TWENTY-SIX
Mercy had promised to meet him at the Eagle’s Nest police station at six.
Truman glanced at the clock on the wall for the tenth time. He still had ten minutes, so he shuffled the papers on his desk again, prioritizing what he’d tackle in the morning. He’d sent Lucas on an errand a minute ago and hoped he’d be back before Mercy appeared.
When they’d left the lookout an hour ago, she’d refused Truman’s offer of a bite to eat together, stating she needed to make some phone calls and do some computer work before they interviewed Jennifer Sanders’s parents.
She’d barely looked him in the eye.
The entire walk back to the Owlie Lake parking lot had been silent. The companionable atmosphere from earlier in the day had vanished. She seemed preoccupied and tired and couldn’t keep her focus on the path. She kept scanning the woods and slopes as if expecting the cave man to appear. Truman had wanted to make a joke about it, but she didn’t seem to be in a joking mood, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead he got a number for Jennifer’s parents and set up a meeting.
Mercy had been ecstatic after she found the rifles, and she’d still been energized when law enforcement had joined them on the lookout. Her attitude had deflated after she talked to her brother.
Was Levi angry with her? Had they fought?
He knew she was estranged from her family and had been mildly surprised when she offered to call her brother, but it appeared the call hadn’t gone well.
It was on his mental to-do list: find out what the hell had happened between Mercy and the rest of the Kilpatricks.
It shouldn’t be on any list of mine.
He should be concerned solely with finding out who’d killed his uncle. If he learned that, he’d also know who’d killed the other preppers. Guilt poked at him for putting his uncle first, but he wasn’t neglecting the other deaths. Jefferson Biggs’s death occupied a huge part of his heart; it made him work harder on every case.
Speaking of which . . .
He called Ben Cooley, hoping his older officer had returned from his vacation. He was on the schedule for Monday morning.
“Hello, Truman!” Ben’s voice boomed through the line. He didn’t yell in person, but he’d somehow gotten it in his head that he needed to yell when he talked on his cell phone. Truman was thankful he didn’t yell on the office phone at the police department.
“Are you back in town, Ben?” He fought the urge to yell back.
“Just got in around noon. You need some help? I’d be happy to let Sharon handle the unpacking if you need me to come in for something.” The hopefulness in his voice made Truman smile.
“No. You give your wife a hand. I just have some questions about a case that occurred before my time.”
“Which one?” Ben hollered.
“Gwen Vargas.”
The line was silent for a moment. “What do you want to know about that girl?” His volume dropped. “I can tell you right now, that case has stuck with me for a long time. Not many pretty young things end up murdered in Eagle’s Nest, thank the Lord.”
“I reviewed the file, since it’s never been solved,” hedged Truman. “Were there really no other suspects?”
“Well, we looked at the boyfriend first. His alibi was backed up by a half-dozen people, and I’m telling you, he was an absolute wreck. He’d been planning to propose as soon as he saved up enough money for a ring. I thought his interview was honest. Parents checked out clean too.”
“But no other suspects?” Truman repeated.
“The evidence didn’t give us any new leads to follow. The interviews of her friends and family didn’t turn up any leads either. The case went cold really fast. You saw it was tied to the Jennifer Sanders death too, right? Lots of similarities that made us sure it was the same person. Both went cold.”
“What do you think happened, Ben?”
The line was silent for so long, Truman glanced at the phone screen to see if he was still connected.
“Dunno,” Ben finally said. “I think someone was passing through town and kept going. Those attacks were about two weeks apart, and then nothin’. People who do that sort of thing don’t just give it up, you know.”
“I agree.” Truman took a deep breath. “We think there’s a possibility that Jefferson’s death might be related to these two cold cases. The other three preppers too. You heard we found another one today?”
“I heard,” Ben said gruffly. “Anders Beebe knew how to try my patience, but it doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”
“Same here.”
“How are some old preppers tied to the two girls’ cases?”
“Broken mirrors.”
A hiss sounded in Truman’s ear as Ben sucked in his breath. “Holy Bruce Almighty. I’d totally forgotten about that part. You got broken mirrors in all of the recent cases?”
“Every mirror.”
“I’ll be goddamned. I can’t believe it.”
“Were the broken mirrors big news back then? Could someone have heard about it and decided to copy?”
“Well now, I don’t know. I seem to remember we kept it to ourselves, since it was one of the things we used to tie the cases together. But you know how hard it is to keep things quiet in this kind of town.”
“I do.”
“Don’t seem possible to be the same person all these years later,” Ben muttered. “It doesn’t fit.”
“I agree. But the mirrors are making us take another look.”
“Well, I’ll think on it,” Ben said. “Maybe I’ll come in and read over my notes on the case. That might kick something loose in my brain.”
“I’d appreciate it,” said Truman. He ended the call with Ben and checked the clock.
Mercy should arrive any moment, and he couldn’t sit still. He felt like a middle school student waiting for his crush to enter the classroom.
Shit. Not cool. He was growing more and more attracted to the FBI agent.
Fucking bad timing. Plus she doesn’t even live near here.
As if location were the biggest hurdle. How about working on the same case?
Green eyes and dark hair popped into his mind. She was stubborn and nearly impossible to get to talk about herself. Maybe it was the air of mystery about her that’d hooked him. He’d always been interested in the unobtainable. He remembered how her face had lit up at his uncle’s home as she gazed at the results of his uncle’s obsession.
He wanted her to look like that at him. Not at a bunch of baking supplies.
The door out front opened and shut.
Please be Lucas. He strode down the hall and spotted Mercy in a light jacket. She turned and smiled at him and he swore his heart skipped a beat.
Get over yourself. It’s not happening.
She seemed to have perked up since they parted an hour ago. Maybe she simply didn’t function well on an empty stomach.
“Ready to go?” she asked. “Did you call Cooley?”
“Yes and yes,” Truman said. “I was—”
The door flung open again and Lucas stepped in with a cardboard coffee tray and three covered cups. “Here you go, boss.”
Reading the sides of the cups, Truman handed one to a surprised Mercy and took one for himself. “Thank you, Lucas.”
“Thanks.” Mercy took a sip and raised her eyebrows as her eyes widened.
“Is that right?” Truman asked. He’d sent Lucas to get her an Americano with heavy cream. Caffeine was a cure-all for him, and he’d taken a chance it’d help her too.
“It is. I was expecting black coffee.”
“That’s in my cup.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks pinked as she lowered her gaze and took another sip.
Score.
Little things. His mom and sister had always appreciated the little things. His dad had taught him how to listen for them, and it’d never let him down.
Just what am I trying to achieve?
He didn’t want to admit his answer.
Mercy studied the profile of the police chief as he drove toward Bend.
It’s just a cup of coffee.
But how many times has Eddie bought me coffee? He always grabs me a regular black cup of coffee.
It means nothing.
It meant he was observant. A fact she was already aware of, and a trait that made her nervous. Around Truman Daly she consistently felt slightly exposed, as if he could see she was simply a small-town girl pretending to be an FBI agent. In four days he’d learned more about her than anyone she’d worked with in the last five years.
She didn’t like it.
Or do I?
The intensity of his focus on her after her brother’s call had unnerved her. She’d expected him to say she’d lied about the conversation. And she probably would have confessed the truth. Her protective shield had been painfully thin at that moment, and her secrets had felt like soda in a shaken bottle. Ready to explode when someone twisted the cap.
Truman appeared to be a good cap twister.
He made light conversation as they drove to Bend, relaying his phone call with Ben Cooley. Mercy listened and tried to remember the old cop from her years in town. She couldn’t do it. She also couldn’t put a face to his daughter, Teresa Cooley, whom Pearl had talked about.
“Did you ask him if his daughter had a problem with Jennifer Sanders?” Mercy asked.
“I didn’t. I’ll bring it up next time in person.”
“It could have sounded accusatory on the phone.”
“I thought so.” He glanced over at her, his eyes hidden in the dark. “The caffeine help? You looked ready for sleep after our find at the lookout today.”
“I was. Bed had crossed my mind at one point.”
“Not sleeping well?”
“I stay up later than I should.” Her nighttime activities were taking a toll. She should cut back.
“That’s easy enough to fix.”
“You’d think so,” agreed Mercy. “I should be more disciplined.”
Even though it was dark, she felt the disbelief in his look. “I have a hard time believing you’re not disciplined, Special Agent Kilpatrick.”
“What do you know about Jennifer Sanders’s parents?” She changed the subject.
“Nothing. I know they’re in their sixties and agreed to meet with us.”
“Should be interesting. Fifteen years since their daughter was murdered and no results.”
“I hope we can find some answers for them,” Truman said quietly. “Parents shouldn’t have to suffer like that.”
Mercy agreed.
John and Arleen Sanders appeared to be in their eighties, not sixties.
Mercy’s heart cracked at the permanent pain in Arleen’s eyes. Jennifer had been their only child.
“I used to call the police department every few months to find out if anything new had been discovered,” said Arleen. “I finally stopped. I would be depressed for days after each call.” John patted her limp hand.
Now you’re permanently depressed.
The couple lived in a small condo in a retirement village. Mercy had spotted the wing for advanced care across the greenway between the buildings. She believed the constant visual reminder of a possible difficult future would be depressing. She suspected it was supposed to be comforting to see you wouldn’t move far if you could no longer live alone. No one believed in planning ahead more than Mercy, but seeing that wing every day wouldn’t work for her.
I’d rather have a heart attack while chopping wood.
Arleen was dreadfully thin and frail. Her hair was like a wispy dandelion going to seed. John appeared sturdier, but the tissues around his eyes were red, and age spots dotted his bare scalp. The hope in his gaze as he’d answered the door had driven a spike through Mercy’s chest.
She wished she had good news for them.
Arleen had stared curiously at her as they made introductions. “You’re one of the Kilpatrick girls.”
“Yes.”
“Pearl was good friends with our Jennifer. You look a lot like your mother did at your age.”
“Pearl still speaks highly of Jennifer,” Mercy answered, uncertain how to address the comment about her mother.
Truman took charge of the interview and Mercy was grateful. He was tactful and caring and sounded dedicated to helping the couple. Both parents hung on his every word. He was sincere, impressing Mercy. He wasn’t a slick salesman. Truman was exactly what he’d told her he wanted to be: a guy in a position to help people.
Even if he couldn’t tell the Sanderses who’d killed their daughter, he let them know it mattered to him. Mercy knew they’d spent years believing no one cared. It’d broken them. Truman offered the first comfort they’d had in ages.
She listened as Truman gently guided them through the few weeks before Jennifer was murdered. They learned Jennifer had been frantically searching to find a roommate, worried she’d have to move back home with her folks. The rent was simply too much for her to handle on her own.
“Was she only considering female roommates? Did she advertise for a roommate?” Mercy asked.
“She didn’t advertise,” said Arleen. “She was asking everyone in town for leads, but she’d never live with a male.”
Mercy wondered if Jennifer would refuse to live with a man, imagining them knocking on her door after hearing the attractive woman was looking for a roommate.
“No special man in her life at that time, right?” asked Truman. Both he and Mercy knew this was true on the basis of reports and Mercy’s talk with Pearl.
“Not that we knew of,” said John.
“She would have told me if she was dating anyone,” Arleen said firmly.
Because mothers and daughters share everything.
Mercy’s lungs contracted at the thought of the mother she hadn’t spoken with in fifteen years.
Arleen hasn’t spoken with her daughter in the same amount of time. Look what it’s done to her.
She wondered if her mother’s eyes looked half as haunted as Arleen’s.
I’m not dead. A big difference.
“Was Jennifer friends with Teresa Cooley?” Truman asked, and Mercy straightened a fraction, interested to hear the Sanderses’ opinion of Teresa.
The couple looked at each other. “I don’t remember that name, do you?” Arleen said to John. He shook his head. “Is she a suspect?” Arleen asked Truman.
“No. Just a woman who had a relationship with your daughter we’re trying to understand. If you don’t remember her, then their friendship must have been casual.”
“I knew all of Jennifer’s friends,” Arleen stated.
Mercy wondered if Arleen truly believed that. “Did you notice anything missing from Jennifer’s things after the murder? I know there was money and weapons missing. Did you discover anything later?”
The couple looked at each other, frowning as they tried to remember. “You said you couldn’t find that photo of Jennifer in her prom dress,” John finally prompted Arleen.
She turned back to the investigators. “That’s right. Jennifer’s prom photo was missing. She’d kept it on her dresser for years. It was a lovely picture. She told me she liked it because she looked skinny.” She leaned forward to Mercy and said in a hushed voice, “She put on some weight after high school.”
Mercy didn’t know how to answer that and simply nodded.
“Who was her prom date?” asked Truman.
“She didn’t have one. She and several girlfriends—your sister included—went in a group with some boys. I thought it was a good way to do it.”
“The picture was of the whole group?” clarified Mercy.
Arleen nodded, staring off into the distance. “I remember your sister Pearl and Gwen Vargas were there, even though Gwen was younger. They allowed all high school grades to go to the prom, not just seniors. I can’t remember any of the boys who went.”
And Gwen Vargas had a photo album missing. I wonder if it included the same photo.
“Was anything else missing?” Truman asked. Mercy had felt his intensity increase when John mentioned the photo.
The couple gazed at each other again and finally shook their heads. “The prom photo could have simply gotten lost before she was killed,” said Arleen. “Or maybe the frame broke or it got ruined somehow. I don’t know why anyone would take it.”
Truman and Mercy asked a few more questions. They simultaneously came to the conclusion that the Sanderses had provided all the information they could. They said their good-byes, gave more condolences, and left their cards behind.
Mercy checked her e-mail as they got in Truman’s vehicle. “Eddie spent the evening talking to some of Enoch Finch’s relatives. Remember how they cleaned out his house after his death? Eddie doesn’t think he got any useful information. None of these relatives had spoken with Enoch in over six months.”
“But they were quick to claim his belongings. Or sell them.”
Mercy snorted. “In this e-mail, Eddie calls them scavengers.”
“What did you think of the Sanderses?” Truman asked as he focused on the road.
“They make me sad. How awful to only have pictures of your daughter for memories. The missing prom picture was interesting, but like she said, it could have been destroyed and disposed of before the murder.”
“My sister kept her prom picture for at least ten years,” said Truman. “How about you?”
“I didn’t go. I’m surprised Pearl got to go. Our parents kept a pretty tight handle on us girls.”
“Not on your brothers?”
“No. They were men . . . able to defend themselves.”
“That’s old-fashioned.”
“Tell me about it.”
Silence filled the vehicle, pressing on Mercy’s lungs, making her wish she were anywhere else than next to this overly observant man.
“That was a gorgeous view out at the lake today,” said Truman. “It does me good to see sights like that. Makes me thankful for where I live.”
The pressure on her chest vanished. “It was.”
“We’ll have to get up there again before you go back to Portland.”
“No doubt we’ll have to go up to the cave for some reason,” Mercy replied, checking her phone again. They rode on in silence.
It wasn’t until after Truman dropped her off that his words echoed in her head.
Was he referring to work when he said, “get up there again”?
She froze with one foot in the air as she changed into heavy-duty hiking boots.
Of course he was.
His simple statement haunted her for the next hour.