Mercy struggled to find her voice.
Is she talking about the Hartlage family? How did she find out?
“What do you mean, it’s happening again?” she managed to ask Janet.
The woman turned a tearful face toward Mercy. “My friend’s family was murdered a long time ago. He left them in their beds just like this.”
Mercy connected the dots.
Janet Norris. She was the friend of Maria Verbeek, Britta’s mother. That’s why her name is familiar.
“You’re talking about the Verbeeks,” Mercy stated evenly, trying to hide the shock that reeled through her.
Janet’s eyes widened. “Yes, how did you know?”
“I’ve read the case reports. You said that Maria told you she’d fended off an advance from Grady Baldwin.” What are the odds that Janet is connected to the Verbeeks and the Jorgensens?
It is a small community.
The woman blinked several times as her mouth opened the slightest bit. “You have a very good memory,” she said slowly. “But I never named Grady Baldwin. I only said it’d been a workman. Maria didn’t tell me who it was.”
“You’re right,” Mercy admitted. “I remember reading that now.”
Janet frowned, confusion clouding her eyes. “When did you look at Maria’s case? Why would you? They caught the guy.”
Mercy couldn’t share the investigators’ questions about the Hartlage family. They didn’t have all the pieces yet. “I read it very recently.” She paused, searching for the right words. “All I can say is that we had good reason to review the case.”
The older woman held her gaze for a moment, plainly expecting a better answer.
“I’m sorry, I can’t say more at this point.” Mercy gave her an apologetic look.
“Grady Baldwin didn’t kill those families?” Janet asked in a hushed tone.
“That’s not what I’m saying. Let’s focus on the Jorgensens right now. Have you seen anyone suspicious in the area recently?” Mercy was determined to bring Janet back to the current case.
Janet ran a shaky hand through her hair. “Umm . . . not that I can think of. I can’t see this house from mine, and I can’t see out to the road either. I haven’t had any visitors recently.”
“When did you last talk to one of the Jorgensens?”
“Oh, jeez. It’s probably been at least two weeks. The boys were climbing in my apple tree and I asked them to get down. It’s old and I don’t trust the branches. I sent them home with some cookies because I didn’t want them to think I’m that crabby old neighbor.”
“When did you last speak to Sharla Jorgensen?” Bolton asked.
“I couldn’t tell you. Long time. Around Christmas, maybe?” Janet tipped her head as she concentrated. “They were nice people . . .”
Mercy saw something flash in Janet’s eyes. “But?”
Guilt crossed the woman’s face. “I don’t want to spread rumors.”
The three investigators exchanged glances. There are always rumors. “Spread away,” said Mercy. “We understand that’s what you’re sharing with us.”
“Well, Sharla wasn’t happy. She’d asked me questions about getting a divorce. I don’t know why she asked me—I don’t know anything about it. I’ve never even been married.”
“Did she say why she wasn’t happy?” Mercy asked. Cheating? Money issues?
“She believed Ray was having an affair. I asked her if she’d confronted him, but she hadn’t—at least she hadn’t back in December. Maybe she finally did.” Her lips turned down, a nauseated look on her face.
Mercy remembered the blood spatter and injuries of both adults. It wasn’t possible that one of them had killed themselves after killing the rest of the family. “Neither of them hurt the other,” stated Mercy. “That wasn’t indicated in the crime scene.” She glanced at Truman and Bolton, who both nodded in agreement.
“I’m happy to hear that . . . Well, there’s nothing to be happy about here,” admitted Janet.
Mercy was writing a mental list of leads to follow. Ray’s work situation. Possible affair. “Did you live next door here when you were friends with Maria Verbeek?” she asked.
“No. I moved about ten years ago. Back then I lived closer to Eagle’s Nest.”
“Do you remember the exact conversation you had with Maria about the workman who made a pass at her?”
Janet gave a sad smile. “Yes. Maria was a housekeeper at the DoubleTree for a little while. That’s how we met. She told me about it at work and was confused that he’d tried to kiss her. No one had ever done anything like that to her. She was very reserved. I told her to take it as a compliment but to threaten to tell her husband if he did it again.”
Mercy remembered how Maria had appeared as if she wanted to fade into the background in the file’s family photo. “She never told her husband?”
“I don’t know, but I’d guess not. I always thought he was an ass. Very controlling. Maria couldn’t go anywhere without getting his approval first.” Janet pressed her temples with her fingertips. “This is surreal. I’ve already gone through this once. How is it happening again?” She looked at each of them. “Did they arrest the wrong man back then?” she whispered.
Mercy wondered the same thing.
“What the fuck did you do?”
Mercy blinked. She’d grabbed her cell phone off the nightstand and answered without opening her eyes. Now she checked her clock. It was nearly 9:00 a.m. She’d come home at 5:00 a.m. from the Jorgensen scene and crashed.
“Who is this?” Her voice was full of sleep.
“Dammit, Mercy, it’s Britta Vale.”
Mercy sat up, surprise shooting through her veins. “What happened?” Now she was wide awake.
“I’m getting emails through my website. Nasty emails accusing me of hiding the facts about my family’s murder.” Britta’s voice cracked. “How did they find me?”
“Oh God.” Mercy put a hand to her forehead. “I was afraid something like this would happen. You were mentioned in an article online last night—with your new last name and your old.”
“Why did you tell them about me?” Hot anger spiked her words.
“It wasn’t me!” Guilt swamped Mercy even though it wasn’t her fault. “Grady Baldwin gave a media interview. He knew you returned to the area and changed your name.”
“How do you know that?” she shot back.
Mercy cringed. “I talked with Baldwin the other day. He already suspected we were looking at your family’s case. His brother informs him about anything to do with the cases that sent him to prison. He even knew what cities you’ve lived in.”
“What? Did you know that when we spoke the other day?”
She couldn’t speak. It stung to know she’d inadvertently hurt the woman. “I didn’t see the point in telling you right then. You were spooked enough. I had no idea Baldwin would expose his theory to the public. Chuck Winslow has no ethics. He shouldn’t have printed it.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“So you have met him.”
“No.”
The firmness of her answer made Mercy smile. “You said you were renting the house, right?”
“Yes, but people who are determined to find someone know how to find shit out. Utility companies . . . I pick up my mail at the post office . . . I could be followed home. Dammit! I’m going to have to leave town.” Anger and frustration came through the line. “I’ve had a weird feeling for the past week. I’ve constantly felt as if I’m being watched.”
“You feel that way because of what happened at your place the other night. Keep your guard up.”
“Always.”
“I’m so sorry, Britta, but I suspect the emails will die down before you can move. There can’t be that many people interested in Grady Baldwin.”
“You’d be surprised at the number of social justice warriors online. They hear a whisper that someone in prison might be innocent, and they blow it up in social media. Then I’ll have a thousand people emailing me.” Britta sighed. “I might have to turn off the contact form on my website. Shit!”
“You don’t know that will happen. Let me call Chuck Winslow. Maybe I can get him to take down the article.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Mercy winced. Winslow would never do her a favor. He’d print that the FBI had asked him to take it down and use that as proof of Baldwin’s claim of innocence.
“Really?” Hope infused Britta’s voice.
“I’m sorry, but now that I think about it, Winslow is the type of jerk who’d shout long and loud that the FBI asked him to take down an article.”
“You’re right. I wonder if he’d listen to me.” Britta didn’t sound optimistic.
“Probably not. The best course is to not give the article any more attention, and it will fade away.”
“It’s online. It’s permanent. Anyone who searches my name—new or old—will find it.”
Mercy was silent. She’s right.
“I’ll change my business’s name, get a new website domain, and let my current clients know. Crap, that’s going to be a lot of busywork.”
“It’s a good plan.”
“It’s a pain-in-the-butt plan. I know people feel very powerful when they make threats online, but actually following through is another story. They’re usually all talk. But still . . . I don’t need this in my life. I still might have to move. Again.”
Mercy abruptly remembered where she’d spent most of the night. “Britta,” she slowly started. “A family was murdered last night.”
Silence.
“And the circumstances are a lot like your family’s deaths.”
A sharp intake of air sounded over the line.
“I wanted you to be prepared before it hits the news.”
“What is going on?” Britta whispered.
The Hartlages have been missing since about the same time Britta came to town.
And now another family had been murdered in their beds.
I’m making assumptions. Mercy had seen Britta’s fear and shock when she first told her about the remains in the culvert. It’d felt real.
But she’d been fooled before.
“I’m really sorry to dump it on you this way. Especially after the mess Chuck has started. I hope you don’t have to leave town.” It was true. She admired the way Britta hadn’t let her past destroy her.
“We’ll see.” Britta hung up without a goodbye.
Mercy stared at her screen. Now I have your phone number. She was surprised Britta didn’t hide it on outgoing calls.
Fury at Chuck Winslow raged through her again. He was an independent reporter. There was no boss she could complain to.
One of these days I’ll have it out with him.
She immediately rejected the thought as she pictured Winslow’s next headline: “FBI Agent Threatened Me.”
Mercy crawled out of bed.
She had murders to focus on, not a reporter.