An Eye for an Eye Page 11

Baxter saw us and came our way, coffee cup in hand. “As promised,” he said, handing it to me.

  I smiled. “Thanks, I guess. Not much compensation for missing my beauty sleep.”

  “Like I told you, take it up with the Fed.” To Martinez, he said, “Thanks for covering the afternoon shift. I can take it from here. Hope she didn’t give you any shit.”

  The two of them shook hands and chuckled, while I complained, “I’m standing right here.”

  Martinez said, “Nah. I only had to tase her once to keep her in line.”

  I growled to myself and drank my coffee while they had a laugh at my expense.

  After Martinez left, Baxter beckoned me to follow him toward Sterling and Amanda. “The car is a mess, so good luck. It’s registered to an elderly couple from Illinois, who reported it missing a month ago when they drove over to visit their daughter in Speedway. I’m thinking they’re in no way related to our killer, but we’re still going to check them out. And after ditching his car, Parsons is going to need some new wheels, so I’ll also be running down every vehicle reported stolen in the area today.”

  “Ooh, sounds like a night full of fun for both of us, then.”

  “I say it’s a ploy to keep us occupied and not out looking for our killer. The good news is that we forced him to have to deviate from his plan. Once his vehicle’s description and license number got plastered all over the news, it became a liability, so he had to spend time finding a new means of transportation. Maybe that’ll buy Michaela Richards a few more hours.”

  When we walked up to Sterling and Amanda, Sterling turned to me and said, “You look thrilled to be here. What’s the matter? You pissed about Special Agent Dick ordering you to get out of bed to come process a scene?”

  Amanda wrinkled her nose. “Jason, I think his name is Vic.”

  Baxter rolled his eyes. “I think he was trying to be funny. The problem is that he’s not funny.”

  As Sterling cuffed him on the arm, I said, “No, that one was pretty good. Give the man some credit.”

  “Thank you, Matthews,” Sterling said, clearly shocked that I was the one out of the group agreeing with him.

  Baxter looked unconvinced, so I explained, “It’s actually quite clever. It’s funny because—”

  Sterling cut in, “If you have to explain a joke, it loses its appeal.”

  “Sterling, I’m helping you here. You see, Manetti is a detective of sorts, or a ‘dick,’ and his name rhymes with dick. See?”

  Baxter glanced behind me. “I get it. It’s funny. New subject, please.”

  I added, “Oh, and plus, Manetti is a total dick, so it also works on that level as well.”

  A voice behind me said, “Why is it that both times I’ve seen you today you’re talking about male genitalia, Ms. Matthews?”

  I shrugged and turned to face Agent Manetti, not bothered in the slightest that he’d overheard me calling him a dick. “It’s as good a topic as any, I suppose.”

  Manetti glared at us. “If you’d all quit telling middle school jokes and get to work, I’d appreciate it.”

  I threw Sterling a smirk over my shoulder. “Ouch, Sterling. That was some of your best material, and he just called it ‘middle school.’ ”

  Sterling pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Will you shut the hell up before you get us all fired?”

  “I wish someone would fire me from this—”

  Baxter interrupted me before I could finish. “Ellie, I have your jumpsuit and kit in my SUV. Let’s go get you suited up.”

  I let Baxter usher me away from Manetti’s steely glare.

  “Are you trying to piss him off?” he asked.

  “Not especially, but I’m not going to kiss his ass, either.”

  He shook his head. “You do not pull any punches, do you?”

  “You should know this by now, Baxter.”

  I got suited up, and Baxter took the ball cap off his head and put it on mine.

  He said, “I’m headed back to the station, but you’re in good hands with the deputies securing the scene. If you find anything earthshattering, call me.”

  “You got it.”

  I took the field kit out of his SUV and headed over to where Amanda was taking photos of the exterior of the vehicle. While she did that, I made a rough sketch of the parking lot and the vehicle.

  She said, “I hate processing car interiors. It’s such cramped quarters.”

  “Agreed. Let’s get this over with.”

  While Amanda began taking photos of the interior, I examined the exterior of the vehicle. The back right taillight had a hole in it. I was already cold from being outside in the frigid weather, but a new shiver ran through me at the thought of how that hole got there. An image of a young woman in that trunk, trying anything and everything to get out, flashed into my head, but I pushed it aside. I didn’t even want to think about whether or not Jenna had been transported that way. The trunk would have to be processed, but I wasn’t mentally ready for that yet. I got the camera from Amanda and took a few shots of the busted taillight.

  As Amanda was dusting the steering wheel and lifting a few prints, I heard her groan. “There’s mouse poop in the cup holders! This car is filthy. There’s food and dirt everywhere, and…more mouse poop. Gross!”

  I snickered, going over to examine the wheels on the driver’s side. “I’ve seen you work death scenes that had much more disgusting substances than a little mouse poop going on. What’s your problem?”

  I shined the flashlight on the tires and wheel wells. I found mud with some straw in it clinging to the wheel well, so I took a photo of it.

  She shuddered and hopped out of the car. As she was scribbling information on the back side of several fingerprint lifts, she explained, “When I was a kid, we lived on a farm in Ohio. There were field mice everywhere, and my stupid sister felt the need to keep food hidden under her bed. Once the mice found her stash, they set up shop and never left. My parents were always busy with farming, so they put us in charge of rodent extermination. Which meant I was in charge of rodent extermination, because my sister was too squeamish to do it. No matter how many mice I caught and killed, more came in. I lived with mouse poop in and on everything I owned for eighteen long years. Not doing it anymore.”

  I smiled ruefully. “I get it. My mom’s old trailer was always full of roaches, because I don’t think she ever washed a single dish in her entire life. I can’t handle roaches. They would crawl on my sister and me at night while we were asleep. It would give Rachel night terrors, and she’d wake up to find actual roaches all over her and scream bloody murder all over again. I never knew what it was like to have a full night’s sleep until I moved out.”

  She stared at me, eyes wide. “Okay, you win. None of the mice ever crawled on me, to my knowledge.”

  I smiled. “Well, the good news is mouse poop isn’t evidence in this case, so you won’t have to touch it.” I thought for a moment. “However, it could be yet another indicator that the killer has been hanging out on a farm or in a barn. It’s cold out. Maybe some field mice were looking for a warm place to sleep and found a way into the car while it was parked.”

  She turned and frowned at the car. “You may be on to something. Not that we didn’t already have suspicions about a rural location, but this information could help solidify our theory.”

  I nodded. “I also found straw stuck in some mud in the wheel wells, so there’s that, too. But back to the interior, if you take the passenger side, I’ll take the back seat. Maybe I’ll find something less disgusting, like a used condom or something.”

  “That would honestly be so much better.”

  I opened the driver’s side rear door and looked in the back seat. It stunk of old food and mustiness. It was difficult to tell whether the food had been there for days or months. I could much more imagine a young man throwing half-eaten candy bars and boxes of fries in the back seat than an elderly couple, so I assumed that the killer had pretty well tra
shed the car in the time he’d been in possession of it. I sifted gingerly through the mess with gloved hands, careful not to dig down too far and touch something I couldn’t see. I wouldn’t put it past him to booby trap this thing, maybe with a few razor blades or shards of broken glass.

  “Hey, Amanda, be extra careful in here. I’m thinking he could have left us a surprise just to twist the knife a little.”

  She had her head down in the floorboard, so her voice was muffled. “I know. I thought that, too. The guys looked for bombs under the car and under the hood, so we’re good there at least.”

  I was finding a whole lot of nothing in the back seat. It was just someone’s messy car. I got out of the back and changed my gloves. By that time, Amanda was finished with the front, so we both walked around to the trunk.

  I said, “I’ve been putting this off.”

  “Me, too. Because of the, uh…” She pointed at the hole in the taillight.

  “Yes.”

  “I guess we probably should get on with it.”

  She went to the driver’s side and hit the trunk release, and the trunk lid popped up in front of me. Once she got back to my side, I slowly lifted the trunk lid all the way up. Surprisingly, the trunk was fairly clean. The interior was light gray, so blood would have shown up to the naked eye, unless it had been bleached out.

  Amanda said, “I don’t exactly know what I was expecting, but this is kind of a welcome surprise.”

  “Right. I had prepared for the worst.”

  She got out her flashlight and shined it on the trunk interior where the taillight had been busted out. “I think there may be some blood here around the hole. Like maybe someone got injured while trying to break the light.”

  I was busy looking at the emergency trunk latch, which was broken and mangled. The mix of food I’d thrown down on the way over here began to churn in my stomach. “Sick bastard. He disabled the safety feature that keeps people from getting trapped in the trunk.”

  Amanda grabbed the camera and took a couple of shots of the busted taillight and the latch. “He certainly thought of everything. Who is this guy? Is he an evil genius, or has he done this so many times before it’s become second nature to him?”

  “He’s young, so unless he started early, he can’t have much experience.” I sighed. “I think he’s just a sociopath.”

  When the camera’s bright flash illuminated the trunk, I noticed a glint of something way in the back. Shining the flashlight in the area where the glint had come from, I saw that it was a piece of jewelry—a gold necklace. I had Amanda take some photos of it, then I retrieved it to get a closer look. A lump formed in my throat when I saw what it was. It was the beautiful gold scrollwork cross that Jayne had given Jenna for completing her confirmation class and joining the church when she was in high school. The necklace was something Jenna was rarely without. The chain was broken, as if it had been ripped from her neck.

  “What’s that?” Amanda asked, her expression guarded.

  I cleared my throat and held up the necklace for her to see. “This was Jenna’s.” My voice broke as I said her name.

  Amanda hurried to her case and brought back a small manila envelope, holding it out so I could drop the necklace into it. “Go take a break. I’ll scour the rest of the trunk, and then we’ll be done. Go.”

  I ripped my gloves off and threw them on the ground as I stalked toward the other end of the parking lot. I felt like something had snapped inside me.

  Manetti, who was still hanging around with a few of the deputies, spotted me and came my way. He slowed as he got near me and asked, “What have you found so far? Anything we can use?”

  I shook my head and brushed past him, not in the mood to stop and chat. He went on, thankfully, and I found a tree to kick at the other end of the parking lot.

  Why did every bit of evidence in this case have to feel like such a sucker punch to the gut? Why couldn’t I stay detached from my feelings like I used to be able to? I gave that huge speech yesterday about how my students should consider a new career if they couldn’t hack the emotional pressure of forensic work, and here I was, wallowing in my own self-pity. Granted, I had realized a while back that there were some cases, like my mother’s murder case, that were beyond my coping skills. That was why I quit. This one was too close again, and I had no business being a part of the investigation. At some point, my depressed mental state was going to cause me to make a mistake, and that wasn’t fair to anyone involved. I had to pull back from this.

  “What’s your problem?” Manetti asked from behind me.

  I wheeled around to face him. “What’s my problem? This whole damn case is my problem.”

  His expression hard, he said, “First you’re out here telling jokes with your pals, and now you’re out here throwing a temper tantrum and taking it out on that tree. What’s with the mood swings? Are you unstable or something?”

  My jaw dropped. “Are you freaking kidding me right now? Jenna Walsh was a close family friend. Of course I’m having mood swings. I am grieving, here.” At wit’s end, I threw Baxter’s ball cap on the ground and ran my hands through my hair. “And to add insult to injury, I have to have a round-the-clock bodyguard because I’m a potential victim for this psycho we’re chasing. Because I have this giant target on my back, my family can’t even stay with me at our home. I’ve had to farm out my sister and nephew so other people can watch out for them, because being around me is dangerous. I’m scared, and I’m lonely. Are you not aware of what I’m going through, or are you just too much of an asshole to be able to see it?”

  He wiped a hand down his face. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t realize all you had on your plate right now. Under normal circumstances, you’d be my top pick for the job. But…given that this situation is different…” He sighed. “I think you need a break. Go home and get some rest. Ms. Carmack has assured me that the two of you have found very little evidence, so there’s not much to process back at the station. We don’t need you any more tonight. And…I’m going to take you off the task force for the Eye for an Eye Killer. That doesn’t mean if a question comes up that we won’t call you, though. But I won’t have you working any more new scenes or new evidence.”

  I blew out a pent-up breath. “Okay.”

  Manetti shook his head. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but if you took the time to get to know me, I think you’d see that I’m not so bad.”

  Tears were threatening, so I only nodded in reply.

  He gave me an awkward pat on the back. “I’ll have Deputy Martinez take you home.”

  “I’ll tell Amanda what’s going on.” I trudged back over to the vehicle, where Amanda was packing up her field kit.

  When she saw me, she came over and took me by the shoulders, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “What happened over there?”

  “Agent Manetti is taking me off the case. For good this time. I told him it’s ended up to be more than I can handle.”

  She smiled. “I’ll miss you, but at the same time, it’s what’s best for you that matters. I hope you can get some closure at the funeral. I’ll be there as long as I can get away from the lab.”

  I tried to smile, but failed. “I’m sorry to ditch you, but I have to get out of here.” I let out a mirthless laugh. “You wonder why I made the switch to teaching? Cases like this. I guess this proves I really can’t hack it in the real world of criminalistics. I probably need to stick to teaching from now on.”

  “I hate to hear that, Ellie. But you have to take care of yourself first.” She nodded behind me and took a step back. “I think Martinez is ready to take you home. At least you’re in good hands.”

  I nodded. “I’ll see you around.” Turning my back on the scene for the last time, I followed Martinez to his vehicle and let him take me home.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  My sleep was riddled with nightmares, most of them involving Hunter Parsons and Jenna. I woke up still tired, but that was no surprise. It would take
a couple of good nights of sleep to make up for my all-nighter and then being dragged out late last night.

  I headed to school, a fresh deputy in tow, and went about my normal routine. I wasn’t in the mood to do anything to make my first class interesting, and as a result, it was boring as hell. I could tell from the looks on my students’ faces, plus the fact that what I was saying could barely hold my own attention.

  When I got to my office and pulled out my phone, I saw that I’d received a text from Baxter: I heard you yelled at Manetti and called him an asshole and lived to tell about it.

  Cracking a smile for the first time today, I sat down at my desk and texted back, Yes, I did. I guess you also heard I’m off the case. Sorry.

  Only a few moments went by until I had a response: No need to apologize. I get it.

  It was only then that it hit me—I’d never work another case with Baxter. Last night had solidified my decision that I wasn’t up for consulting with the department anymore. The hard part would be having to tell Baxter that this was it. That wasn’t a discussion to have over text messaging. Our differences aside, I’d enjoyed working with him more than any other coworker I’d ever had.

  When I offered no response to his last text, he wrote, I’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow. Then he added, If you need a friend, I’m here for you.

  For some odd reason, I got a warm feeling in the pit of my stomach after reading that last text. Typical Baxter, always the white knight.

  I texted back, Thanks.

  I did need a friend, but I wouldn’t dream of clouding his mind with my problems. He had enough work to do to find this killer, especially with the clock ticking for Michaela Richards. If Hunter Parsons stuck to the same forty-eight-hour time period he had with Jenna, it stood to reason that if no one figured out where he was by midnight tonight, Michaela wouldn’t live to see tomorrow. A cold chill ran up my spine as a morbid thought popped into my head. Jenna’s funeral was tomorrow morning, and there would be scores of law enforcement and government officials in attendance. What if he decided to use it to make some sort of violent spectacle?