CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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Coen silently observed Brettany make her way back to her house. She was careful with where she stepped and eventually made it safely inside, although not without looking back at him with a worried expression a few times.
Either way, her absence allowed him to search the Dockerys’ property without concern for her welfare or exposing her to any unpleasant results. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Simone had stepped out on her front porch, using the same ruse he’d used when monitoring his target—she had lit up a cigarette and was feigning interest in her phone. She was prepared to step up should he need her help.
Coen lifted his left hand and signaled that he wanted her at the house with Brettany. Regardless that she was surrounded by friends and family, he didn’t want to leave her alone without proper armed protection.
Brettany was the only one other than the sheriff’s deputies who was aware of Simone’s true identity. There was no need to publicize that Brettany had twenty-four-hour protection, and she’d agreed to keep it confidential. It was bad enough that SSI’s involvement had been outed with Martin’s murder. The headline in the local papers was bound to be picked up by the county news and probably even wider than that, so the best thing they could do at this point was to have an ace in their back pocket. As it stood, he wasn’t worried about Simone coming up with an excuse to visit Brettany.
Coen studied the undisturbed line of snow against the door. The older couple could easily be inside their home eating lunch. They might have decided not to read the paper in favor of watching the news. There could be a ton of excuses as to why they hadn’t ventured outside.
But it was always better to be safe than sorry. Someone had turned on that light, or the Dockerys might simply have used a timer to deter any attempts of a burglary while they were out of town.
Coen cautiously took the three wooden steps of the porch that led him to the front door. He couldn’t get a good look inside. There was a heavy drape covering the window. It wasn’t like he had cause to break in, so he reached out and rang the doorbell.
The muffled chime could easily be heard, but nothing else emanated from inside the house. He didn’t hear voices or footsteps, and a few minutes passed before he acknowledged the Dockerys weren’t coming to the door.
“Son of a bitch,” Coen muttered underneath his breath, knowing full well he’d have to walk around the perimeter. His cheeks had gone numb, his nose had lost feeling a while ago, and now his jeans were about to get soaking wet from the eighteen inches of snow that he now had to track through which covered what was probably a beautiful yard. Too bad he couldn’t see it. “I should have let Simone handle this and joined Brettany for lunch.”
Coen considered his own proposition for maybe three seconds before deciding it would be easier to inspect the property himself. It didn’t take him long to walk to the edge of the porch and step down, the first layer of snow having turned to ice. It wasn’t enough to hold his weight, but it was compacted sufficiently that it allowed him to maneuver easier than he’d anticipated.
The east side of the house was untouched. He wasn’t surprised to find nothing out of the ordinary. Moss was too intelligent to turn a light on at night for all to see in a home that was supposed to be empty. Coen believed Brettany saw something, or else he wouldn’t be traipsing through a foot and a half of snow. The only oddity he couldn’t figure out was why the Dockerys wouldn’t have retrieved their papers or driven to the store at some point in time.
Coen cleared the back of the house, noting that the deck had an enormous amount of snow built up on the wooden planks. Bobby most likely only got paid to do the front, though the Dockerys should consider having him shovel off the surface of their patio. It wasn’t good to leave the moisture trapped against the lumber, even if it was treated. There were no tracks, footprints, or any sign that someone had tried to gain entry through the back of the house.
“Flynn? Are you back here?”
Sheriff Whitney came around the corner, following Coen’s path so that the pants of his uniform didn’t get too wet with snow. His jacket was thick around the middle where it covered his utility belt. He wore gloves to keep his hands warm, but the wide-brimmed hat left his ears exposed. They were already red at the tips.
“I’ve found nothing to indicate someone broke into the Dockerys’ home.” Coen gestured toward the back deck. “No one has been back here since the storm hit.”
“That’s because Todd and Sylvia are in Texas,” Sheriff Whitney confirmed as he came to stand next to Coen. He nudged his hat up so that the brim wasn’t obstructing his view. “I had Chad call his office to confirm. Look, Brett has been under a lot of stress lately. Whatever she saw could easily have been a glint of light off the window or maybe a light on a timer.”
Coen didn’t like that the sheriff had automatically determined that Brettany had made a mistake. She wasn’t prone to panic and had handled herself like a true champ throughout this investigation. The sheriff’s assumption made Coen realize that he’d been treating her with kid gloves himself. She hadn’t been wrong in her belief that he’d been withholding details of the investigation. In his defense, he was only trying to protect her.
“If Brettany says she saw a light come on in this house the other night, she did.” Coen continued to slog through the thick snow. The denim of his jeans had started to soak in the freezing snow, and his shins were now numb. This shit was getting old. “That’s more than enough probable cause to enter the premises.”
Coen figured he was stretching that assumption, but it would still hold up in the court of law. With the way these neighbors relied on one another, it wouldn’t surprise him if the Dockerys had given a neighbor their house key.
“Do you know if the Dockerys have someone watering their plants? Maybe a family member or a neighbor who would have a key to their residence?”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“With the direction this investigation has taken, it’s better we cover all our—” Coen broke off his justification as to why they shouldn’t leave this thread unraveled. They no longer needed to use Brettany’s statement as probable cause. “Sheriff, you’re going to want to call this in.”
Coen would have missed the fact that the basement window was missing a corner out of the glass pane had he not been specifically looking for an entry point. The window was situated inside a square trench, most likely surrounded by wood. There was too much snow to make any other details out with the exception of half the glass pane. The heat from inside the house had prevented the build-up of too much snow to cover the basement window.
“Wilcott Station, this is Sheriff Whitney. 10-18, 10-40. I need additional deputies to respond to a probable 10-62 at the Dockery residence.” The sheriff spoke quietly into the mic of his radio attached to his uniform just underneath the collar of his jacket. Coen already had his cell phone against his ear, telling Calvert to get his ass over to Brettany’s house immediately. It was the quickest exchange either of them had ever conducted. “Do you think the perp is still inside?”
“We’re about to find out,” Coen replied grimly, weighing their options. Two of them could technically cover the perimeter until backup arrived, but they were dealing with a highly intelligent psychopath who has managed to stay one step ahead of them this entire investigation. “The snow hasn’t been disturbed, which means whoever was inside is either still in there or left through the front door without messing up that line of snow.”
“If the perp left through the front, he wouldn’t have had the ability to lock the door behind him unless he had keys.” Coen made a decision. “Stay here. I want the back covered in case whoever maybe still in there decides to make a run for it.”
Coen didn’t wait to hear the sheriff’s objections. They had already wasted enough time. For all they knew, Moss’ surrogate could currently be inside torturing a woman to death and had been doing so since the Dockerys were supposed to have left town. Had he turned the light on out of necessity? Or had he done so with the purpose of luring Brettany next door?
Coen ignored the cold, the wind, and the snow as he quickly made his way to the front of the house. He checked his weapon for a chambered round and to confirm the bolt was seated. He figured Calvert and the rest of the team were only minutes away. Should things go sideways, it wouldn’t be long before his support arrived to finish what he’d started.
A quick glance toward Brettany’s house as he made his way onto the Dockerys’ porch told him all was quiet. He was grateful he’d sent Simone over there for additional security. Reaching inside his jacket, he withdrew his small LED flashlight. He palmed the light and checked the cold doorknob with the same hand.
Damn if the door wasn’t unlocked. Coen quietly pushed the entrance open until he had a view of the inside. He wasn’t about to enter the house blind to what was in front of him. The Dockerys house did not have the same layout as Brettany’s home. The foyer was larger, containing a double door closet on the left. The living room was on the right, but there was no one in sight as he used the light to search what was visible from the doorway.
He cautiously stepped forward, holding his weapon at the ready and his left out in front of him with the light should he need to deflect a blow. He quickly and efficiently cleared the main level before making his way up the stairs. The three bedrooms remained untouched, as well as the two bathrooms.
Coen wasn’t surprised to find Sawyer waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. They fell into sync and moved in formation until they had the basement stairs covered on either side. A quick hand signal had Sawyer wrapping his fingers around the metal knob and turning it as soundlessly as possible. The faint click carrying through the still air had both of them wincing as they waited for the consequences from below.
Nothing.
Coen nodded for Sawyer to pull the door open so that he could step through, bracing himself for what he would find on the other side. Darkness greeted him below as his small light only cut a beam’s width to the foot of the stairs. He quickly reached out for the switch on the wall, flicking it upward so that the stairwell lit up and allowed him to see who or what was awaiting him below.
Nothing.
He slowly descended, cautiously regarding the insignificant view he had of the basement. The layout gave anyone hiding in the shadows around the corner the upper hand. The temperature in the basement was colder and became even more so with each step down.
Sawyer was close behind. The two of them hit the cement and fanned out, each taking a side. Coen used his arm to move a rather large cobweb out of the way, his focus on who or what was underneath the stairs.
“Clear.”
Coen lowered his weapon and studied the area where shattered glass lay underneath the broken window.
“The house is clear, Sheriff,” Coen called out, knowing the man could hear him just outside the window. He holstered his weapon and followed Sawyer back up the stairs to where Calvert and Royce were walking in the front door. “Spread out and see what we can find. If it was one of Moss’ guys who was here, chances are he would have left some type of calling card.”
“This wasn’t Moss.” Calvert slowly walked into the living room, taking in every detail. Coen was close behind, zeroing in on where a lamp was positioned near the window facing Brettany’s house. Not a thing was out of place, and nothing appeared to be disturbed. “Sheriff?”
Whitney appeared in the doorway, cautiously peering into the living room.
“Get someone from the state police out here to check for prints and take pictures. You’ll need to email the photographs to the Dockerys to see if they notice anything is out of order. There’s no timer on that light.” Calvert did one more sweep of the main level before returning to the living room. He shook his head in confusion, though it appeared he was certain about one thing. “I’ll say it again. This isn’t Moss.”
“You won’t hear us disagreeing with you,” Sawyer stated, sharing a baffled look with Coen. “Nothing about this entire case is making any sense. Moss has a history of allowing others to do his dirty work for him, but any of those followers wouldn’t have made a butchery of Martin’s body the way it was done. Those individuals are just as twisted as Moss is in that regard. They wouldn’t stoop so low as to be so sloppy.”
“I agree.”
Coen scanned the room and didn’t believe for a single minute that Shepherd Moss had been in this house. That left one question…
Who had holed up here waiting for the storm to pass as he and Brettany had made love right next door?