The Killer in Me Read online

  Heart rate back to normal, she exhaled. It was her reflection in the windows. That was it.

  “Damn you, Cecil.”

  One day she’d get past this. But that day was not today.

  Chapter Twelve

  Day 2: Thursday

  The rhythmic knock rattled the screen door against the frame. Elizabeth peeked around the counter/cabinet room divider, then returned to garnishing her bowl of oatmeal. “Door’s open,” she called out.

  Hinges squealed and his boots clapped lightly on the hardwood floors. “He’s still mad at you.”

  “Good for him.” She poured full-fat milk over the oatmeal. “He’s damn lucky I didn’t arrest him on principle.”

  Rafe cocked a hip against the divider’s counter. “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because the wounded party refused to press charges on the grounds it was a family matter.”

  One light brown eyebrow lifted. “More like the matriarch said so.”

  Elizabeth spooned a mound of oatmeal laced with honeyed cinnamon pecans into her mouth then held the bowl and spoon aloft.

  Rafe shook his head at her offer and then shifted to lean his back into the support wall. “Ellie, you can’t be the sheriff this county needs if you cater to Ma at her insistence.”

  “I’m not. To follow the letter of the law, she needed to press charges. She didn’t. Let’s face it, even if she or Karl had, we would have government types flocking here. And that’s the last thing we need.”

  Rafe didn’t argue. Smart man. He, like she, was mindful of the pull backing his eldest brother. Make no mistake, Joel was an honorable man, and he wouldn’t let the lawyers railroad the system nor make his ex-wife out to be a spiteful woman. But the publicity was not wanted.

  “Did you follow up on that lead I gave you last night?” she asked between bites.

  “Yes. I wasn’t able to catch everyone before they went home.”

  Elizabeth scraped the bottom of the bowl. When Rafe didn’t continue, she set the dish in the sink. “And?”

  He smiled, then rubbing that smile away with a hand, he pushed off the wall. “Those I spoke with didn’t recognize the girl. One man mentioned that quite a few of the employees brought their families. I’m planning to head out to the plant around the lunch hour and see what I can learn.”

  “Take Deputy Dayne with you.” Elizabeth handed Rafe a mug.

  He watched her pour the coffee. “Are you sure about her?”

  “Still questioning my choices, Rafe Fontaine?” She blew on her energy fueler.

  “Shoot straight with me. There’s no one here to worry about overhearing. What is Lila Dayne trying to keep under wraps?”

  “Who said she was?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Ellie.”

  Sighing, she placed her mug on the counter and pulled out a drawer. She set the extracted folder on the counter next to him. “Her story isn’t exactly secret. I say that with this caveat: she’s going through something none of us will ever be able to understand.”

  Rafe opened the file. “Good God,” he rasped.

  She retrieved her coffee and let him read.

  Minutes later, he looked up. “Is she aware you have this?”

  “Yes and no. Some of that came from her, the rest I gathered on my own or from what her former superiors gave me.”

  Flipping the folder closed, he faced Elizabeth. “You knew this and still you hired her?”

  She stuck the folder back in the drawer and hip-bumped it closed.

  “That kind of trauma makes for an explosive cop. We’ll never know when she will either erupt or freeze and get someone killed. This hire was not a smart move. If she implodes, it will be your head the voters will be after.”

  “It warms my heart to know that you worry about me so.” She pat his scruff-covered cheek. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite capable of holding my own. As I reminded your brother last night.”

  He grasped her wrist, holding fast. “You’re underestimating the severity of the situation this county is in.” He invaded her personal space, lowering his face within inches of hers. “Exposing a vulnerability like Lila Dayne is opening yourself up to attack. The scent of blood is all Sheehan needs to strike.”

  Meeting those tumultuous depths head on, Elizabeth snapped her spine to attention. “I’m underestimating nothing. The people of Eckardt are fed up with the status quo, and if having a damaged woman protecting them is what it takes to end the cycle of corruption”—she leaned closer—“then so be it.”

  They stood there, locked in an age-old battle that hearkened back to when Adam first realized Eve tricked him and Eve refused to be his scapegoat. Neither would convince the other. It was a fact as true as the fact that she regretted the day she’d chosen the wrong brother.

  She freed her wrist and stepped back, keeping her gaze locked with his. “Go home and sleep.”

  Taking his sweet time, he left the kitchen. She tracked his movements to the door, stiffening when he turned.

  “Joel isn’t leaving until the end of the month.”

  If he’d expected a reaction from her, Elizabeth didn’t give him one. Rafe left.

  She stared at the empty doorway. Both of those men were determined to turn her into a stark, raving madwoman.

  A warm, wet snout nosed her hand. Without looking down, she stroked Bentley’s silky head, fluffing her ears.

  “Some days I believe I would have been better off as a nun.”

  Her phone vibrated and skipped along the countertop. Picking it up, she slid the answer icon across the screen. “Sheriff Benoit.”

  “Sheriff, I hate to start your day on a bad note.”

  “I think you’re ten minutes too late, Georgia.”

  “Let me make it worse.”

  *

  Good to know her newest deputy was on the ball.

  Elizabeth stepped out of the SUV at the same moment Deputy Dayne, wearing her uniform, exited her car. The sun thawed the December morning, the promise of another unseasonably warm day to ward off the chill of winter. Rolling the front and back windows down, Elizabeth commanded Bentley to stay and went to join the detective.

  Dayne donned a pair of aviator sunglasses. “Sheriff.”

  “Deputy Dayne. Did you sleep well last night?”

  “I slept.”

  Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow.

  Dayne placed her hands on her duty belt. “Looks like another all-hands-on-deck scene.”

  That was a line item in the department budget Elizabeth needed to go full-court press on with the county. The night shift deputies needed to be at home sleeping before their next shift. Manpower was at a premium.

  Together, she and Dayne walked to the taped-off scene, Deputy Dayne moving a bit stiffly, her injuries from the day before clearly proving to be bothersome. Deputy Meyer, apparently taking Elizabeth’s suggestion to go easy with the yellow tape, had planted iron rods in a square, forty feet away from the massive oak and the body. The young man stood off to the left, Deputy Lundquist next to him.

  A lone crow, perched on a twisted limb midway up the tree, cocked its head and squawked. Where were his partners in crime?

  Rafe was speaking with Fitzgerald, halting his conversation when Elizabeth came into view. Rafe’s gaze held hers for a moment, then flicked to Dayne. The flesh around his mouth thinned. He could disapprove all he wanted. Elizabeth’s decision stood.

  Meyer broke rank and held up the tape for them. “Mornin’, Sheriff.”

  “Good morning, Deputy Meyer. I trust you are rested for the day?”

  “That I am, ma’am.”

  “Deputy Lundquist, what is the ETA on our ME?”

  “She’s en route, should be here in ten.”

  Nodding, Elizabeth cautiously approached the body, pulling out gloves from her back pocket.

  “Why are you so worried about how we sleep?” Dayne asked, snapping on her gloves.

  “Must be the mothering instinct in me.”

  What la
y before them made Elizabeth’s heart ache. Another young woman, fully clothed, sat propped against the tree trunk. Where her eyes should have been were blackened, bloody holes. Her head tilted at an awkward angle, resting on her right shoulder.

  Dayne squatted to the victim’s level. “Her killer broke her neck.”

  “You sound certain.”

  “I’ve seen this before. But the X-rays will have to prove it. Does she look familiar?”

  “No.”

  “Doe number two. Not good,” Dayne muttered. She swiveled around, wincing. “Fitzgerald? Is she in rigor?”

  The taciturn deputy ceased preening his three-day-old stubble. He had found the woman on his last round before clocking out. He shook his head.

  “Did you touch her?” Dayne asked.

  “I’m not an idiot, deputy. I saw the birds, checked it out, and called it in. I’m not getting within ten feet of that.”

  Sighing, Dayne leveraged her body upright, and inched closer to the victim. She gripped the forearm and lifted it. The arm bent easily at the elbow. No rigor.

  Another caw. Elizabeth’s attention diverted from her detective to the yellow and brown foliage. The lone watchman had doubled. Two pairs of beady black eyes stared down at her.

  What do you know, scavengers?

  “Sheriff?”

  Her gaze dropped to the woman standing next to her.

  “We need to process this scene now. Those birds have done enough damage as it is.”

  Nodding, Elizabeth motioned for Lundquist to get going. She took hold of Dayne’s elbow and escorted her off to the far-right edge of the tape.

  “I want your honest assessment. Was she dumped last night?”

  Dayne glanced back at the body and then stared out across the fallow hay field. How and why Fitzgerald decided to come this direction was an honest answer Elizabeth highly doubted she’d get. After a few moments, Dayne’s gaze returned to Elizabeth.

  “It’s possible she was dumped last night. If there are enough of them, it doesn’t take the birds long to consume the eyes.”

  “Which brings me to my next question: if they ate the eyes here, why not the first victim’s?”

  Her features pinched, Dayne rotated to face the body. “Good question.” She wandered over to Lundquist.

  Elizabeth followed. The first victim’s time of death still made no sense. There were minimal signs of decomp, which, if the young woman was tossed down the ravine at the time of her death, should have been prevalent.

  “Lundquist, wait,” Dayne said, holding up a hand.

  He frowned at Elizabeth. She gestured for him to give their detective a minute. Again, Deputy Dayne squatted in front of the body. A moment of studying and she duckwalked closer, pressing a finger into the victim’s cheek.

  Gravel crunched under rubber. Swinging her attention from her deputy to the area beyond the tape, Elizabeth spotted Olivia as she emerged from the ME van.

  She met Olivia halfway.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Before you attend to your duties, I need your thoughts on something.”

  Peeking over her shoulder and then back to Elizabeth, Olivia scowled. “About what?”

  “Is it possible the victim from yesterday was kept cold, or even frozen, before she was dropped into the ravine?”

  Her gaze flicking to the men around them, Olivia grasped Elizabeth’s arm and tugged her closer. “It’s possible.”

  Elizabeth’s muscles seized. “Wouldn’t that throw off your timeline for death?”

  “It can, especially if the body was frozen, but in this case, she was not. Otherwise, when I did the autopsy on the body, I would have found frozen tissue. She hadn’t been in that ravine long enough to cause thawing if that were the case.”

  “Is it possible she could have been kept cool enough to stop decomposition but not freeze her?”

  “Again, yes, it’s possible,” Olivia said. “If her body had been exposed to normal air temps for a long period of time, say overnight, it could change her core body temperature. If I recall, the low for Tuesday night was twenty-nine, and it warmed up yesterday to the fifties.”

  “This girl has been here longer than just last night.”

  Elizabeth turned to her detective. Dayne held up a plastic evidence bag—inside were tiny yellow dots.

  “Eggs,” Olivia said, taking the bag.

  “Two nights?” Elizabeth asked.

  Dayne shrugged. “It’s hard to say for certain. The killer could have placed her body here in the early morning hours yesterday. But it’s been long enough for insect activity and the birds to get at her. Decomp is in process.”

  “She may have been kept cool like the other. Yesterday’s warmer temps got the process going. She’s had at least a full twenty-four hours of exposure,” Olivia stated.

  Elizabeth held up her hands. “What you both are saying goes to a pattern. Which means it was the same person who could have done this.”

  “Maybe,” Dayne said.

  Which begged an interesting question. Elizabeth marched over to the two men who lingered on the fringes of the crime scene tape.

  “Fitzgerald.”

  He twitched at her bark, masking the jolt with his customary scowl. “What?”

  Letting the attitude slide, she parked herself in front of him, the yellow line a thin barrier between them. “This route isn’t part of our normal patrol. Why did you come out here?”

  “It might not be part of the route, but we shouldn’t forget about it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re the sheriff, you should get what I mean.”

  Elizabeth leaned closer to Fitzgerald. “I am the sheriff. And I hold the keys to your continued presence in this department. Sheehan might have liked to play games, but you will note that I do not.”

  Their stare down ended when Fitzgerald fidgeted and looked away.

  “I had heard scuttlebutt that people—teenagers—like to use this field for their little rendezvous or beer parties.” His attention returned to Elizabeth. “The farmer who rents this field has complained that he’s found burn spots from bonfires on the edge of the field near the woods. Every other night or so, I come this way to check it out.”

  “But you found the body two hours ago. That’s too late to catch kids.”

  “Not too late to catch an addict getting a fix from their dealer.” Fitzgerald jutted his chin at the tree. “Her body was placed right on top of the drug cache.”

  Elizabeth leaned away from the sullen deputy. “You’ve seen this?”

  The resentment bled from the man’s features, and for a brief tick in time, Elizabeth witnessed a side of the man he had yet to show her: honor. “It’s how I caught Daniel Kauffmann.”

  “What?” she and Rafe said as one.

  “I don’t remember you bringing Daniel in on drug charges,” Rafe said.

  Fitzgerald smirked, his swagger returning. “That’s because you were on a need to know status, and Sheehan deemed you not to know.”

  Elizabeth snapped her fingers in front of his face, earning a fresh scowl. “Let’s bring this to the here and now. Why was I never informed of this? And why are there no records of the arrest?”

  Heat radiating from another body warmed her side. Dayne, of course, arms crossed and at full attention.

  Fitzgerald had to be feeling cornered if the flash of panic in his eyes was an indicator. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie,” Rafe said.

  “I’m not,” Fitzgerald snapped. “Sheehan took care of the situation and kicked me to the curb on the deal. All I know is, I never caught Kauffmann out here again before he died.”

  Elizabeth leaned back from the deputy. Each step she took in these murders, more pieces came into play. And if Sheehan was involved in any way, all the more needles to pierce his leathery hide with.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Is it me, or does she look a little like the first girl?”

  Lila brushed
aside the brown-and-purple-dyed strands, holding them aloft to expose the poor girl’s features. Prominent cheekbones, either by design or a lack of nutrition, were made more prominent with the missing eyeballs. The birds had pecked at the flesh, scoring her skin with jagged, red marks.

  Crouching next to Lila, Lundquist settled back on his haunches. “Maybe a little in her facial structure, but that could be from being young. Neither are the same height or same hair color. Without her eyes, we can’t determine if they were the same color.”

  “True.” Lila let the hair fall back. Then she gently pressed on the victim’s chin and pried her mouth open. Metal blinked at her. “She’s wearing braces.”

  “Shit. She doesn’t look that young.”

  Lila released the chin. “It’s hard to tell in this day and age. A lot of people wait until they’re older to get them.” She rested her forearms on her thighs.

  The victim’s stomach pushed against the confines of her clothing. Clothing that matched the first victim in style: jeans, a green button-down shirt over a brown tee, and retro combat boots. This girl had a thing for jewelry. Each swollen appendage was adorned with rings, and a tiny stud pierced her right nostril. The killer obviously had not taken any trophies. Not his kind of thing.

  Chilling them appeared to be his MO. If the killer had put this girl on ice, so to speak, that skewed the timeline. And it would make for one hellacious investigation.

  “What were you alluding to on the similarity?” Lundquist asked after a few moments of quiet. “Serial killer?”

  Her body spasmed. Shut it down. Once the tremors subsided, she forced her battered and bruised body to unfold; standing upright alleviated the pressure on her tender midsection. “No. Something different.”

  Lundquist rose, towering over her. He appeared to have had a better night off than she. He was refreshed, beard neatly trimmed and his uniform crisp except for the few wrinkles gathered from his constant crouched movements as he collected potential evidence.

  Turning to him, Lila caught a whiff of cedar. The woodsy scent suited him, playing into the whole Viking persona. Her nose tingled. Combating the sensation, she rubbed the cuff of her jacket against her nose.