LET ME BREATHE, page 16
Not if she could help it, anyway.
“Keep in mind that this case has the potential to make or break your career, Ashley. Don’t let me down.”
The last thing she’d needed was the added stress from being told her job hung in the balance.
“I won’t.”
Without another reply, Brenda cut the connection.
Ashley chewed her bottom lip as she considered the situation with Wyatt. It sounded as though he was still employed with the TBI. But for how much longer? What if he didn’t come back to finish the investigation?
The prospect of finding and trapping the serial killer on her own seemed like a daunting task. She’d have to rely on the sheriff and his deputies for backup. But even with their help, Ashley worried that she’d make the wrong move. That more lives would be lost.
She wished that Wyatt had been able to handle his personal problems over the phone. Or as an option, Kaylee could have driven to Sparks County. But his girlfriend must not realize the value of his time.
From what she’d observed while working with Wyatt on the last case, it was difficult for Ashley to understand the switch in her partner’s attitude toward his job. He’d been one hundred percent dedicated to finding Sparks County’s killer, working to the point of exhaustion. What had changed to allow him to put the current investigation on the back burner?
What was Kaylee holding over Wyatt’s head?
Was it possible that the long-time bachelor and purported womanizer had finally fallen in love? Was he clinging onto a relationship that was destined to fail?
Although Ashley wanted Wyatt to be happy and knew firsthand the tribulations that came with a rocky love affair, she couldn’t help feeling that he had acted selfishly by leaving. The risk of the killer claiming more victims climbed higher with each passing hour. But it seemed as though that fact had no impact on Wyatt.
However, stopping the murderer ranked as Ashley’s number-one priority.
She had to find the connection between Hannah, Trina, and Daphne before it was too late.
Easing back down onto the bed, she tapped the sheriff’s phone contact. He answered on the second ring.
“Pickens.”
Although he’d only said one word, she could hear the weariness that permeated his tone.
“Hi, sheriff. It’s Ashley.”
“I hope you got some good news.”
Concerned about adding to Pickens frustration with the case, she decided not to share the unsettling development of Wyatt’s absence. Not yet. The sheriff would find out in due time.
“Well, it’s not exactly news, but I’m trying to chase down a possible lead,” she stated. “What do you know about the property where Daphne was killed?”
Pickens hadn’t mentioned anything about waste being disposed of in the area. Could chemicals have been buried there so long ago that it had slipped his mind?
“Next to nothing. That’s a quiet end of the county. I don’t get out there much.”
“You don’t know who owns the land or what it’s been used for?”
“Naw. Sure don’t. But you might find something in the tax records.”
She’d already planned to search the county records, but she’d thought the sheriff might have heard some local gossip about the field. Since Pickens wasn’t aware of the land’s history, that meant that if the property had been used as a dumping ground, the information was obviously not well known.
“Okay, thanks,” she said, hiding her disappointment. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Call me if you need something.”
Tossing her phone on the bed, Ashley grabbed her laptop and clicked on the property assessor’s database. Opening the Sparks County GIS map, she navigated to the highway that ran in front of the field where Daphne had been killed. It took Ashley a few minutes to pinpoint the correct parcel. Once she was certain that she had the right location, she pulled up the tax data.
The property assessor listed Sparks County Bank and Trust as the current owner of the land. The market value of the twenty-four-acre parcel shocked her. It was listed as zero. The property had also been deemed exempt from taxation.
To Ashley’s knowledge, the only properties that were normally tax exempt were those belonging to the state, the counties, public utilities, educational institutions, and charity or religious organizations. How did this tract of land garner the exemption? The bank had closed several hours earlier. She’d have to wait until morning to find the answer.
Wondering whether the bank had acquired the property through foreclosure, she clicked the link for the prior sales information. The deed had been transferred twenty-one years earlier from a company called Pryecorp. It was impossible to tell whether or not the transaction had been conducted as a normal sale. Ashley had never heard of the company.
Switching to her favorite search engine, she typed in Pryecorp Tennessee. The query returned only a handful of hits. The fact that no company website had popped up surprised her. Maybe they had gone out of business at the same time the land had been sold.
The first link led to an obituary of a former employee. There was no mention of what type of goods the company manufactured or of the man’s job title. Just a brief statement that he’d once worked there.
The links that followed proved just as disappointing, only containing vague references to the company. Nothing that provided insight into the actual nature of the business. Had the now empty field once been the home of Pryecorp’s manufacturing plant?
Feeling as though she’d reached a dead end, Ashley opened the final link. It was a blog post dedicated to the history of Sparks County. An old photograph of the Pryecorp building skirted the bottom of the article.
A rush of adrenaline flooded Ashley’s body.
The image on the screen matched one she’d seen before.
Finally obtaining a solid lead, she could hardly wait until morning. Until she could speak with the writer of the blog post.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
A strange noise penetrated Ashley’s brain and jostled her from a deep sleep. The box springs squeaked as she bolted upright in the motel bed. Straining her ears, she sat still and listened. Silence blanketed the darkened room. Had the sound she’d heard been part of a dream? Was the recurrent nightmare of losing more lives to the Sparks County serial killer responsible for waking her?
Daphne’s face had haunted Ashley all night. Had materialized before her each time she’d closed her eyes. Maybe the sound of the woman’s tortured screams had invaded her sleep. She couldn’t remember the details of the dream, but it had likely involved all three of the killer’s victims. As well as an unknown woman who Ashley feared would die next. A woman she felt powerless to protect.
She glanced at the bedside clock. Four fifty-two a.m. She’d been running on too little rest for far too long. Returning her head to the pillow, Ashley attempted to clear her mind and coax herself back to sleep.
A soft thump echoed through the glass panes of the motel room’s window.
Ashley’s eyes flew open.
Fear sliced through her body as the door handle rattled.
Quiet as a mouse, she sprang from the bed and grabbed her Glock. With her heart hammering in her chest, she crept toward the door. The jiggling of the handle stopped, but she could still feel the presence of someone on the other side.
Holding her breath, she peeked through the peephole. The light fixtures outside her room hadn’t worked since she’d checked in, leaving the area cloaked in shadows.
Movement caught her eye.
A dark figure lurked near the door. It appeared to be a man.
Was it the person who’d left the threatening note on her car’s windshield?
He could have followed her to Sparks County. Could have been watching her the entire time. And now that she was in the room alone, he’d decided to strike. To make her pay for whatever transgression he believed that she’d committed.
The idea of calling out and letting him know that she was awake and ready to fire flashed through her mind. But she realized the man would probably run away. He’d disappear into the night and wait for another opportunity to attack. And the next time, she might not see him coming.
A thought hit her. If she allowed the man to break in, she could identify him and put an end to the stalking once and for all. But she’d have to take cover in case he planned on shooting the minute he breached the door.
Careful not to make a sound, she unfastened the swing bar latch. Now the stalker would only need to pick the handle lock to gain access to the room. And she’d be ready for him.
Her pulse racing, Ashley ducked behind the cabinet that housed the television. The intruder would likely expect to find her in the bed. Maybe she should arrange the pillows to look like a body. Did she have the time?
The door handle jiggled again.
Ashley decided to stay put. With the curtains drawn, darkness filled the room. The intruder wouldn’t realize the bed was empty until he sidled up next to it. Once he turned his back toward her, she’d ram the butt of her Glock into his spine and dare him to move.
The hairs on the back of Ashley’s neck bristled as she heard the tumblers of the lock click into place.
A dim shaft of light striped the carpet as the door opened and a tall, dark figure slid inside. The man eased the door shut and inched into the room. But instead of veering in the direction of the bedside, he was heading straight toward Ashley. Had he spotted her hiding behind the cabinet?
“Stop or I’ll shoot!” she shouted, her Glock aimed at the figure’s center mass.
The man froze.
“It’s me, Ashley,” Wyatt’s voice said.
Relief flooded her chest. She’d never expected him to return to Sparks County so soon. She stepped toward the vanity area and flipped on the overhead light. The burst of brightness stung her eyes.
“You scared me half to death—shaking the door handle like a criminal,” she stated, aggravation clear in her tone.
“I’m sorry. My keycard got bent. I had trouble getting the sensor to read it.”
Considering the condition of the motel, she wasn’t surprised.
“Why didn’t you just knock on the door?”
A sheepish grin tugged at his lips. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Ashley’s irritation melted. Although she would have preferred him letting her know that he’d returned instead of trying to sneak inside the room, she realized that she was glad to see Wyatt. But how long would he be staying?
“Are you back for good—I mean, until the investigation is finished?”
He met her gaze, his hazel eyes soft. “I hope so.”
She wished he’d provided a firmer answer. One that would have let her know that she could count on him. But Wyatt was here now.
And she had something important to show him.
“You’re not going to believe what I found last night,” she stated.
Grabbing her laptop, Ashley perched on the end of the bed. Wyatt sank down beside her, curiosity masking his face.
She wanted to give credit to her father for spurring her along, but Ashley worried that the fact that she’d discussed a few minor details of the case with a family member would anger Wyatt.
So instead, she said, “I did some research into the field where the killer took Daphne. I think it’s possible that barrels of toxic waste are buried there.”
Wyatt’s eyes widened. “That makes sense, but how do you know?”
Again, Ashley was tempted to mention the story her father had told her, but she stifled the urge.
“The tax records show that the land used to be owned by a company called Pryecorp. From what I could find, it appears that they went out of business around twenty years ago. The bank here in town owns the property now, and it’s tax exempt and the market value is listed as zero.”
“If it’s a chemical dump, that would make the land worthless,” he agreed.
She nodded. “But that’s nothing compared to the real lead that I uncovered.”
With her laptop booted, Ashley clicked the link for the blog post written by a Sparks County historian. The photo of the Pryecorp building filled the screen.
“Look at this picture and tell me what you see,” she said.
Wyatt squinted at the photo. “Nothing jumps out at me. It’s just a factory of some kind.”
He obviously hadn’t held the crucial image in his mind the way that she had.
“Well, let’s see if I can spark your memory,” she said.
Ashley logged into the TBI database and scrolled through the photographs in the case file. When she found the one that she was searching for, she enlarged the shot, pushing it to the left side of the screen. Placing the picture of Pryecorp on the right, she zoomed in on the front of the building.
Recognition lit Wyatt’s eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.
A close-up photo of the pen discovered beneath Daphne’s bed graced the left side of the screen. At first, they’d thought the partially worn-off emblem on the end of the white plastic ballpoint featured a letter D, possibly standing for Daphne. But they’d been wrong.
Now, the image was clear. It was a letter P.
Pryecorp’s logo.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Ashley studied Wyatt’s face as he wheeled the SUV into the driveway of the slate blue Victorian home nestled in the historic residential district of Tomlinson. Although he’d seemed eager to get back to work on the case, she noticed a distinct weariness in his eyes that she’d never seen before. He was obviously dealing with a tremendous amount of stress. But Ashley guessed the primary cause was not the murder investigation or the friction between him and Brenda.
Although Ashley wouldn’t pry, she wished that Wyatt trusted her enough to talk about his problems. He looked as though he needed a sympathetic ear or at least a sounding board. She hoped that he’d managed to work out his differences with Kaylee. The trip to Briarwood had proved shorter than Ashley had expected. Maybe that was a positive sign. Maybe now he could focus all of his energy on finding the serial killer.
Wyatt must have felt her eyes on him because he shot her a questioning look.
She didn’t want him to realize that she’d been wondering about his personal life.
“Maybe we should have called Mrs. Porter before showing up at her doorstep,” she stated.
Birdie Tomlinson Porter was the Sparks County historian who’d written the blog post featuring the old photograph of Pryecorp. After deciphering the logo stamped on the pen found beneath Daphne’s bed, Ashley and Wyatt believed that the killer may have once worked for the company. However, obtaining the employee roster of a business that had ceased to exist two decades prior could prove difficult, if not impossible. They were counting on Birdie to point them in the right direction.
“And give her a chance to put us off?”
Ashley knew that he was right. They had no time to spare, and the element of surprise had always worked in their favor.
Wyatt cut the SUV’s engine, and Ashley slid out of the passenger seat. The two-story home with its intricate, white-painted trim appeared in perfect condition. Just as beautiful as the day it had been built. A light breeze tinkled the wind chimes hanging on the wide wrap-around porch as she followed Wyatt up the front steps.
A few seconds after he rang the bell, she heard movement inside.
A woman wearing a dark green cardigan sweater who appeared to be in her seventies, her gray hair cut in an angled bob, opened the door.
Wyatt held up his credentials. “Mrs. Porter?”
“Yes, I’m Birdie Porter,” she said, a puzzled expression crossing her face. “Is something wrong?”
Accustomed to grilling suspects, he’d likely never considered the fact that having two TBI agents knock on her door would startle an upright citizen like Birdie.
“No, ma’am. Everything’s fine,” he said, an apologetic tone in his voice. “I’m Special Agent Wyatt Clark, and this is my partner Special Agent Ashley Hope. We just wanted to ask you a few questions about Sparks County.”
She nodded, her tense demeanor replaced with a smile. “My birthplace just happens to be one of my favorite subjects. Won’t you come in?”
Birdie ushered them through a narrow foyer into a parlor furnished with ornate Victorian antiques, the majority crafted from rosewood.
“Would you like a glass of iced tea?” she asked.
Even in the winter, drinking the cold beverage remained a southern custom and a symbol of hospitality.
“No thank you,” Wyatt said.
Ashley shook her head. She didn’t dare risk spilling tea on the furniture, which she guessed was the reason Wyatt had declined the offer. She perched on a blush-colored sofa with a curved back. Wyatt settled down next to her while Birdie chose the adjacent armchair.
“I suspect your questions will be related to the three recent murders,” Birdie stated.
Wyatt exchanged a glance with Ashley. News tended to travel fast in small towns, and she felt certain that Birdie was well informed on everything that happened in Tomlinson.
“In a roundabout way,” he admitted. “And it’s important that you don’t discuss our visit with anyone.”
“You have my word,” Birdie said, her voice firm. “And anyone in Tomlinson can tell you that I never break my promises.”
Due to the woman’s standing in the community, and the likelihood that Birdie wouldn’t risk tarnishing her reputation, Ashley believed her.
“What can you tell us about Pryecorp?” Wyatt asked.
A note of surprise shone in Birdie’s brown eyes. The question obviously wasn’t one she’d been expecting.
“It was a company owned by the Prye brothers who moved here from Chattanooga,” Birdie stated. “They’re both deceased now. If I recall correctly, the business operated around ten years before closing.”
“What type of business was it?”
Ashley felt certain that Pryecorp had been responsible for producing some sort of toxic waste.
“They manufactured chemicals that were used at the Broderick Paper Mill.”
