LET ME BREATHE, page 14
How much time did Daphne have left?
Keeping her footsteps light, Ashley weaved between two rows of barrels, alert for any movement around her. Moonlight bathed the yard. Waxing full, the moon likely provided enough of a glow to allow the killer to navigate the grounds of the center without the use of a flashlight. This meant that they probably wouldn’t see the man until they were almost on top of him.
Would the killer somehow manage to spot the law enforcement team first? Would he slip through the dragnet?
Ashley pushed forward, her gaze sweeping the terrain, covered with staggered rows of waste. The killer had left his previous two victims in high-traffic areas of the landfill and the treatment facility. Where would he take Daphne? Ashley had been told that the workers hauled drums and containers in and out of all areas of the center each day. That each section hosted an equal amount of activity.
Was the killer aware of that fact?
The howl of coyotes drifted toward Ashley as she snaked her way north. The cries died down as she reached a bank of containers larger than those she’d encountered previously. Resting on top of wooden pallets, the rectangular containers towered around six feet in height. Their size allowed them to offer ample cover for anyone wishing to hide. It was easy for her to understand how Foster had lost sight of their suspect.
A chill raced down Ashley’s spine.
The realization that she might discover Daphne’s body on the other side of the containers hit her.
With her Glock at the ready, Ashley slinked down the tight-packed line. She peeked around the row’s last container. A sea of the tall cubes stretched out before her, filling the north end of the yard. The killer could be hiding just a few feet away. And unless he made a noise, she might not sense his presence until it was too late.
Her guard high, Ashley slipped into the adjacent row. Through a narrow break between the containers, she caught sight of the north fence, about a hundred feet to her right. It was time to turn west and head toward the rear of the facility. As she cut around one of the cubes, something grabbed her right leg.
Ashley stifled a scream.
A huge rat clung to her jeans, just below her knee.
Horrified, she shook her leg, but the beady-eyed monster refused to let go. Left with no other choice, she slammed the butt of her Glock into the side of the rat’s plump body. With a squeal, the rodent leapt to the ground and then scurried behind one of the containers.
What had the rat been eating? Nuclear waste? The rodent had weighed as much as a cat and had shown no fear. Ashley trembled at the thought that the rat might be carrying some deadly disease. She was thankful its teeth and claws hadn’t sunk into her flesh.
Shaking off her disgust at the rodent’s attack, she refocused her attention on the search for the killer. And more importantly, for Daphne.
A dense bank of clouds slid in front of the moon, draping the waste yard with shadows. Ashley hoped the sudden dark cover would spur the killer to switch on a flashlight, making it easier for the team to pinpoint his location. She crept past the rows of tall cubes, checking and clearing each one as she made her way west.
Wyatt’s voice whispered through her earpiece.
“I just caught a glimpse of somebody,” he stated. “Section 84C. If that’s one of you, let me know now.”
According to the nearest sign, Ashley had just entered section 81D. She angled to the left and headed toward the area that should contain section 84C, listening for one of the deputies to identify themselves as the person Wyatt had spotted.
The radio fell silent.
Ashley’s pulse quickened. Since no one had claimed the position, Wyatt had obviously seen the killer.
Accelerating her pace, she padded forward, careful not to make a sound. After checking for rats underneath the wooden pallets, she squeezed between two of the cubes and entered section 82C. She noticed that the workers had pulled several of the containers from this area, leaving gaping holes in the rows.
As she worked her way through the labyrinth of cubes, Wyatt’s voice rang out in the night.
“Stop!” he yelled. “TBI!”
Her heart hammered in her chest as Ashley swung toward the direction of her partner’s shout. Had the killer obeyed Wyatt’s command? Was he now in handcuffs? Or had he run?
Trekking past the waste as fast as she dared, Ashley scanned the rows in front of her.
A flash of movement caught her eye.
Through the gap between two cubes, she spotted the figure of a man. And he seemed to be running for his life.
“I see him,” Ashley whispered into her radio mic. “He’s in section 82C.”
Ashley raced left, toward the south. If she sped fast enough, she might be able to make it down the row in time to cut the man off. She glanced between the containers, keeping the suspect in her line of sight as she ran. She held one advantage: with the aid of the night vision goggles, she could see him. But with the clouds hiding the moon, and the yard clothed in shadows, he likely wouldn’t see her until the last second. And then, it would be too late for him to escape.
Pushing her muscles to their limit, she barreled ahead, intent on stopping the suspect. But before reaching her row, the man swerved to his left and disappeared behind a bank of cubes.
Shit!
Pivoting on her heels, Ashley jetted back toward the north. Was the man heading for the hole in the fence? She just prayed that he’d run into Wyatt or one of the deputies before he made it.
Another thought hit her.
Had Wyatt found Daphne?
Maybe he had. Maybe that was the reason she hadn’t seen Wyatt on the suspect’s tail. Her partner could have stayed behind to render first aid. Or…
Ashley refused to let her mind consider the alternative.
Keying her radio mic, she said in a hushed tone, “The suspect is heading north.”
She zoomed through a gap between two containers into the adjacent row. The cloud cover had grown thicker, the shadows deeper. She hoped that the increased darkness would slow the killer’s pace. That she’d still be able to circle around and cut him off.
As she approached another break in the line of cubes, Ashley picked up movement. Only one row of waste now separated them. Although the man held a slight lead at that instant, if she pushed herself, she might be able to surge in front of him.
Her leg muscles groaned as Ashley blazed further north. Glancing through the narrow spaces between the cubes, she kept tabs on the suspect. As she neared the end of the row, she realized that she’d gained the lead. When she reached the last container, she cut sharp to her left.
Ashley crashed into the man’s side.
The suspect cried out as they hit the ground.
Straddling the man, Ashley drew her Glock. In the green glow from her night vision goggles, he appeared younger than she’d expected—maybe late twenties. And shorter, smaller boned. A dark-colored beanie concealed his hair.
“TBI,” she said, shoving the Glock in his face. “You’re under arrest. Now where is Daphne?”
The man seemed surprised by the question. Or maybe he was just stunned that he’d been caught.
“Who?”
Footsteps echoed toward her. It was Wyatt. He covered Ashley while she slapped cuffs on the suspect’s wrists. As she pulled the man to his feet, she noticed that a duffel bag lay on the ground beneath him.
Hearing movement, Ashley glanced to her right. The three deputies had arrived, their weapons drawn. She turned her attention back to the suspect.
“Tell me where you left Daphne,” she demanded.
Again, a puzzled look crossed the man’s face. Ashley realized that his features bore no resemblance to Curtis Crick or to the description of the suspect who drove an old sedan.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said.
“The woman you kidnapped this afternoon.”
The suspect’s eyes widened. “You got the wrong guy. I ain’t never kidnapped nobody.”
The obvious fear in the man’s tone lent an air of credence to his words.
“Then why did you break into the preprocessing center in the middle of the night?”
“I was just getting some medicine,” he said, his voice shaky. “Don’t nobody else need it. They’re throwing them drugs away.”
Wyatt unzipped the man’s duffel bag. “Vials of expired narcotics,” he said, disappointment clear in his tone.
Ashley peered down at the suspect’s white sneakers. She slid her right foot next to his left.
“What size shoes do you wear?” she asked him, realizing his feet only appeared to a couple of sizes larger than hers.
“Why? You wanna take my shoes?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“Nine.”
A sick feeling washed over Ashley. They’d blown it. This man was not their murderer. His feet were too small. The TBI forensic techs believed the killer wore a size ten and a half shoe. The man they’d just caught had been stealing medical waste.
Twelve hours had passed since Daphne’s abduction.
Where had the killer taken her?
She heard Wyatt sigh.
“Book this guy for robbery,” he told one of the deputies. “Everybody else, listen up. There are four golf carts up at the main building. Let’s drive around the grounds, just to make sure no one dumped a body here. Then we’ll call it a night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The alarm app on Ashley’s cell phone jolted her awake. Seven-thirty a.m. had arrived too soon. She and Wyatt hadn’t made it back to the dingy motel room until almost four that morning. And it had taken at least thirty minutes for her to shower, tuck herself into bed, and settle the tormenting thoughts in her mind as she hugged the right edge of the lumpy mattress. Even though she’d been physically and mentally exhausted, drifting off to dreamland had been especially difficult with Daphne still missing.
But she guessed that if she wanted to make getting a good night’s rest a habit, she should choose a different profession. One where she wasn’t haunted by the faces of the victims that she’d been unable to save.
Was it too late to rescue Daphne?
Ashley clung to the hope that the woman could still be alive. It was possible the killer had spotted their stakeout team at the preprocessing center. If they’d interrupted his plans, he might be holding Daphne hostage while looking for a different murder location. Ashley doubted that he’d return to the hazardous waste landfill or the treatment facility, likely knowing those locations were under limited surveillance.
The only waste facility left in Sparks County was the regular landfill. And they’d procured the help of two Tomlinson police officers to keep watch over the site during the night. When they’d checked in with the officers at four a.m., everything was quiet.
So where was Daphne now?
Forcing her eyes open, she reached across the rickety nightstand and grabbed her phone. As she switched off the alarm, she noticed that Wyatt hadn’t stirred. Either he was so tired that the squealing of her phone hadn’t penetrated his brain, or he was awake and just didn’t want to move. With his back toward her, it was impossible to tell.
But the fact that they’d only managed to snag a few hours of sleep didn’t matter. They had to get up and get going. The TBI canine team would arrive at Daphne’s house at nine o’clock. So Ashley and Wyatt had roughly an hour to grab coffee and a bite to eat before joining the search.
Yawning, she pushed herself up from the bed and padded toward the bathroom. The blue TBI t-shirt Wyatt had loaned her for sleepwear—complete with his last name, Clark, stenciled on the back—hung to her knees. But no matter the length of the garment, as long as they were bunking in the same bed, she still refused to remove her jeans. At least denim didn’t wrinkle.
As she flipped on the bathroom light, Ashley heard Wyatt’s cell phone ring.
She froze in the doorway. A call that early was likely either from Brenda, the TBI canine search team, or Sheriff Pickens.
“Clark,” Wyatt answered.
His choice of greeting let her know that the call pertained to business, not his personal life.
Ashley held her breath, waiting to see what she could glean from his side of the conversation.
“Okay,” he stated. “We’ll meet you there.”
Maybe it was the TBI team leader confirming the nine o’clock search. She eased back toward the bed as he ended the call.
Wyatt turned around and met her gaze.
“That was the sheriff,” he said. “They just found Daphne.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Ashley unbuckled her seatbelt as Wyatt steered the SUV onto the shoulder of the highway, easing to a stop behind a parked sheriff’s cruiser. Yellow crime-scene tape bordered the grassy slope across the ditch to her right. They’d driven to the middle of nowhere, on the western edge of Sparks County. There was no landfill facility here, no type of waste storage. Only an open field sporting knee-high grass, browned by the late autumn frost.
The final landscape Daphne had viewed before her death.
Why had the killer chosen this spot?
“Do you think the killer took Daphne to the preprocessing center first but saw us there and left?” she asked Wyatt.
He shrugged. “We were hidden pretty well. He probably saw the dopehead inside the fence. Maybe even before we did. That would’ve scared him off.”
She wondered whether the killer had night vision binoculars or a scope. A lot of hunters purchased that type of equipment.
“I was thinking that he might have seen you and me running across the parking lot,” she stated.
At that point, they’d been focused on getting inside the gate. Thinking the killer had already entered the center, the idea that someone outside the fence might have been watching them had never occurred to Ashley. Her guard had been down.
“Yeah, maybe,” Wyatt agreed.
Either way, Ashley felt responsible. If they’d just had more time, they could have walked the perimeter of the thirty-acre preprocessing center. They might have found the breach in the fence. Then they could have captured the drug thief as soon as he’d arrived. If the arrest had been handled in a quiet manner, without drawing the killer’s attention, the situation might have ended differently.
Daphne might still be alive.
Sighing, Ashley slid out of the SUV’s passenger seat. It galled her that the killer had outsmarted them. He’d obviously realized that they’d connected him to Daphne’s disappearance. And that they suspected he would murder her at the preprocessing center. He’d likely discovered the two Tomlinson police officers posted at the regular county dump as well. So, he’d brought Daphne here. A place no one would ever expect him to select as a grave site.
With Wyatt close behind, Ashley made her way along the road’s narrow shoulder and then crossed the ditch. They followed the path cut through the tall grass by the deputies. Had the killer entered the field the same way? Had the responding officers walked in his footsteps?
Nearing the top of the slope, Ashley caught sight of Sheriff Pickens huddled with a pair of deputies. Although he was facing away from her, she could tell by the sheriff’s body language—his head crooked down, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck—that the murders were weighing on him.
As she crested the rise, Ashley’s breath caught in her throat.
A sizable area of grass had been cut from the field. Probably with a sling blade. In the center of the clearing, a rectangle—roughly three feet wide and seven feet long—had been carved from the earth. Daphne’s body rested on the excavated soil. Above her head, a small, flat slab of granite lay like a tombstone. The killer had left his signature on the rock.
A capital letter J, painted in blood.
Stunned, Ashley stepped toward the edge of the raw earth. She stared at Daphne’s lifeless form. Like Hannah and Trina, the woman was fully clothed. And there were obvious ligature marks from a garrote around her neck. Dressed in a gray pantsuit, it was impossible to tell whether Daphne had any cuts on her arms or legs.
Sheriff Pickens moved in beside Ashley.
She met his gaze, noticing the defeated look in his eyes. “Do you know whether the blood on the rock belongs to Daphne?”
Pickens shook his head. “We found a rat hanging from a tree,” he said, motioning toward the forest bordering the back side of the field. “The head was cut off, and it was bled out.”
Ashley shuddered. But she was thankful that Daphne’s blood hadn’t been drained. The manner of the woman’s death had been horrific enough.
Wyatt joined them next to the dug-out burial plot. “Has her husband been notified?” he asked Pickens.
At the mention of Wallace, Ashley’s heart sank. She believed the man truly loved his wife. And he’d passed a polygraph test the previous night, clearing him of the murder.
“Not yet,” Pickens said. “I reckon I should be the one to tell him. And I want to speak to Doc Flatt first.”
Ashley recognized the name of the medical examiner. She knew Dr. Flatt lived in the neighboring county, which might be the reason that he wasn’t already at the scene. She just hoped the drive wouldn’t take him too much longer. Wallace needed to hear the news by nine o’clock. Before he realized the TBI canine search had been cancelled.
Wyatt continued, “Who found her?”
“Two teenagers deer hunting just before dawn. They’re pretty shook up. We called their parents and took them back to the station.”
Ashley wondered how long Daphne had been dead before her body had been discovered. Since the medical examiner hadn’t yet arrived, she doubted Pickens knew the answer.
“Did they see anyone else around?”
“No. But I figure the body was dumped sometime during the night. Way before the kids got here.”
That seemed to be a safe assumption. If he’d stuck to his pattern, the killer had probably brought Daphne here around one a.m.
A realization hit Ashley.
Her gaze flew back toward Daphne’s grave site. It had obviously taken a fair amount of time to chop down the high grass and to dig up the hard, red clay soil. Probably several hours. And then there was the matter of the rat. Ashley hadn’t seen the rodent yet, so she was unsure whether it was a wild variety which had been caught or one purchased in a pet shop. But either way, the animal would also take a bit of time and effort to acquire.
Keeping her footsteps light, Ashley weaved between two rows of barrels, alert for any movement around her. Moonlight bathed the yard. Waxing full, the moon likely provided enough of a glow to allow the killer to navigate the grounds of the center without the use of a flashlight. This meant that they probably wouldn’t see the man until they were almost on top of him.
Would the killer somehow manage to spot the law enforcement team first? Would he slip through the dragnet?
Ashley pushed forward, her gaze sweeping the terrain, covered with staggered rows of waste. The killer had left his previous two victims in high-traffic areas of the landfill and the treatment facility. Where would he take Daphne? Ashley had been told that the workers hauled drums and containers in and out of all areas of the center each day. That each section hosted an equal amount of activity.
Was the killer aware of that fact?
The howl of coyotes drifted toward Ashley as she snaked her way north. The cries died down as she reached a bank of containers larger than those she’d encountered previously. Resting on top of wooden pallets, the rectangular containers towered around six feet in height. Their size allowed them to offer ample cover for anyone wishing to hide. It was easy for her to understand how Foster had lost sight of their suspect.
A chill raced down Ashley’s spine.
The realization that she might discover Daphne’s body on the other side of the containers hit her.
With her Glock at the ready, Ashley slinked down the tight-packed line. She peeked around the row’s last container. A sea of the tall cubes stretched out before her, filling the north end of the yard. The killer could be hiding just a few feet away. And unless he made a noise, she might not sense his presence until it was too late.
Her guard high, Ashley slipped into the adjacent row. Through a narrow break between the containers, she caught sight of the north fence, about a hundred feet to her right. It was time to turn west and head toward the rear of the facility. As she cut around one of the cubes, something grabbed her right leg.
Ashley stifled a scream.
A huge rat clung to her jeans, just below her knee.
Horrified, she shook her leg, but the beady-eyed monster refused to let go. Left with no other choice, she slammed the butt of her Glock into the side of the rat’s plump body. With a squeal, the rodent leapt to the ground and then scurried behind one of the containers.
What had the rat been eating? Nuclear waste? The rodent had weighed as much as a cat and had shown no fear. Ashley trembled at the thought that the rat might be carrying some deadly disease. She was thankful its teeth and claws hadn’t sunk into her flesh.
Shaking off her disgust at the rodent’s attack, she refocused her attention on the search for the killer. And more importantly, for Daphne.
A dense bank of clouds slid in front of the moon, draping the waste yard with shadows. Ashley hoped the sudden dark cover would spur the killer to switch on a flashlight, making it easier for the team to pinpoint his location. She crept past the rows of tall cubes, checking and clearing each one as she made her way west.
Wyatt’s voice whispered through her earpiece.
“I just caught a glimpse of somebody,” he stated. “Section 84C. If that’s one of you, let me know now.”
According to the nearest sign, Ashley had just entered section 81D. She angled to the left and headed toward the area that should contain section 84C, listening for one of the deputies to identify themselves as the person Wyatt had spotted.
The radio fell silent.
Ashley’s pulse quickened. Since no one had claimed the position, Wyatt had obviously seen the killer.
Accelerating her pace, she padded forward, careful not to make a sound. After checking for rats underneath the wooden pallets, she squeezed between two of the cubes and entered section 82C. She noticed that the workers had pulled several of the containers from this area, leaving gaping holes in the rows.
As she worked her way through the labyrinth of cubes, Wyatt’s voice rang out in the night.
“Stop!” he yelled. “TBI!”
Her heart hammered in her chest as Ashley swung toward the direction of her partner’s shout. Had the killer obeyed Wyatt’s command? Was he now in handcuffs? Or had he run?
Trekking past the waste as fast as she dared, Ashley scanned the rows in front of her.
A flash of movement caught her eye.
Through the gap between two cubes, she spotted the figure of a man. And he seemed to be running for his life.
“I see him,” Ashley whispered into her radio mic. “He’s in section 82C.”
Ashley raced left, toward the south. If she sped fast enough, she might be able to make it down the row in time to cut the man off. She glanced between the containers, keeping the suspect in her line of sight as she ran. She held one advantage: with the aid of the night vision goggles, she could see him. But with the clouds hiding the moon, and the yard clothed in shadows, he likely wouldn’t see her until the last second. And then, it would be too late for him to escape.
Pushing her muscles to their limit, she barreled ahead, intent on stopping the suspect. But before reaching her row, the man swerved to his left and disappeared behind a bank of cubes.
Shit!
Pivoting on her heels, Ashley jetted back toward the north. Was the man heading for the hole in the fence? She just prayed that he’d run into Wyatt or one of the deputies before he made it.
Another thought hit her.
Had Wyatt found Daphne?
Maybe he had. Maybe that was the reason she hadn’t seen Wyatt on the suspect’s tail. Her partner could have stayed behind to render first aid. Or…
Ashley refused to let her mind consider the alternative.
Keying her radio mic, she said in a hushed tone, “The suspect is heading north.”
She zoomed through a gap between two containers into the adjacent row. The cloud cover had grown thicker, the shadows deeper. She hoped that the increased darkness would slow the killer’s pace. That she’d still be able to circle around and cut him off.
As she approached another break in the line of cubes, Ashley picked up movement. Only one row of waste now separated them. Although the man held a slight lead at that instant, if she pushed herself, she might be able to surge in front of him.
Her leg muscles groaned as Ashley blazed further north. Glancing through the narrow spaces between the cubes, she kept tabs on the suspect. As she neared the end of the row, she realized that she’d gained the lead. When she reached the last container, she cut sharp to her left.
Ashley crashed into the man’s side.
The suspect cried out as they hit the ground.
Straddling the man, Ashley drew her Glock. In the green glow from her night vision goggles, he appeared younger than she’d expected—maybe late twenties. And shorter, smaller boned. A dark-colored beanie concealed his hair.
“TBI,” she said, shoving the Glock in his face. “You’re under arrest. Now where is Daphne?”
The man seemed surprised by the question. Or maybe he was just stunned that he’d been caught.
“Who?”
Footsteps echoed toward her. It was Wyatt. He covered Ashley while she slapped cuffs on the suspect’s wrists. As she pulled the man to his feet, she noticed that a duffel bag lay on the ground beneath him.
Hearing movement, Ashley glanced to her right. The three deputies had arrived, their weapons drawn. She turned her attention back to the suspect.
“Tell me where you left Daphne,” she demanded.
Again, a puzzled look crossed the man’s face. Ashley realized that his features bore no resemblance to Curtis Crick or to the description of the suspect who drove an old sedan.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said.
“The woman you kidnapped this afternoon.”
The suspect’s eyes widened. “You got the wrong guy. I ain’t never kidnapped nobody.”
The obvious fear in the man’s tone lent an air of credence to his words.
“Then why did you break into the preprocessing center in the middle of the night?”
“I was just getting some medicine,” he said, his voice shaky. “Don’t nobody else need it. They’re throwing them drugs away.”
Wyatt unzipped the man’s duffel bag. “Vials of expired narcotics,” he said, disappointment clear in his tone.
Ashley peered down at the suspect’s white sneakers. She slid her right foot next to his left.
“What size shoes do you wear?” she asked him, realizing his feet only appeared to a couple of sizes larger than hers.
“Why? You wanna take my shoes?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
“Nine.”
A sick feeling washed over Ashley. They’d blown it. This man was not their murderer. His feet were too small. The TBI forensic techs believed the killer wore a size ten and a half shoe. The man they’d just caught had been stealing medical waste.
Twelve hours had passed since Daphne’s abduction.
Where had the killer taken her?
She heard Wyatt sigh.
“Book this guy for robbery,” he told one of the deputies. “Everybody else, listen up. There are four golf carts up at the main building. Let’s drive around the grounds, just to make sure no one dumped a body here. Then we’ll call it a night.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
The alarm app on Ashley’s cell phone jolted her awake. Seven-thirty a.m. had arrived too soon. She and Wyatt hadn’t made it back to the dingy motel room until almost four that morning. And it had taken at least thirty minutes for her to shower, tuck herself into bed, and settle the tormenting thoughts in her mind as she hugged the right edge of the lumpy mattress. Even though she’d been physically and mentally exhausted, drifting off to dreamland had been especially difficult with Daphne still missing.
But she guessed that if she wanted to make getting a good night’s rest a habit, she should choose a different profession. One where she wasn’t haunted by the faces of the victims that she’d been unable to save.
Was it too late to rescue Daphne?
Ashley clung to the hope that the woman could still be alive. It was possible the killer had spotted their stakeout team at the preprocessing center. If they’d interrupted his plans, he might be holding Daphne hostage while looking for a different murder location. Ashley doubted that he’d return to the hazardous waste landfill or the treatment facility, likely knowing those locations were under limited surveillance.
The only waste facility left in Sparks County was the regular landfill. And they’d procured the help of two Tomlinson police officers to keep watch over the site during the night. When they’d checked in with the officers at four a.m., everything was quiet.
So where was Daphne now?
Forcing her eyes open, she reached across the rickety nightstand and grabbed her phone. As she switched off the alarm, she noticed that Wyatt hadn’t stirred. Either he was so tired that the squealing of her phone hadn’t penetrated his brain, or he was awake and just didn’t want to move. With his back toward her, it was impossible to tell.
But the fact that they’d only managed to snag a few hours of sleep didn’t matter. They had to get up and get going. The TBI canine team would arrive at Daphne’s house at nine o’clock. So Ashley and Wyatt had roughly an hour to grab coffee and a bite to eat before joining the search.
Yawning, she pushed herself up from the bed and padded toward the bathroom. The blue TBI t-shirt Wyatt had loaned her for sleepwear—complete with his last name, Clark, stenciled on the back—hung to her knees. But no matter the length of the garment, as long as they were bunking in the same bed, she still refused to remove her jeans. At least denim didn’t wrinkle.
As she flipped on the bathroom light, Ashley heard Wyatt’s cell phone ring.
She froze in the doorway. A call that early was likely either from Brenda, the TBI canine search team, or Sheriff Pickens.
“Clark,” Wyatt answered.
His choice of greeting let her know that the call pertained to business, not his personal life.
Ashley held her breath, waiting to see what she could glean from his side of the conversation.
“Okay,” he stated. “We’ll meet you there.”
Maybe it was the TBI team leader confirming the nine o’clock search. She eased back toward the bed as he ended the call.
Wyatt turned around and met her gaze.
“That was the sheriff,” he said. “They just found Daphne.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Ashley unbuckled her seatbelt as Wyatt steered the SUV onto the shoulder of the highway, easing to a stop behind a parked sheriff’s cruiser. Yellow crime-scene tape bordered the grassy slope across the ditch to her right. They’d driven to the middle of nowhere, on the western edge of Sparks County. There was no landfill facility here, no type of waste storage. Only an open field sporting knee-high grass, browned by the late autumn frost.
The final landscape Daphne had viewed before her death.
Why had the killer chosen this spot?
“Do you think the killer took Daphne to the preprocessing center first but saw us there and left?” she asked Wyatt.
He shrugged. “We were hidden pretty well. He probably saw the dopehead inside the fence. Maybe even before we did. That would’ve scared him off.”
She wondered whether the killer had night vision binoculars or a scope. A lot of hunters purchased that type of equipment.
“I was thinking that he might have seen you and me running across the parking lot,” she stated.
At that point, they’d been focused on getting inside the gate. Thinking the killer had already entered the center, the idea that someone outside the fence might have been watching them had never occurred to Ashley. Her guard had been down.
“Yeah, maybe,” Wyatt agreed.
Either way, Ashley felt responsible. If they’d just had more time, they could have walked the perimeter of the thirty-acre preprocessing center. They might have found the breach in the fence. Then they could have captured the drug thief as soon as he’d arrived. If the arrest had been handled in a quiet manner, without drawing the killer’s attention, the situation might have ended differently.
Daphne might still be alive.
Sighing, Ashley slid out of the SUV’s passenger seat. It galled her that the killer had outsmarted them. He’d obviously realized that they’d connected him to Daphne’s disappearance. And that they suspected he would murder her at the preprocessing center. He’d likely discovered the two Tomlinson police officers posted at the regular county dump as well. So, he’d brought Daphne here. A place no one would ever expect him to select as a grave site.
With Wyatt close behind, Ashley made her way along the road’s narrow shoulder and then crossed the ditch. They followed the path cut through the tall grass by the deputies. Had the killer entered the field the same way? Had the responding officers walked in his footsteps?
Nearing the top of the slope, Ashley caught sight of Sheriff Pickens huddled with a pair of deputies. Although he was facing away from her, she could tell by the sheriff’s body language—his head crooked down, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck—that the murders were weighing on him.
As she crested the rise, Ashley’s breath caught in her throat.
A sizable area of grass had been cut from the field. Probably with a sling blade. In the center of the clearing, a rectangle—roughly three feet wide and seven feet long—had been carved from the earth. Daphne’s body rested on the excavated soil. Above her head, a small, flat slab of granite lay like a tombstone. The killer had left his signature on the rock.
A capital letter J, painted in blood.
Stunned, Ashley stepped toward the edge of the raw earth. She stared at Daphne’s lifeless form. Like Hannah and Trina, the woman was fully clothed. And there were obvious ligature marks from a garrote around her neck. Dressed in a gray pantsuit, it was impossible to tell whether Daphne had any cuts on her arms or legs.
Sheriff Pickens moved in beside Ashley.
She met his gaze, noticing the defeated look in his eyes. “Do you know whether the blood on the rock belongs to Daphne?”
Pickens shook his head. “We found a rat hanging from a tree,” he said, motioning toward the forest bordering the back side of the field. “The head was cut off, and it was bled out.”
Ashley shuddered. But she was thankful that Daphne’s blood hadn’t been drained. The manner of the woman’s death had been horrific enough.
Wyatt joined them next to the dug-out burial plot. “Has her husband been notified?” he asked Pickens.
At the mention of Wallace, Ashley’s heart sank. She believed the man truly loved his wife. And he’d passed a polygraph test the previous night, clearing him of the murder.
“Not yet,” Pickens said. “I reckon I should be the one to tell him. And I want to speak to Doc Flatt first.”
Ashley recognized the name of the medical examiner. She knew Dr. Flatt lived in the neighboring county, which might be the reason that he wasn’t already at the scene. She just hoped the drive wouldn’t take him too much longer. Wallace needed to hear the news by nine o’clock. Before he realized the TBI canine search had been cancelled.
Wyatt continued, “Who found her?”
“Two teenagers deer hunting just before dawn. They’re pretty shook up. We called their parents and took them back to the station.”
Ashley wondered how long Daphne had been dead before her body had been discovered. Since the medical examiner hadn’t yet arrived, she doubted Pickens knew the answer.
“Did they see anyone else around?”
“No. But I figure the body was dumped sometime during the night. Way before the kids got here.”
That seemed to be a safe assumption. If he’d stuck to his pattern, the killer had probably brought Daphne here around one a.m.
A realization hit Ashley.
Her gaze flew back toward Daphne’s grave site. It had obviously taken a fair amount of time to chop down the high grass and to dig up the hard, red clay soil. Probably several hours. And then there was the matter of the rat. Ashley hadn’t seen the rodent yet, so she was unsure whether it was a wild variety which had been caught or one purchased in a pet shop. But either way, the animal would also take a bit of time and effort to acquire.
