chances of being seen by a cop plummeted drastically. But the noose around the province was tightening. “The address of the Robert Merkel in Bridgewater matches that given on the rental agreement and the driver’s license.” Ethan rolled his shoulders, working the knots out of them before getting out of his chair to see if Nyle had brought any brownies.
“If you study that license photo closely, it appears that the offender used something on his face to make him look older. But he still doesn’t look seventy.” As if unwilling to join the fray at the table holding the baked goods, Alexa remained seated. “If, as we believe, he drove into the province, it would make sense to have a driver’s license name that’s in the system. If he got pulled over for any reason, the first thing the patrolman would do is run the license.”
With a tinge of satisfaction Ethan discovered there were, indeed brownies. He selected two and set one down in front of Alexa as he made his way back to his chair.
Her lips curved slightly. “Double fudge? You’ve got a good memory.”
His hand paused with the treat halfway to his mouth. The mental image swamped him, summoned by her words. It’d been his birthday, just a few weeks after they’d met, and when he’d joined her at the library after school, she’d surprised him with brownies from the local bakery. One had a candle on top.
If it’s not double fudge, it’s not worth eat
ing. Make a wish, Ethan.
His wish, of course, had included her. She’d already taken up residence in his mind. His heart. With the strength of a seventeen-year-old’s single-minded passion, she’d been the focus of all his desires. As a teenager, he hadn’t had the experience to realize that sometimes getting exactly what he wanted could still end in heartbreak.
Shaken by the subconscious reminder, he continued to his seat. Redirected his attention. “The Bridgewater Merkel is a former minister of a church in town. Retired two years ago, a time that corresponds with his wife’s death. According to the local RCMP officers I spoke with there, he spends November through March in Naples, Florida where his brother lives.”
“Leaving his residence unoccupied.”
“Any kids?” Nyle asked.
“One son.” Alexa picked up the thread of conversation. “Carl Merkel. He’s hopped around the country a bit. Vancouver. Toronto. Quebec City. Most recently Calgary.” She paused to take a bite of the brownie in front of her. Chewed. “Interestingly enough, he works for West Transport.”
There was a moment of silence in the room. “The largest trucking company in the nation.” Nyle’s words weren’t a question.
Ethan could guess what the man was thinking. There’d been a time when the team had seriously considered that the UNSUB’s occupation took him to different parts of the country. A trucker. A salesman. With Alexa’s input, they’d laid to rest the theory that the victims had been chosen at random. But Carl Merkel’s job still gave him pause.
“Robert Merkel is currently in a local nursing home with a broken hip,” Ethan said. “He’s been recuperating there for over a month, according to the Bridgewater RCMP officer I spoke to. He had no social media accounts that we could find, but the brother in Florida often posts pictures of them together down there. And Merkel’s daughter-in-law has tweeted regular updates of her father-in-law’s progress in rehab. It’s possible the UNSUB could keep tabs him through those avenues to learn when the place would be empty.”
