LET ME BREATHE, page 13
Although Hannah had been kidnapped from the parking lot of a local bar, all the evidence pointed to Trina being abducted from her own home. And now Daphne had been taken. The odds of another kidnapper stalking the area seemed slim to none.
A sense of dread settled over Ashley. It appeared that their killer had stolen another victim.
As she snapped photos of the prints and the spilled salad, Ashley felt movement behind her. She glanced back to find Wyatt padding into the family room.
“I’ll be damned,” he said, his gaze directed toward the white footprints.
From Wyatt’s expression, it was obvious that he’d arrived at the same conclusion regarding the killer as Ashley had.
She wondered whether Daphne’s fight with her abductor had extended throughout the house.
“Did you find anything interesting in the kitchen?” she asked Wyatt.
He shook his head. “There’s a woman’s purse on the bar, but no signs of a struggle.”
Although it looked like Daphne had been attacked while eating lunch on the sofa and had likely been carried through the back door of the family room, Ashley still wanted to check out the rest of the house. It was possible that the killer had broken in while Daphne was away. He could have lain in wait, hiding in one of the other rooms. Maybe he’d left a clue behind.
Pocketing her phone, she headed out of the family room, down a hallway. Wyatt followed. A door gaped open to her left. She leaned inside and flipped on the light switch. A laundry room lay before her. Neat and tidy, nothing seemed amiss.
Out of caution, she checked the washing machine. Although at this stage she didn’t suspect Wallace, it was better to make sure the man hadn’t attempted to destroy evidence by cleaning his clothing. Nothing lay inside of the machine.
Wyatt popped open the door of the dryer.
“Empty too,” he stated.
Stepping to the side, Wyatt motioned for Ashley to re-enter the hallway ahead of him. He clung to her heels as she continued toward the open doorway at the end on the right.
As she crossed the threshold into the master bedroom, Ashley’s attention swung toward the nightstand closest to the door. The drawer had been pulled open all the way. A pillow had fallen to the floor and lay wedged between the bed and the nightstand. The bed’s comforter appeared rumpled, shifted at an odd angle, with one of the bottom corners draping the hardwood floor.
Wyatt glanced at Ashley.
“Bet there was a gun in the drawer,” he said.
She agreed. But had a bullet been fired? She circled the end of the bed. So far, no blood or any evidence of a shooting had been found.
And neither Hannah nor Trina had been sexually assaulted. But something had obviously taken place on Daphne’s bed. Serial murderers didn’t usually change their MO. Maybe Daphne had retrieved the gun and the killer had pushed her onto the bed, wrestling the weapon away from her before she’d had the chance to shoot.
As Wyatt headed toward the master bathroom, Ashley pulled out her Maglite. Even though it seemed unlikely that a shot had been fired, she decided it was better to be thorough and look for shell casings. She dropped to her knees and directed the beam underneath the bed.
The light hit something white.
Her fingers closed around the object. It was a plastic ballpoint pen. A faded design marked the top end. It almost looked like a partial letter D followed by something she couldn’t quite make out.
D for Daphne?
Or had the killer left the pen behind?
Ashley shot a few photos of the pen and then tucked it inside of a plastic evidence bag. She knelt down again, searching for a shell casing. There was nothing else to be found.
Wyatt appeared next to her.
“The bathroom’s clear,” he stated. “And there are no cowboy boots in the closet. No western-type clothing.”
She handed him the evidence bag.
“What does that emblem look like to you?”
He clenched his bottom lip between his teeth as he inspected the pen.
“Could be a letter D,” he said. “It’s hard to tell. Was it under the bed?”
Ashley nodded. She realized that there was a good chance the pen belonged to the missing woman, but something about it nagged at her. As though her instincts were letting her know that the pen would somehow prove important to the case.
The sheriff’s baritone voice echoed behind her.
Perkins strode through the master bedroom doorway.
“Wallace Lochridge is anxious to talk to you,” he said, directing the statement to both Wyatt and Ashley. “He’s asking for a poly.”
If Daphne’s husband had requested a lie detector test, that meant he assumed—and rightly so—that he was a suspect in his wife’s disappearance. And if he believed in the accuracy of polygraphs, it indicated that he likely had nothing to hide.
Perkins led them back down the hallway, through the foyer, and into the dining room.
As the sheriff made the introductions, Ashley studied Wallace’s light blue eyes. Red and slightly swollen, it appeared as though he’d been crying. Her gaze shifted to the man’s shoes. Black leather wingtips. A natural choice to pair with his dark gray suit.
Ashley settled into the dining chair opposite Sheriff Perkins while Wyatt chose the seat directly across the table from Wallace.
“Walk us through what happened today,” Wyatt said to the man.
“There’s one thing I need to make perfectly clear first,” Wallace stated, his tone firm. “I had nothing to with Daphne’s disappearance, and I’d like to take a polygraph test now—today. I want you to rule me out right away so that you don’t waste any time searching for my wife.”
Wyatt nodded. “We can arrange for a TBI examiner. It may take a few hours.”
“That’s fine. I just need you to take this seriously.” Wallace’s voice faltered. “I need Daphne back.”
Ashley’s heart ached for the man. Wallace’s love for his wife seemed clear.
“When did you realize that Daphne was missing?” Wyatt asked.
“I made it home from work around five-thirty. Her car was in the garage as usual, and I noticed her purse on the bar. When I called out to her, there was no answer. Then I found my parents’ photo and the candles on the floor. And I heard Lacey—that’s our dog—barking outside. I went to the back door to let Lacey in, and I saw the footprints on the floor. I searched the house and then I tried calling Daphne’s cell phone. It rang in her purse. So, I called her office, and her assistant told me that she hadn’t seen or heard from Daphne since before lunch. That’s when I called 911.”
“But you didn’t let the dog in, right?”
“No, I was afraid that she’d mess up the footprints. I didn’t touch anything either. Everything is exactly the way it was when I came home.”
Ashley was glad to hear that the scene had been kept secure.
Wyatt asked, “Do the names Hannah Kemp and Trina Hollis mean anything to you?”
The color drained from Wallace’s cheeks at the mention of Hannah. He’d obviously heard about her murder.
A connection had yet to be found between Hannah and Trina. Could Daphne prove to be the missing link?
“Well, I know that Hannah was a real estate agent,” Wallace said, “but I’ve never heard of the other woman.”
“Were Daphne and Hannah friends?”
“Not as far as I know.”
Ashley’s hope of connecting the three victims faded.
She pulled the evidence bag from her jacket pocket.
“Do you recognize this pen?” she asked. “I found it under the bed in the master bedroom.”
Wallace turned the evidence bag over in his hand, studying the pen.
He shook his head. “It’s not mine, but it could be Daphne’s. I’m just not sure.”
“But you don’t remember ever seeing it before?”
“No.”
Ashley hoped that meant the killer had dropped the pen. That the forensic techs could lift fingerprints or DNA that would lead to the murderer’s identification.
A frantic expression crossed Wallace’s ashen face. “Look,” he began, “instead of sitting here asking me questions, I really need you to start searching. Bring in dogs, scour the woods behind the house, send your deputies and TBI agents out to search all of Sparks County. I’ll pay for everything. Just please, find Daphne.”
Ashley’s stomach sank as a realization hit her. It was likely that they already knew exactly where to locate Daphne. Tonight, the killer would bring his latest victim to the hazardous waste preprocessing center. And Ashley and Wyatt would be waiting for him.
There was only one question that haunted her mind.
Would Daphne still be alive?
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Ashley shivered as she perched on the edge of the folding chair in the lookout spot hidden between two white pines. Bundled inside a Kevlar vest and a black jacket, complete with a hood, it wasn’t the cold night air that had sent the chill down her spine. Her thoughts revolved around the horror she knew that Daphne had faced earlier in the afternoon. Had the woman survived the initial attack? Was the killer planning to end Daphne’s life here at the Sparks County Hazardous Waste Preprocessing Center?
Or was it already too late for Ashley and Wyatt to save her?
Peering through the lenses of her night-vision binoculars, Ashley scanned the front entrance of the facility. She’d been told that solid and liquid waste—both household and commercial—from all areas of the state ended up at the center. The workers on site analyzed, sorted, consolidated, and labelled the waste. Then the drums and sealed containers were stored at the center temporarily before being trucked to either the landfill or the waste treatment facility.
And now it seemed the killer had chosen the location to be Daphne’s temporary grave.
In an attempt to sooth her troubled thoughts, Ashley reminded herself that the killer had kept Hannah alive until he’d brought her to the landfill. The preprocessing center closed its doors at four o’clock each day. Unlike the treatment facility, neither the landfill nor the preprocessing center employed a night shift. The fact that the killer likely believed that he wouldn’t have to worry about the center’s workers—or anyone else—interrupting his plans, gave Ashley hope that maybe he hadn’t yet murdered Daphne.
Resting the binoculars on her knees, Ashley noticed Wyatt checking his watch.
“What time is it?” she whispered.
“Twelve fifty-seven.”
They’d set up camp around the perimeter of the thirty-acre facility at eight-thirty p.m. So far, all had remained quiet. After dumping Trina’s body, the man who they believed to be the killer had been spotted in the treatment facility’s parking lot just before one o’clock in the morning. They suspected that he’d keep a similar timetable with Daphne.
But would he choose to bring his victim into the center through the parking lot entrance? Or had he found another way inside? Dense forest lined the boundaries of the facility’s intake, sorting, and storage yard. It was possible that there might be a concealed breach in the chain-link fence that had gone unnoticed.
If that proved to be the case—if the killer had found or had cut an opening—it was possible that he could carry Daphne inside unseen.
Gaps riddled their dragnet. They’d needed the help of ten deputies to secure the perimeter of the preprocessing center. But searching for Daphne in the wide forest that surrounded her home had ranked equally as important. There was the still the possibility—however slight—that the deputies might pick up the abductor’s trail. So their troops had been split. Sheriff Perkins, along with half their planned stakeout team, now combed the woods on the outskirts of Tomlinson. Leaving Wyatt and Ashley with only five deputies to stand guard around the center.
She just prayed that the killer would stick to his former MO. That they would catch him in the parking lot.
A gust of wind rustled the boughs of the pine hanging just above Ashley’s head. As the breeze died down, a wailing cry echoed through the air.
Wyatt jumped in his chair beside her.
“It’s just a coyote,” she told him, the lonesome howl as familiar to her as her own name.
“Yeah,” he whispered back.
Although he tried to play it tough, she could tell that hunkering down at the edge of the forest in the middle of the night unnerved him. But it was to be expected. He’d been raised in the city. Armed thugs didn’t seem to faze him, but he was unaccustomed to the eerie calls of the mountain wildlife.
Ashley trained her binoculars on the double gate leading into the preprocessing center’s yard. The lock that dangled from a chain around the middle posts appeared to be almost identical to the lock on the landfill’s gate.
When the killer arrived—if he drove into the parking lot—they planned to allow him to breach the gate before they moved in on him. They hoped he’d leave Daphne in the car while he fussed with the lock. In order to avoid a hostage situation, they wanted as much distance between the killer and his latest victim as possible.
Sweeping past the gate, Ashley’s gaze floated along the fence bordering the left side of the facility.
Movement caught her eye.
Her pulse raced as she zoomed in, adjusting the binocular’s lenses for a clearer view.
Wyatt obviously noticed her snap to attention.
“You see something?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I’m not sure what it is yet.”
A raccoon darted out of the shadows and then ran away from the fence into the cover of the trees. Her heartbeat returned to normal as Ashley settled back into her chair.
“It’s a false alarm—a raccoon,” she told Wyatt.
Where was the killer? Ashley knew it had to be past one o’clock by now. She directed her binoculars toward the county highway fronting the preprocessing center. The road lay dark and quiet. No headlights in sight.
A sinking feeling hit her. Were they wrong about the center? Had the killer decided to take Daphne to a different location? Or was the woman already inside the yard, paralyzed, and unable to fight?
The encrypted two-way radios attached to their headsets crackled to life.
“I’ve got something,” Deputy Foster’s urgent voice said.
Ashley held her breath, wondering whether the killer had arrived. If so, they had to get to the man fast, before he harmed Daphne any further.
Wyatt met her gaze as they waited for the deputy to continue.
“It’s a man,” Foster stated. “There’s a man inside the fence!”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
On impulse, Ashley sprang from the folding chair, almost bumping into Wyatt. He held her gaze as they stood huddled in the stakeout spot nestled at the edge of the forest bordering the grounds of the preprocessing center, ears honed on their encrypted two-way radios. A jolt of adrenaline hit her as she listened to Deputy Foster’s voice echoing over the airwaves. Stationed at another lookout point along the facility’s perimeter, he’d spotted someone lurking inside the fenced yard.
Had Deputy Foster seen the killer?
And was Daphne with him? Was she still alive?
“I repeat, there’s an unknown male inside the fence!” Foster said. “North side. About 300 yards from the rear perimeter, heading east.”
Ashley and Wyatt had set up camp on the south side of the center. Although the killer prowled the opposite end, he was moving away from the forest toward the highway.
It was possible that Ashley and Wyatt could meet him head-on.
Wyatt keyed his radio’s mic. “All right everybody, stay quiet and move in. Foster, keep us posted on the suspect’s position.”
Sliding their helmets—equipped with night vision goggles—on over their radio headsets, Ashley and Wyatt raced from the forest and crossed the preprocessing center’s parking lot.
Wyatt whispered a curse as he struggled to insert the key into the double gate’s padlock.
When the tumblers finally clicked, he inched the gate open just wide enough for Ashley and him to slip through. As he lagged behind to replace the chain, locking that exit, Ashley crept toward the north end of the yard.
Three of the deputies manned positions inside the fence, hidden among the waste barrels and sealed containers. They would all be moving north, weapons drawn.
It was important to practice stealth. They couldn’t make themselves known yet. Not until they were sure they had the killer surrounded. Otherwise, he might sneak out of the facility the same way he’d managed to get inside. There had to be a breach somewhere in the fence. But they had no way of knowing the location.
The lenses of Ashley’s night vision goggles cast an eerie green glow across the landscape as she skulked along the gravel drive. When she reached the center’s main building—a long metal structure with several bay doors—she paused and surveyed the yard. Rows of sealed cube-shaped containers and metal drums stood before her in a maze-like pattern.
She noticed that each section featured a sign including a numbered code and the type of waste it contained. The section closest to the building had been designated for liquid oil-based paints and stains.
Deputy Foster’s voice reverberated in her ear.
“I’ve lost the suspect!” Foster said, his tone frantic. “He just disappeared behind a block of containers. But I think he’s headed southeast.”
Ashley’s stomach sank. The notion that Daphne might already be dead, and that the killer had just escaped worried her. She forced the thought from her mind. It was important to stay positive. She vowed to do whatever it took to rescue Daphne.
Wyatt appeared at her side. He motioned that he would head west, deeper into the yard, and would then cut to the north. Ashley nodded, letting him know that she would continue straight, toward the north boundary, before heading west. She hoped that with the help of the three deputies inside the fence, they’d be able to encircle the killer and trap him. But she knew they raced against the clock.
