Not appropriate for colleagues, and yet...they’d never just be colleagues, would they?
Friends—it was appropriate for friends.
He squeezed her hand and let go as someone came on the other end of the line. “Yes, this is Sergeant Mitchell again. I’m looking for a list of visitors, known friends and family, or contacts for Ronald Wilson.” A pause, then Ryan nodded. “Okay, thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
“Well?” she asked as soon as he hung up.
“He’s going to pull together what they have and send it to me.”
“All right.”
“Hey, Mitchell,” one of the other officers called from his desk, “Mike Roberts up in Indy sent word your suspects checked out clean. No trace of explosives. Meant to tell you when you got here.”
“Thanks, Ross.” He turned to Laney. “Dad got us the warrant to search Dennis Taber’s house. Sarah’s taking Marty over there later this morning. I figured we should lie low and give you time to recover, but...” His voice trailed away, one eyebrow lifting. Very much like the expression that had lit up his face as a teenager whenever one of their friends suggested they sneak into the fields for a midnight game of tag.
Ryan always knew exactly where and when to push. She’d never been one to back down from a challenge, so she gave the same answer she always had. “Let’s do it. Especially since I now have a very personal reference to the suspect’s height and weight.”
Her last comment brought a frown to his face, and for a moment she wondered if he’d change his mind. Decide it wasn’t safe enough. But with the possibility of a serial killer after her, where was she going to be safe?
Maybe the same thoughts were playing through Ryan’s mind, because after they stood, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I suppose offense is the best defense. But you’re sticking close to me, okay?”
“Got it.” She couldn’t imagine she’d feel safer anywhere else.
* * *
Unlike their visit to Lawrence Brown’s house, Dennis Taber opened the door after the first knock. Ryan recognized him immediately, despite the graininess of the airport’s surveillance footage. He held up his badge and the search warrant.
“Dennis Taber, I’m Sergeant Ryan Mitchell. We have a warrant to search your property with the dog—” he nodded toward the German shepherd, held tightly on the leash by Sarah “—and ask you some questions.”
Dennis’s brow furrowed. “What for? What am I accused of?”
“You’re not accused of anything yet, sir. We’re investigating a bombing that may be related to the airport. Your cooperation will help us get to the bottom of what happened.”
The tall man swung the door open. “Of course, I’ll cooperate. If this is about what happened at that hotel, I didn’t have anything to do with it.” He stepped aside as Sarah led Marty in.
Marty stopped in front of Dennis, sniffing his shoes and pant legs. Then the dog strained at the leash, telling Sarah to let him keep going into the house.
Ryan exchanged a quick glance with Laney before turning back to Dennis. Looked like the man was clean, but maybe something could still turn up in the house. “We’ve got some questions for you. Would you prefer to do that at the police station, or are you willing to cooperate here?”
“I’ll answer your questions.”
“Excellent.” He pulled out a notepad and pen. Laney stood close beside him on the front porch. “Mr. Taber, we have on record that you and Lawrence Brown unloaded Flight 776 from Indianapolis on the evening of August 17. Is that correct?”
Dennis scratched his head. “Uh, yeah, sounds right. I mean, I was working that night, so it would’ve been me and Larry.”
“Do you recall anything unusual happening with the luggage from that flight?”
“No.” He stared over their shoulders for a moment, thinking. “Wait—yes. Larry said we missed a bag. I was the one who drove the truck up to the claim belt. We each unloaded a side, and when we were done, I returned the truck. When I got back to our workstation fifteen minutes later, Larry said he’d found one we overlooked putting on the belt. I offered to take it up to the claims office, but he said he’d take care of it.”
“How does the unloading work? Does the luggage go directly from the truck onto the conveyor?”
“It’s less work to throw them right on the belt than to unload to the floor, but sometimes one topples back if it’s not balanced. Or they can fall off the truck while you’re grabbing another. We miss one every now and then.”
“Did you see the bag in question?”
“It was a black carry-on.” He held his hands up to indicate the approximate size. “You know, one of those small rolling ones. Larry found it by the belt and left it against the wall in the baggage handlers’ work area. Same place we always leave missing luggage before taking it upstairs.”
Great. How many other employees had access to Laney’s suitcase during that time? Maybe they’d find video surveillance for that area, too, if they kept watching the footage.
“Why didn’t he just put it on the conveyor?”
“Policy says take it to the claims office if the belt’s been off more than fifteen minutes.”
“Was it ever left unattended?” Ryan asked.
“Dunno.” Dennis shrugged. “I mean, I wasn’t there, because I was driving the truck back. You’d have to ask Larry.”
Ryan glanced at Laney, wondering if he’d missed any other questions she wanted him to ask.
She cleared her throat. “Other than when you returned the truck, was Lawrence Brown with you the entire time you were unloading?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t he be? We had a job to do.”
“Okay, thank you, Mr. Taber,” Ryan said. “We’ll let you know if we have any further questions.”
Sarah and Marty reappeared in the entryway behind Dennis. She shook her head ever so slightly. Nothing. Ryan clenched his teeth as frustration ripped at his insides. Laney’s life was in danger, and if they didn’t get a lead soon... Would he be able to protect her the next time?
“All right, all finished,” Sarah said lightly. “Thanks so much, Mr. Taber. We appreciate your cooperation.”
“Of course,” he said, letting Sarah and Marty back out of the house.
“Please let us know if you remember anything else that might be helpful,” Ryan added.
Dennis closed the door and the three headed for the patrol cars in the driveway.
Ryan stopped next to Sarah as she loaded the dog back into his crate. “Really? Nothing at all?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not sure his scent was even on the bag from incidental handling, but of course, a blast like that obliterates most smells beyond charcoal.”
Ryan returned to his car, where Laney already sat in the passenger seat, and slid in behind the wheel. “What did you think about him?”
“Too tall for last night’s attacker. The man who grabbed me was shorter than you by at least a couple of inches—closer to Lawrence Brown’s height—and this guy was easily six foot four.”
Did she always gauge other men’s heights relative to his? It took effort not to smile.
“Besides,” she added, “my instincts say to believe him.”
This time he did smile. “We’ll make a decent cop out of you yet, you know it? I agree, though. He seems clean. But then, Brown came back clean, too, according to the dog.”
“And there’s no way Brown had time to come threaten me in the bathroom in the middle of unloading the airplane. The timing doesn’t work.” She let out a slight sigh. “Now what?”
“Well—” He was interrupted by the crackling static of the radio.
“Two-one-five. Ten-thirty-three. Copy?”
Ryan spoke into his radio. “Ten-four. Mitchell here.”
“We’ve got a ten-twenty on an abandoned blue Fo
rd pickup.”
He exchanged a quick glance with Laney. Her eyes had gone wide in that “what are we waiting for?” expression he’d always loved. Finally, maybe they would get some answers.
TWELVE
Laney frowned out the window as they headed away from town on one of the many country roads. Here was yet another familiar path she and Jenna had biked during that last year together. Like the road to Lawrence Brown’s house, the scenery was hauntingly familiar but foreign at the same time, as if she’d seen it all before but had never really been paying attention.
She picked at her fingernails as they rounded a bend. This could’ve been the same road Jenna was on that fatal day. Come to think of it, the area did look familiar. Up ahead at the next curve, two cop cars were pulled over on the right-hand shoulder. A hill rose on the left side of the road, and to the right, on the other side of a guardrail, the terrain dropped away out of sight.
Ryan slowed the vehicle, pulling in behind the other cars. “Here?” He said it more like a question than a statement.
At his expression, dread curled in her stomach. “This is where they found Jenna’s bike, isn’t it?”
He turned off the engine and stared at the guardrail.
An entire section of the metal had broken free from its support on one end and now lay twisted and mangled beside the road. Hit by the truck, perhaps?
When he finally turned to her, the grief in his eyes said it all.
Anger boiled Laney’s insides. This had to be an intentional choice by the killer—someone who knew Jenna’s father and brother worked for the police. Someone sadistic enough to play with them, torture them over their loss.
She squeezed Ryan’s arm, offering him the only measure of comfort she could. “I’m sorry, Ryan. We’ll catch him.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “We don’t even have a legitimate suspect yet.”
“We’ll get there, though. Justice is in the Lord’s hands. He won’t leave evildoers unpunished forever.”
His gaze met hers, and he gave her a small smile. “You’re right. Thanks, Laney. I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.”
Ryan’s words filled her insides with a different sort of warmth than the fierce, burning anger. For the first time since she’d returned, she let her gaze drift to his mouth, remembering what his kiss had felt like. Would it be the same now, so many years later? From that tender look in his eyes, he might very well be asking himself the same question.
Tension crackled between them until he cleared his throat.
Right. The case.
And friends only. Wasn’t that their unspoken agreement?
She bolted out of the car like it was on fire, sucking in a couple of deep breaths as she waited for Ryan. He didn’t make eye contact as he rounded the front of the vehicle and examined the damaged guardrail. On the opposite side, a set of ruts in the grass showed where the truck had braked on the other side before sliding down the hill. It had come to rest a hundred feet below, against a tree.
Two officers stood beside the open driver’s door. A third climbed out of the front patrol car as she and Ryan approached.
“Sergeant,” the officer said in greeting.
“What have you got so far?” Ryan asked.
“Ford F-150, 1993 for the year. VIN currently unregistered. Previous registration was in Indiana, under one Ted Kincaide, expired six months ago. Plates are missing from the exterior, but we waited for you to arrive before processing the interior.”
“Who found it? You can’t see it from the road unless you pull off on the shoulder up there.”
“An anonymous man called it in. Said he pulled over to let another car pass and happened to notice it.”
“All right,” Ryan said. “Then let’s get started.”
Laney helped him carry down the evidence-collection kit from the patrol car, while the other officer used a digital camera to photograph the broken guardrail and the ruts in the ground. Judging by the scraped bark on a couple of the trees she passed, the truck had ricocheted off more than one on its descent.
The inside was disgusting—full of old McDonald’s wrappers, rotting chicken nuggets, drinking straws and scratched-off, expired lottery tickets. Laney donned a pair of gloves and dug in, assisting Ryan with bagging and labeling each item he pulled from the truck’s extended cab back seat.
“Plenty of material for DNA analysis,” she said with a wrinkled nose.
“Absolutely.” An officer working on the front seat held up a pair of tweezers, a nearly invisible hair glinting in the sunlight. “Though there might be too much here to be helpful.”
“Hey, here’re the plates.” Ryan pivoted on the edge of the truck and held up a pair of Indiana license tags. He jumped down off the running board. “I’ll take these up to the patrol car and run them through the system.” He glanced at her. “You coming, Laney?”
“Sure. I’ll call the hospital to check on my mom while we’re up there.” With the help of the social worker, Kim had yielded to Laney’s wishes and agreed to check herself into a rehab center as soon as she was released from the hospital.
She trudged back up the hillside next to him in silence. Thick gray clouds had appeared over the rise and now obscured the sun, giving the place an even gloomier feel than it had before. The hot, muggy air threatened a doozy of a thunderstorm later.
Her cell phone was in her purse inside the patrol car, so while Ryan sat in the driver’s seat and typed the plate number into his onboard computer, she grabbed the bag and walked to the rear of the vehicle. As she pulled her phone out of its slot, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground.
Probably a receipt. She really needed to clean out that bag. After finding the hospital’s number, she tapped it in and went through the menu until she could enter her mother’s room number. While it rang, she stooped to pick up the piece of paper.
Huh. Ripped edges, like it had been torn from something larger. The outside was white, but a glimpse of color stared back at her from inside.
“Hello?” Her mother’s voice came on the phone.
“Hi, Mom, I just wanted to check on you,” Laney answered, only half concentrating as she opened the folded piece of paper.
It was part of a map. And on top of the red roads and green fields, scrawled black words sent a cold chill threading through her veins.
It’ll be your turn soon, Laney Hamilton.
* * *
Ryan finished reading the report he’d pulled up on the license plate number, which essentially confirmed what they’d learned from the VIN. Ted Kincaide was the last registered owner, but the plates had expired six months ago.
“Looks like we need to pay a visit to Ted Kincaide,” he said as he climbed out of the car. Laney sat in silence on the rear bumper, her back to him, staring down at something. Had she gotten bad news?
“Hey,” he said as he walked up to her. “Is your mother okay?”
She glanced up and her hands trembled as she held out a piece of paper. His throat closed as he read the threat, fear and anger fighting for the same space in his chest.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“It was in my purse.” Her words were faint. She reached a thumb over her shoulder. “There, in the car.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t there earlier?”
“I’m sure. That pocket was empty when I put my phone in it this morning.”
He scanned the road, the hill on the opposite side and the bend up ahead. No sign of any cars or people, except for the three officers down the hill. Could the killer have been so bold? Sneaking into his car to leave this message?
And why?
“He’s playing with us, Ryan.” She muttered the words mechanically, still staring at her hands. “Just like leaving the truck here where you found the bike. He’s probably the one who called in the
location.”
He shook his head. “He already tried and failed to abduct you. This is only a scare tactic. We must be getting close to identifying him.” She stood, and he slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close almost without thinking. “I’m going to protect you.”
“I know.” The words came out like a sigh, as if she wanted to believe him but didn’t really.
Frustration gnawed at his insides as he wished for some way to reassure her, to make things right. She squirmed a little and he let go.
“Can I see that paper again?” she asked.
He handed it back to her, hating its very existence and that she’d ever gotten involved in this case.
She tapped the paper. “Look, this was ripped off the edge of a city map. Here’s the far east end of Sandy Bluff and County Highway 13, heading east. The trailer park’s up here.” She pointed out the various landmarks beneath the ugly black words. “The field where you found the other two bodies. And Waltman’s Bog.”
Her finger stopped over the bog, hovering for a moment. Ryan leaned closer, squinting. Was that a mark on the map? No, make that two marks. He glanced up at Laney, his eyes growing wide. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“He’s given us the location of another set of remains. But why?” Her brows pulled together. “Why tell us this after going to such lengths to silence me? Is it a trap?”
Ryan clenched his jaw as he stared at the paper. “I don’t know.” He hated having to give her that answer but lying would never work. Not with Laney, who’d always been able to read the truth right off his face.
She held out the scrap. “What do we do about this?”
Good question. Taking Laney into that bog to search for remains was the last thing he wanted to do if it was a trap. But if the remains were there, they needed those bones. The other victim’s family deserved to know what had happened to their daughter, just like his family wanted to know about Jenna.
“I’ll talk to my father about it,” he said after a long moment, tucking the map into the back pocket of his jeans. “In the meantime, let’s pay a visit to the former owner of that truck.” He pointed down the hill to where the officers were still at work on the vehicle. “I’ll call Sarah to see if she and Marty can meet us over there.”
Buried Evidence Page 12
