The Killer in Me Read online

  “You would have to ask the plant foremen. I haven’t seen the reports for this week yet.”

  “Would you call them in here? I’d like to speak with them.”

  Shaking his head, Jimmy held up his hand, looking more in control of himself. “Rafe, I can’t bring the foremen in here away from the duty stations. If I did that, I’d have to shut down their whole section, and that’s not going to happen.”

  “Would it be all right if we went out there?” Lila asked. “We could split up and cut the time in half.”

  “I can authorize that.” Jimmy reached for his phone.

  “Before you alert them”—Lila held her hand over the phone keypad—“is there a way to get an employee roster?”

  “Uh, yeah. I can have payroll print out one. Give me a sec.”

  As he made his calls, Fontaine gestured for her to step outside the office with him. In the hall, he looked up and down.

  “Nice work. I don’t remember him being flighty.”

  “Most people aren’t, but when they’re faced with a DB they tend to revert to the primal urge to run. How many homicide investigations have you done in your time, Deputy?”

  “Including this one, two. And the first one, which turned out to be an accident, I was relegated to security detail.”

  Lila patted his vested chest. “Good to know.” She entered the office just as Jimmy hung up the phone.

  “They’ll meet you in the plants. Alice is bringing the employee list.”

  “When she gets it here, would you go through it with us and mark the ones you know are here with their families?” Lila said.

  “Anything.” Jimmy stared at Fontaine’s phone, still sitting on his desk. “She looks really young.”

  Fontaine picked up his phone and closed the photo. “Unfortunately, she does.”

  *

  The two foremen Lila spoke with managed the liquid storage tanks and one of the mixing units respectively. Neither men recognized the young women, and neither had anyone from their workforce who’d missed any work in the last three days. Lila was waylaid by a call as she headed to her next destination.

  “Deputy Dayne, meet me at the north storage building,” Fontaine said by way of greeting.

  Rotating to get her whereabouts, Lila spotted the building he referred to. “On my way.”

  Her neck prickled from the blatant stares. Gossip would spread like wildfire the moment one of those foremen broke their sworn promise. And the sheriff would have a whole ball of yarn to unravel with that one.

  Entering the facility through the main door, Lila stepped into an enclosed office area with walls made of thick glass. Fontaine stood with Jimmy and a burly, bearded man in white protective coveralls and yellow helmet.

  “What’s up?” Lila asked, hooking her hands on her hips, relieved to learn that the more she moved, the less her body hurt.

  “We might have our connection.” Fontaine nodded at the foreman. “Earl here says a husband and wife who work his unit called in sick today.”

  “So soon?” Lila asked.

  Earl shook his head. “Got me. They haven’t been here long enough to come down with anything.”

  “They could have picked up something before they moved here,” Jimmy pointed out.

  “This is beside the point,” Fontaine interrupted. “The point is, they have a family, a girl. And they’re not here.”

  “Mr. Rhoads, we’re going to need their address or a way to contact them,” Lila said.

  “I’ll give you both.” He looked at Earl. “Remember what Deputy Fontaine said.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jimmy led them out of the facility and back across the compound to his office. Fontaine sent rapid-fire texts to someone the entire way.

  “Sheriff is tied up,” he said after three more texts.

  “She wants us to handle it?”

  He tucked away his phone. “That would be the orders.”

  “You lead, I’ll follow.”

  He looked her way, the bright blue sky reflecting in his sunglasses. “I thought as the designated detective, you’d want lead on this.”

  “Oh, I will once we get there. I just meant that you lead the way to the home. I don’t know where I’m going. Brand new and all.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  Jimmy left them in his office to gather the vital information. Lila stared at the stuffed pheasant. She didn’t have much exposure to the bird, as they weren’t known to walk the streets of Chicago.

  “How long do you think it’ll take one of those men to start talking?” she asked Fontaine.

  “I know Earl. He’s a good man, served during the Iraq War as a navy man. He’s all too aware of ‘loose lips sink ships.’ As for the ones you talked to, you’ve got a fifty-fifty chance one of them will spill the beans, so to speak.”

  “We’ve got three hours, tops, before the whole county knows, then.”

  “Pretty much,” Fontaine said as Jimmy returned with a sheet of paper.

  “If you need anything else, Rafe, let me know.”

  Folding up the sheet, Fontaine slipped it inside a pocket. “Please relay to the two foremen Deputy Dayne saw how important it is they don’t spread unnecessary gossip.”

  “I’ll get right on it.” Jimmy shook both of their hands.

  The brunette didn’t bother to give them the time of day as they passed the front desk. Once outside, Lila chuckled at the snub.

  “What’s that for?” Fontaine asked, slipping his sunglasses on.

  “Between you giving her flirting the cold shoulder and my inquisition, she was none too happy with us.”

  “I didn’t give her the cold shoulder. And she wasn’t flirting.”

  Lila shook her head. “If you say so.” She reached her car and popped the handle.

  “Whether she did or she didn’t, it’s none of my concern. There’s a job to do.” The tension in his voice gave Lila pause.

  She studied him. His relaxed stance seemed forced to her. Maybe there was more than knowing looks passed between the sheriff and the deputy.

  “Let’s go,” she said, climbing into her car.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Elizabeth returned her cell to its case on her duty belt. A few feet ahead of her, Deputy Meyer stood on the front stoop of a brick two-story, waiting. She joined him under the grand colonnade holding sentry.

  “It’s nearly lunch. He’ll be home soon,” he said.

  “Hope he had a lunch meeting.”

  He gave her a perturbed sideways look, and punched the doorbell. “This is my father we’re talking about. If he so much as sniffs a problem, he’ll be here in two seconds flat.”

  “If that’s the case, I’ll handle him.”

  “Good luck.”

  The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing a put-together woman with dusty brown hair skimming the shoulders of an emerald-green blouse and wearing a pair of wrinkleless black slacks. Her warm brown eyes took the two of them in, and a heartbreaking smile creased her features. “Brent, honey, what brings you here?”

  He glanced over at Elizabeth. “The sheriff needs to speak with you, Mom.”

  Sophie Meyer stepped back and gestured for the two of them to enter. “Pratt is not home at the moment, Sheriff. I do expect him anytime now.”

  “It’s you I’ve come to speak with.” Elizabeth stepped onto the polished wood flooring and hesitated, looking down at her dirty boots then Meyer’s. They were going to leave a mess.

  But Sophie took Elizabeth by the elbow and linked their arms like they were old chums. “It’s what Swiffer dusters are for. Follow me.” She escorted them into a bright, sunny room, bursting at the seams for Christmas. Standing tall and proud in front of the bay windows, the red-and-silver-decorated balsam fir fragranced the room. “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Mom, no. That’s okay.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

  Giving her youngest child a half smile, Sophie patt
ed a rich red-brown leather chair. “Brent, relax. Give me a minute.” She vacated the room.

  Meyer stared at the chair, looking like he would bolt the instant it snapped at him.

  “Your mother’s right. You need to relax.” Elizabeth eased onto a cream-colored, plush leather chair, careful to keep her sidearm from hooking into the folds.

  “Sheriff, I can’t. The second he shows up, it’s going to get very ugly.”

  “As I said, let me handle it.”

  “This is my father we’re speaking of, no one but him handles things.”

  Elizabeth gave her young deputy a smile. He had much to learn about what his sheriff could and could not handle. Men like Pratt Meyer were cast from the same mold, a mold Elizabeth had encountered more times than she cared for over the years she’d been an army wife.

  Sophie returned carrying an intricately detailed wooden tray. Setting it down on a sidebar, she first handed Elizabeth a turquoise cup, and then served her son, who moved to stand next to the beautifully decorated fireplace. Taking a cup herself, Sophie settled on a mate to Elizabeth’s chair.

  The former office manager tilted her head to the side. “Now, Sheriff, what is it that you needed to discuss with me?”

  “We’ve had a misfortunate occurrence on your family’s property this morning.”

  “Which property would that be?”

  Pratt may have brought social status and new wealth to the Meyer family name, but Sophie came with a wealth of her own. Her family had owned a sizable chunk of Eckardt County’s rich, fertile crop ground for more than a century. When her father passed on and her mother had gone into a nursing home, the estate became Sophie’s to manage, and so she did, despite her husband’s protests. Sophie was the sole heir, having no siblings. Her elder daughters were steeped in their father’s way of thinking that farming was an archaic practice and no way to make a comfortable living. Her youngest child was her last hope of continuing the family legacy.

  “It’s Grandad’s east hayfield.”

  Sophie’s cup clattered on the table beside her chair. “Was there an accident of some kind? That field is so far out of the way. I know my tenant has complained of young people being out there, drinking and carousing, but there hasn’t been an accident before.”

  Elizabeth scooted to the edge of her seat, halting Sophie. “It’s not an accident.” She glanced at Meyer, who was facing the fireplace. He was holding her to her word. “Sophie, a homicide victim was left in the field.”

  Gasping, a hand flying to her mouth, Sophie gaped at Elizabeth. “My God, how awful.”

  “I wanted to be the one to tell you before the rumors began flying and you, or Pratt, heard the wrong things.”

  Sophie grasped Elizabeth’s hand. “Thank you for that, Sheriff. I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

  A door at the back of the house clapped shut. Meyer stiffened, backing from the fireplace as the rat-a-tat footfalls came their direction. Releasing Elizabeth’s hand, Sophie stood as her husband entered the room.

  The man looming large in the doorway epitomized the ideal of what a successful businessman from a large city looked like. Dressed to the nines in a dove-gray suit and shiny black wingtips that would have taken all of Elizabeth’s meager paycheck, Pratt Meyer was the complete opposite of his son, standing feet away.

  “Sheriff, this is an unexpected visit.” His midwestern accent had long been eradicated while attending Loyola University Chicago.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth set her cup down and stood. “It is, Pratt. I came to speak with Sophie about a matter.”

  His cool gray eyes slid to his son, then back to Elizabeth. “This wouldn’t happen to be about the body found on her family’s property this morning, now would it?”

  That he knew did not surprise her in the least. The man had a finger in all the pies in the county. A bonus when he was the financial manager for nearly every business owner and was a board member of one of the county’s largest banks.

  “As a matter of fact, it is.”

  Pratt made a dissatisfied sound. Another unsurprising move. Though her suspicions were, as of yet, unfounded, Elizabeth believed Sheehan and Pratt had an “understanding” of sorts. Pratt had vocalized his opposition of her winning the election—remarks about women unable to handle running a governmental office—but toed the line when she’d taken over. After all, he was as welcome to his First Amendment rights as the next person.

  “Dear, the sheriff was about to explain to me her next steps in the matter.”

  He crossed his arms, his attention swinging to his son. “What, pray tell, would those steps be?”

  The tension in the room pressed on Elizabeth. She shifted to the right, getting closer to her deputy. “We are investigating the matter at hand. It is a homicide and is, therefore, being treated as such. However, in the course of our search this morning we came across a drug cache in the field.”

  Pratt’s attention snapped to Elizabeth and his scowl deepened. “What are you insinuating?”

  “She insinuates nothing, Pratt,” Sophie cut in. “Are you sure about that, Sheriff? Drugs?”

  “I’m afraid so. As a courtesy, I’ve come to ask that we have uninhibited access to the field and its surrounding properties to search for more caches.”

  “Absolutely not,” Pratt barked.

  “Being able to search the properties can aid in our homicide investigation.”

  “And I forbid it. Searching for drug caches has nothing to do with a homicide. You want access to that property, you bring a warrant and you ensure that warrant covers exactly what you need.”

  “Pratt. That is not your decision to make.” Sophie glared at her husband.

  “Sophie, when you asked me to ensure the financial stability of those properties by coming onto the corporation board, you gave me a full say in what happens.” His cold, cutting words seemed to break Sophie’s resolve. “The sheriff’s department will be granted access only to the part that pertains to the homicide investigation until a warrant is presented.”

  “Why does that not surprise me.”

  Brent’s cutting remark made the tension snap like a taut guitar string.

  Pratt’s ire turned on his son. “And how is this boy taking part in this affair?”

  “It’s not an ‘affair.’ I’m a deputy, and I’ll be doing my job as the sheriff sees fit.”

  Red spots peppered Pratt’s cheeks. A few days after she’d returned to Juniper, Marnie had brought Elizabeth up to speed on the Meyer family saga. No matter how much Brent achieved, his father would find fault and criticize. There had been, according to Marnie, some highly publicized screaming matches between the two as Brent had gone through high school, and a memorable moment where he had wrecked his father’s brand-new Lexus on purpose. No one knew the exact reason for the falling out between son and father—they could only speculate. But it was a wound so deep, it drove Brent to train to be a law officer instead of following in his father’s footsteps as a financial mogul.

  “Sheriff, I believe you have completed the task you set out to do here. It’s time you go.”

  Hurt flashed through Sophie’s eyes. Elizabeth could only imagine the pain Sophie must be going through as this rift continued between the two men she loved.

  “Throwing us out like we’re some petulant children. Get a real hard-on exercising your authority, Father.”

  “Brent,” Sophie gasped.

  Red filled Pratt’s features. His arms dropped and he moved toward his son. Elizabeth darted between the two men, her hand slapping against Pratt’s chest.

  “While he is your son, Pratt, need I remind you, if you strike a sworn officer of the law, I will have to arrest you.”

  His furious gaze fell to her. “Get that insolent child out of my house.” He backed away from her hand and adjusted his slightly rumpled suit jacket. “My decision on this stands: no access without a warrant. Now, both of you, leave.”

  Elizabeth pointed to the front door. “Deputy Meyer,
return to the unit.”

  He did as ordered, his eyes staying on his father until he rounded the corner and disappeared down the hall.

  “It is one thing for you to come to my home, Sheriff, but to bring him along is a personal insult to me.”

  “Pratt, please.”

  He gave his wife a withering look, and then exited the room. When his footsteps faded down the hallway, Sophie bowed her head.

  “Sophie, I meant no disrespect. I only hoped for Brent to be able to see you again.”

  Giving Elizabeth a quivering smile, Sophie nodded. “I appreciate the gesture. I hold out hope that one day those two will reconcile.”

  Elizabeth squeezed the woman’s thin shoulder. “Don’t give up on it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Elizabeth exited the house, leaving the poor woman torn between her obligations to her husband and her love for her son. Deputy Meyer was standing next to the SUV, staring at the expansive yard with its meticulous landscaping. As she crossed the paved driveway, he took his spot on the passenger side. Bentley hopped onto the center console and settled her chin on his shoulder.

  Elizabeth’s steps faltered at the sight. The young deputy had an ax to grind with his father, but it did not mean that each encounter with the man didn’t rip away a piece of him. She would go easy on him this time. Who was she to criticize a man when he was wounded?

  If Pratt wanted a warrant, then a warrant Pratt would get.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The apartment complex took Lila by surprise. The one-story units reminded her more of the single-family homes typically built in the suburbs sprawling westward from Chicago. My God, the yards were bigger than a postage stamp.

  Consulting the paper given to him, Fontaine pointed left, following the sidewalk to a unit with blue-gray siding. He stepped aside and allowed her to mount the lone step under a small stoop. She rapped on the door, then took position on the opposite side.

  They didn’t have long to wait. The door flung open and man in rumpled clothing squinted out at them. “Mary, it’s the cops,” he called back into the apartment.

  “Peter Wagner?” Lila asked.