“I’m starting to despise this case.” Mercy’s heart was a thick lump in her throat.
“Me too,” agreed Truman. Until now, he’d been silent beside her during the drive.
Mercy had received a 2:00 a.m. phone call—never a good thing—with a report that a family had been murdered in their home. A neighbor had found the family when she went to investigate why their dogs were howling.
Truman had been in bed next to her when the call came in and had insisted on accompanying her to the scene.
Her headlights lit up the one-lane gravel road, and the falling rain looked like liquid silver. Up ahead she spotted several county vehicles and a home with all its lights on. She parked behind a county unit, got out of her SUV, and pulled up her hood against the rain. Frantic barking sounded from behind the home. Mercy didn’t see a fence around the house and assumed the dogs were tied up or kenneled. She and Truman checked in with the deputy manning the scene log, bootied up, and then looked for Detective Bolton, who’d made the call to Mercy. A pair of deputies stood in the kitchen making small talk. They nodded at Mercy and Truman as the two of them entered, and one went to get the detective.
The home was nice, Mercy noticed. Someone had updated the flooring with wide plank boards, and stainless-steel appliances shone in the kitchen. Not high-end appliances, but definitely newer models. The cabinets had been painted white, and the countertops were granite and uncluttered. Time and money had been spent to remodel the home.
A family lived here. Books for children and adults filled a bookcase. A football, Star Wars figures, and two lightsabers were scattered on the rug next to the large sectional. A professional photo showed four smiling faces as the family posed in the middle of a golden wheat field.
The family name was Jorgensen. Father, mother, two sons.
Mercy studied the photo. Everyone looked happy. Her breath caught at the way the mother wrapped her arm around one of the boys, pulling him close, joy on their faces. Family. Love. Togetherness.
Gone.
Evan Bolton appeared from the back of the house. He’s become the Angel of Death. Mercy only saw him when someone had died.
He must think the same of me.
Bolton greeted the two of them, and she noticed he didn’t mention Truman’s presence at a scene outside the Eagle’s Nest jurisdiction. She took it as a sign that he’d grown to trust the two of them.
“My evidence team isn’t here yet,” Bolton told them. “But we’ve confirmed the front door was open. My men have cleared the house and immediate area around the home. No sign of anyone or a weapon.”
“The neighbor came over in the middle of the night because the dogs were barking?” The late-night visit felt odd to Mercy.
“The neighbor was very worried. She said the Jorgensen dogs are usually no problem, but tonight they wouldn’t stop howling. She called the Jorgensens and they didn’t answer. The backs of the two homes are about five hundred feet apart, but the neighbor’s driveway goes out to a different road. It takes a few minutes to drive from one house to the other. When she got here, she saw the door was ajar and the dogs were going wild in their kennel. She stuck her head in the door and called for the family.” He shook his head, looking glum. “No one answered, so she went in and found them.”
“Where is the neighbor?” asked Mercy.
“I talked to her, and then she went back home with one of my officers to get some warmer clothing. She was wearing a nightgown. They should be back any minute. She was pretty shaken.”
“Does the home have a camera security system?” Truman asked.
“No. The neighbor does, but the cameras cover the front of her home. Nothing catches the road or the back of her house.”
“Still worth a look,” Truman said. “The killer might have cut through her property.”
“Agreed,” answered Bolton.
“What do you know about the family?” Mercy asked.
“Ray and Sharla Jorgensen. Their boys are Luke and Galen. According to the neighbor they were eight and ten.”
More murdered young children. “Let’s take a look,” she said, steeling herself.
The first bedroom belonged to the boys. Twin-size beds stood against opposite walls and between them was a wide low table on a Seattle Seahawks rug. A giant Lego city with skyscrapers and a sports stadium covered the table—an impressive project. Mercy forced herself to look at the children. Someone had pulled back the covers of both boys, and they lay on their sides as if they were still sleeping. One’s head was so soaked with blood, Mercy couldn’t tell the color of his hair. The other was blond. Both boys had suffered blows to the head and mouth.
She blinked rapidly, comparing the children to the photo in the living room.
Truman’s gaze was expressionless, his emotions tucked away, but she spotted a brief flash of sorrow and sympathy as he glanced at her. The lump in her throat grew larger, and she couldn’t speak. Instead she gestured for Bolton to take them to another room.
As they walked the narrow hall, behind her she heard Truman curse under his breath.
The parents’ large bed had a cream-colored velvet headboard. Ray Jorgensen’s side of the bed had multiple blood trails going up the headboard. He’d been hit several times. Sharla was on the floor. Her pillow had spatter from her husband, and her blood had soaked into the carpet and splattered on the side of the nightstand.
“It looks like she woke up while her husband was being killed and tried to get away. The killer caught up with her,” said Bolton.
“The MO looks the same as the Hartlage family,” Mercy said. “The injuries are the same, and their attacks happened in their beds.”
“But the bodies weren’t left behind,” Bolton pointed out.
“Maybe the dogs or the neighbor scared him off before he could finish,” suggested Truman. “Or he’s abandoned that part of his plan. Moving bodies is a lot of work.”
Mercy crouched next to Sharla. The woman’s eyes were open and starting to cloud. Shock and terror were frozen on her face.
Did she know what was happening?
Her mouth was bloody, several of her front teeth broken or missing.
Why does he do that?
“I heard you’re looking at some old cases in conjunction with the remains found on March Mountain,” said Bolton, his gaze locked on Mercy.
She exchanged a glance with Truman.
“Those cases were solved. The guy is in prison,” Mercy stated as she stood up.
“Then why are you going through them?” Bolton asked. His expression stated he knew Mercy was holding back.
Mercy gestured at Sharla’s mouth. “Because the two families that were killed two decades ago had the same injuries. And he killed complete families in their beds by bludgeoning them.”
Bolton pressed his lips together as he slowly nodded. “Copycat?”
“I don’t know. Grady Baldwin, who was put away for them, claims he didn’t do the murders.”
“Of course he’d say that. Did he leave the families in their beds?”
“He did.”
“But you found a family’s bones in a culvert? That’s very different.”
“And we haven’t confirmed it’s the Hartlage family. The daughters have been identified, but not the adult remains.”
Bolton stared at her. “The parents could have left town after killing and dumping their kids?”
“Possibly. But there was blood found in all the beds in the home.”
“If I was trying to make people think I was dead, I’d leave behind some blood,” Bolton stated.
“The blood splatter at the Hartlage home was consistent with a victim in each bed.”
Bolton relaxed a fraction. “That’s hard to fake. I guess if they were really organized, they could have put an animal in each bed and beat it.”
Mercy had attended a blood spatter seminar that demonstrated exactly that. The instructor liked to use pigs.
“We don’t have lab results on the blood yet, but no animal fur was found in the beds. We have toothbrushes and hair from the bathrooms of the home, so we’ll be doing DNA analysis at some point. I still hope to find the parents’ dental records. It’s much quicker to confirm identity.”
“Good.” Bolton turned his attention back to the victims in the bed. “At least we know who the victims are here.”
Mercy glanced at Sharla again. Even under all the blood, Mercy could tell she was one of the adults in the family picture out front. The man was too. Scanning the room, Mercy noticed an open dresser drawer. The room was extremely neat, and the open drawer felt out of place. Glancing inside, she saw an open jewelry box that appeared to have been rifled through. She doubted Sharla left her jewelry so scattered. “I suspect he was looking for some valuables. Does anything else appear to have been gone through? What about wallets?”
Bolton checked the adjoining bathroom as Truman opened the master closet with a gloved hand. “His wallet is still in the pocket of the jeans on a hook,” said Truman. Bolton joined him, slipped the wallet out, and opened it. “A couple of twenties,” commented Truman. “If he was looking for fast cash, he didn’t look very hard.”
Mercy went out to the living room, where she’d noticed a purse and a bowl of keys on a small table by the door. Why didn’t he grab the purse? Looking inside, she saw cash in Sharla’s wallet too. Easy money.
Truman and Bolton joined her. “Money isn’t his motivation,” she said. “Maybe Sharla did leave her jewelry a mess.”
“Most crimes come down to money or sex.” Truman pointed out a fact Mercy knew all too well.
Sharla was fully clothed in pajamas.
“Not money or sex,” Mercy murmured. “What does that leave?”
“Revenge . . . anger . . . or just fucked up in the head,” said Truman.
“There’s always a reason,” agreed Bolton.
“What did Ray and Sharla do for work?” asked Mercy.
“I don’t know yet,” admitted Bolton.
“And why didn’t the dogs wake everyone up?” Truman asked. “They threw a fit when we got here. I can’t see someone getting in the house without them sounding the alarm, even if they are kenneled outside. I would’ve expected Ray Jorgensen would get out of bed to investigate.”
“Good point,” said Bolton.
“I hope the neighbor can help us out.” Mercy glanced at the time. It was past three in the morning.
There’d be no more rest for her tonight.
Truman stood on the front porch of the Jorgensen home, listening to the rain fall on the porch roof and breathing the clean air. He’d needed to step away from the scene.
Those boys.
All too easily he could picture the pair as they played in the yard and fought with their lightsabers. He’d done the same with his sister.
Headlights appeared down the long drive, and he assumed the deputy was returning with the neighbor. The vehicle drew closer, and he spotted the light bar on the roof. After it parked, a woman in a hooded thick coat and boots got out along with the deputy.
Truman turned around and spoke through the open front door. “The deputy is back with the neighbor.”
Mercy and Bolton immediately stepped out. “Let’s talk to her out here,” suggested Mercy, pointing at the bench and chairs on the wide covered porch.
Truman agreed.
The woman followed the deputy up the steps, pushing back her hood as she stepped into the dry area. Truman estimated her to be in her fifties. Her face was lightly lined, and she was tall like Mercy. She moved with athleticism and energy, but sorrow shone in her eyes. She’d been crying.
Mercy introduced herself and Truman.
“I’m Janet Norris.”
A flicker of confusion flashed on Mercy’s face, and Truman knew she was trying to place the name. Even though Mercy had been away for fifteen years, she frequently encountered people from her past. Truman didn’t recognize Janet or her name. The deputy who had driven her conferred quietly with Bolton for a few seconds, then stepped inside and grabbed another deputy. The two of them jogged down the stairs and got in their vehicles to leave.
“I don’t need every one of them here to maintain the scene and wait for the evidence team,” Bolton explained. He turned to Janet. “Let’s have a seat out here.”
Relief crossed her face, and she sat on the bench. Mercy sat beside her as Bolton took one of the chairs, and Truman stood, leaning against the porch railing.
“I know you’ve already talked to Detective Bolton about what happened,” started Mercy. “Can you tell me from the beginning?” she asked with an encouraging smile.
Janet’s hands twisted the hem of her coat as she focused on Mercy. “The dogs woke me. They were braying and howling like crazy. I’ve never heard them do that. I waited awhile, expecting them to stop, but they didn’t, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
More coat twisting.
“I finally called Sharla’s cell phone,” Janet continued. “She didn’t answer. I tried Ray’s too, with no luck, and then called the landline. I didn’t call it first because I didn’t want to wake the boys,” she hurriedly explained to Mercy, including Bolton and Truman with quick glances. “I finally decided they’d gone out of town. I was surprised because usually we ask each other to keep an eye on each other’s place. I debated for a while, but the dogs didn’t let up, so I decided to do a quick check on the dogs.”
“That was kind of you,” Mercy said.
Janet shrugged. “I feed the dogs when the Jorgensens go out of town, so they’re used to me. Tonight I wondered if some animal had gotten into their kennel. They’re good dogs but getting up there in years. Both are moving slower than they used to.”
“What did you notice when you arrived?” asked Mercy.
“Well, the outside lights were on. That’s normal. When I got out of the car, the dogs renewed their braying. I assumed no one was home, so I went to the kennel first. Both dogs looked fine and were happy to see me. No coyote or cougar in there with them.”
“Were there any lights on in the house?” asked Truman.
“I could tell there was a light on in their kitchen, but I knew that didn’t mean someone was up. After I saw the dogs were okay, I decided to knock on the door. That’s when I saw it was partially open. I opened the door and called out for Sharla.” Janet moved her gaze to her hands and popped open the bottom snap of her jacket. Then snapped it closed. And repeated.
“What did you do next?” Mercy gently asked. She leaned toward the woman. “I know this is difficult,” she said in a lower voice.
Janet blew out a breath and kept fiddling with the snap. “I stepped in the house and called for Sharla and Ray.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and dug a tissue out of her coat pocket. “I could smell it. I know what fresh death smells like. I was raised on a ranch, and we butchered animals.” She looked up. “It’s an odor you never forget.
“I told Detective Bolton that I turned on some lights, and then I looked in the bedrooms. I studied each of them to make certain they were dead, but I didn’t touch them. That’s when I called 911.” Tears flowed from both eyes. “Those little boys. I’ll never forget the sight.”
The sight was burned into Truman’s retinas. I’ll never forget either.
Mercy took one of Janet’s hands and squeezed it. “Thank you. I know that was really hard.”
“You have no idea.” Janet’s voice cracked as she wiped her nose and eyes.
Mercy knows exactly what it is like.
“What did Ray do for work?” Mercy asked.
Janet’s shoulders slumped a little as she relaxed, appreciating the change of topic. “Ray worked for an investment firm in Bend. I don’t know his exact position, but he was high up the chain.”
“Which one?” Bolton asked.
Janet named a firm Truman had never heard of.
“Isn’t that the one that was caught up in a scandal last year?” Bolton asked. “Something about falsifying their clients’ reports, inflating how much the investments had returned? I thought they went under.”
“They almost did,” agreed Janet. “A lot of people were fired, and the company paid the fines. Ray was under a tremendous amount of stress, but the company survived.”
“I wouldn’t put my money with them,” Bolton stated. “Did Sharla work?”
“Sharla was a stay-at-home mom, but she was always doing those work-from-home product sales. You know . . . the kitchen gadgets, skin care, and jewelry that you sell to friends. I’ve probably attended a half dozen parties at her house, trying to be supportive of her work. She was a great salesperson. Very outgoing and kind.” Tears appeared again.
“What do you do?” asked Bolton.
“I work at the front desk of the DoubleTree in Bend.” Janet wiped her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening again.”
Truman caught his breath at her words. Mercy and Bolton both straightened in their seats.
Again?