LET ME BREATHE, page 3
Although Ashley had loved working as an agent, she realized that she was also falling in love with Daniel. He was like no other man she’d ever met. She wanted to nourish their budding relationship, dating as much as possible. The TBI required a larger time commitment than the local PD.
And would she really be happy partnering with Wyatt again?
They’d suffered through a rocky working relationship the last time. Would her partnership with Wyatt—an agent better known around the Bureau for his sexual prowess than for his casework—prove to be any better in the future? Somehow, she doubted it.
There were positions available at the Briarwood Police Department, and she could apply first thing in the morning.
Taking a deep breath, Ashley pushed open the door leading into Brenda’s outer office.
A striking black woman, with high cheek bones and fingernails painted the exact shade of amethyst as her dress, met Ashley’s gaze.
“May I help you?” the woman asked.
The name placard on the woman’s desk read: Tiana Dixon.
“I’m Ashley Hope. I have a three o’clock appointment.”
“Yes, have a seat,” Tiana replied with a smile. “I’ll text Brenda and let her know you’re here.”
Ashley slid into a leather wingback chair next to a wooden table topped by a fanned stack of law enforcement magazines. It was obvious that Brenda wasn’t waiting behind the closed door leading into the adjacent office, but Ashley knew that the deputy director spent little time at her desk. The woman had garnered the reputation of a hands-on dynamo, not of a paper pusher.
Forcing herself not to fidget, Ashley picked up the magazine at the top of the stack and leafed through the pages. But none of the articles held her attention for more than a few seconds.
I really appreciate your generous offer, but at this time—
The door leading from the hallway flew open, and Brenda marched into the office, her salt-and-pepper hair trimmed into a shorter version of the stylish bob she’d worn when they’d last met.
“Good to see you, Ashley,” she said, extending her hand.
Ashley’s pulse kicked up a notch as she stood and accepted the handshake. For some reason, meeting Brenda again face-to-face kindled an attack of nerves. It felt as though she was a disobedient student being called into the principal’s office, not a professional adult on the verge of refusing a job offer.
“It’s really good to see you as well,” she replied, keeping her voice steady.
Brenda nodded. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Ashley followed Brenda into the adjacent office. The deputy director motioned for her to sit in the leather armchair across from the mahogany desk and then pushed the door closed.
Rather than taking a seat herself, Brenda rested her hip against the corner of the desk. She looked more like a corporate CEO in her tailored, hunter-green pantsuit than she did a cop.
“I was very pleased with the way you handled yourself in Bonner County,” Brenda said, folding her arms across her chest.
During Ashley’s recent temporary assignment, she and Wyatt had apprehended Bonner County’s roadside serial killer.
“Thank you,” Ashley replied, waiting for the right opportunity to launch into her refusal speech.
“Wyatt Clark believes you have the potential to become one of our top field agents.”
Maybe that was because Ashley had saved his life.
Before she could answer, Brenda continued.
“I expect a lot from the people I employ,” she stated. “The job is demanding, sometimes grueling, but the intangible rewards that come from making Tennessee a safer place to live far outweigh the sacrifices.”
“I understand.”
Ashley knew exactly what Brenda was talking about. Nothing could compare to the joy Ashley had felt when she’d returned a kidnapped college student—safe and sound—to the young woman’s distraught parents in Laurel County.
“Do you approve of the salary listed in your offer of employment?”
“It’s very generous.”
The amount stipulated in her letter was almost ten percent higher than the annual salary posted in the job description on the Bureau’s website.
“The salaries here are primarily merit-based. If you’re as skilled as Wyatt believes you to be, then you could expect to earn a raise after your first six months.”
The prospect of a wage increase sounded more than fair, but Ashley wouldn’t be working for the Bureau. Not now, and not in six months. It was time for her to tell Brenda that she couldn’t accept the position.
At the same second Ashley decided to speak, Brenda stood and walked behind her desk. The deputy director picked up a manila file folder and flipped it open.
“We received a new homicide case about an hour ago,” Brenda said, a concerned expression crossing her face. “A woman was killed in Sparks County under very unusual circumstances. Are you familiar with the area?”
The deputy director’s remark regarding the unusual circumstances of the murder piqued Ashley’s curiosity. Although Sparks County wasn’t all that far from Laurel County, she could only remember driving through the area a few times with her family when she was younger.
“I can’t say that I really know the area,” she said. “But I have been there before.”
Ashley hoped the deputy director would share more details regarding the murder victim.
Brenda nodded, her eyes fixed on the contents of the case file. “I’m sure you won’t have any problems fitting in with the locals,” she stated.
Fitting in? Ashley couldn’t let this go any further.
“I really appreciate the generous offer—”
“You deserve it,” Brenda interrupted, snapping the file closed. “But I need you to be on your toes for this case. The EPA has a representative on site monitoring the situation. Everything has to be done by the book—no exceptions. And as Wyatt has most certainly told you, I don’t accept excuses.”
The Environmental Protection Agency?
Ashley’s curiosity gnawed at her even harder. What had happened to the woman?
“You said the victim died under unusual circumstances?”
“An UNSUB used a garrote to strangle Hannah Kemp in the middle of a hazardous waste landfill. According to the autopsy completed this morning, before she was murdered, she was injected with a paralytic drug.”
“You mean she was paralyzed?”
Brenda nodded. “The poor woman had no chance to fight off her attacker.”
Ashley’s stomach sank as she imagined the terror Hannah must have endured.
“Was she conscious when…”
“Hannah was fully awake. Her eyes were open, and she was aware of everything that was happing to her. She just couldn’t move.”
What a horrific way to die.
“Was she raped?”
Considering the fact that the killer had incapacitated the victim, Ashley realized that there might have been a sexual motive.
“That was my first thought as well. However, the medical examiner found no evidence to indicate a sexual assault had occurred.”
A million more questions flooded Ashley’s mind. Was Hannah married? Did she leave children behind? Was the killer someone she knew?
And why would the murderer choose a hazardous waste landfill? Did the location mean something? Was he trying to send a message?
But one question was probably the most pressing of all: would the killer strike again?
Brenda held out the case file.
“Are you ready to get to work?”
“Yes,” Ashley heard herself say as her fingers closed around the folder.
Apparently, she was the only one in the room surprised by her answer. The expression on the deputy director’s face indicated that Brenda had known all along that Ashley would accept the assignment.
“Good,” Brenda said, moving toward the door. “I need you and Wyatt to be in Sparks County at eight a.m. tomorrow morning. I’ll meet the two of you there.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Ashley’s fingernails dug into the passenger door handle of the black SUV as Wyatt stomped on the accelerator and whipped around an eighteen-wheeler blocking their path. The narrow highway that led to the rural town of Tomlinson snaked along the side of a mountain, rendering the driving treacherous even at a normal pace. But after receiving a phone call from Brenda Huddleston, Wyatt chose to ignore the posted speed limit. They were already forty minutes late for the eight a.m. meeting at the landfill, and the deputy director had made it clear that she was not pleased.
“Better hang on tight,” Wyatt said as he jerked the SUV back into the right lane.
Ashley’s stomach trembled as she noticed another semi just around the next curve, knowing that her partner would defy the odds and whiz around that truck as well. The series of sharp switchbacks ahead of them, coupled with Wyatt’s determination to reach Tomlinson as soon as possible, made her fear that the convenience-store coffee she’d drank earlier that morning might decide to come back up.
The fact that they’d missed the eight o’clock rollcall wasn’t really Wyatt’s fault. A pileup on the interstate had forced them into a start-and-stop crawl, stretching what should have been a five-minute portion of their trip into an hour and a half.
Nevertheless, as she’d remarked to Ashley the previous day, Brenda Huddleston didn’t accept excuses.
Which was one of the reasons Ashley wished Wyatt would have listened to her when she’d suggested that they drive to Sparks County the afternoon before. They could have settled into a motel, enjoyed a good night’s sleep, and would have arrived at the landfill with time to spare. But her partner had refused to change his plans for the prior evening, instead opting to begin their trip from Briarwood well before dawn that morning. So, in a roundabout way, it was partly Wyatt’s fault that they’d incurred Brenda’s wrath.
Whatever he’d been doing last night, Ashley hoped that it was worth it.
As she braced herself for Wyatt’s swerve around the upcoming semi, Ashley’s cell phone chirped. A text message notification. Still holding onto the door handle, she waited until the SUV landed safely back into the right-hand lane before pulling the phone out of her pocket.
A smile spread across her face as she read the text from Daniel.
Can’t stop thinking about you.
Wanted to wish you good luck on the case.
Will call tonight. Stay safe. ♥
Ashley felt Wyatt’s eyes on her.
“Good news?” he asked, obviously noticing the change in her mood.
She hesitated, unsure of how to answer.
“It’s just an encouraging message from a close friend,” she finally said.
Although she and Daniel had agreed to date each other exclusively, she didn’t want to use the term boyfriend while speaking with Wyatt. Her love life was private. She aimed to keep her relationship with her partner on a professional level, not wishing to blur the line and develop a personal friendship. And based on Wyatt’s aloof manner toward her during their last case, she was certain that he felt the same.
As the SUV topped the mountain, the highway straightened. Fewer than two miles later, a green sign marking the Sparks County line popped into view. In her mind, Ashley visualized the map she’d studied the night before.
“The road leading to the landfill should be just a little farther up on the right,” she said.
Wyatt nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the asphalt as they raced ahead.
Now that they’d left the traffic in their dust, Ashley relaxed a bit, shifting to a more comfortable position in the passenger seat. The SUV slowed as they approached a road marked McBride Pike.
Wyatt glanced at her as he made the turn, his face stoic.
“Get ready for your first lecture,” he said. “Brenda’s take on how time is our most valuable asset.”
The comment led her to wonder just how often Wyatt had roused the deputy director’s anger by arriving late to an appointment. Maybe Ashley should have taken her own advice and driven up alone the night before. She didn’t want to land on Brenda’s bad side right at the beginning of her first official case.
Ashley fought the urge to roll her eyes as she read the large sign that appeared on their left: McBride Industrial Refuse Depository. The oddly formal appellation didn’t mesh with the surroundings. The landfill had probably been named in honor of the family who’d once owned the sprawling acreage. She realized that the previous owners had likely sold the land under the threat of eminent domain. The county officials may have concocted the genteel label in an attempt to appeal to the family’s ego and soften the blow of the loss of the property. But despite the snooty title they’d chosen, it was impossible to sugarcoat the fact that the site harbored a toxic waste dump.
As Wyatt guided the SUV into the gravel parking lot, two large blue tents erected by the TBI drew Ashley’s attention. The forensic techs, decked out in yellow hazmat suits, had already begun their work, collecting and cataloging evidence.
“There she is,” Wyatt said, nodding toward a white TBI mobile crime unit vehicle parked in the corner of the lot.
Brenda Huddleston, clad in a sleek copper-hued pantsuit and matching pumps, paced the length of the vehicle, a cell phone glued to her ear.
“Do you think there’s any way that we can slip past her?” Ashley asked, only half joking.
“Not a chance.”
Wyatt killed the SUV’s engine, and Ashley slid out of the passenger seat. She looked up to see Brenda making a brisk stride toward them.
“Ashley,” Brenda began without preamble, “please recall that I need you on your toes for this investigation. And I think it’s necessary to add that in any homicide case, time is our most valuable asset. One we can’t afford to waste.”
Wyatt cut in, “It’s my fault that we’re late. Not Ashley’s.”
Brenda stared at him.
“Go suit up, Ashley,” the deputy director said, motioning toward one of the tents. “I need to speak with Wyatt in private.”
Stealing a glance at her partner, Ashley spun on her heels and headed for the tent. She couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Wyatt as she imagined the tongue lashing that he would likely receive.
Piper Reardon, a pretty, auburn-haired tech wearing white Tyvek, met her at the mouth of the tent.
“Do you know if anything interesting has been found yet?” Ashley asked.
“A partial shoe print,” Piper said, a hopeful gleam in her eye. “It appears like it might be from a cowboy boot. Size ten or eleven.”
Ashley wondered what percentage of the male population of Sparks County owned a pair of cowboy boots. Probably at least two-thirds. And she already knew that the most common men’s shoe size in the nation was ten-and-a-half. But footprints could often be like fingerprints, the wear patterns making them unique.
Piper motioned for her to enter the tent. “Let’s get you into a suit,” she said.
Following the tech’s instructions, Ashley peeled off her hiking boots and perched on a metal stool. She slid her legs into the bulky yellow hazmat suit and waited while Piper fastened a pair of black protective boots on her feet. As Ashley stood and pulled the suit to her waist, Piper moved behind her, strapping an air tank to her back before fitting a respirator—complete with an eye shield—to her face. Ashley slipped her arms into the billowing sleeves while Piper pulled the suit’s hood over her head and secured a pair of gloves to her hands.
By the time the suit was finally zipped closed, a thin layer of sweat had coated Ashley’s skin. She felt like an astronaut gearing up for a mission to a far-away planet. She shot Piper a thumb’s up, letting the tech know that the breathing apparatus was working properly, and then lumbered out of the tent and headed toward the open double gate in the tall chain-link fence surrounding the site.
The yard of the landfill stretched over three hundred acres. In the distance, Ashley could see several grass-covered mounds that reminded her of a miniature mountain range. Beneath the mounded soil, a layer of gravel and sand topped barrels of stabilized waste. A double geosynthetic clay liner system rested below the barrels, protecting the ground water from contamination. Hannah Kemp had been murdered closer to the entrance, in a newer section of the landfill, but the site was still a fair trek up the gravel drive from the gate.
Ashley made her way down an earthen ramp leading into the pit, referred to as a cell by the landfill workers, where the body had been found. She noticed a yellow evidence flag marking the spot of the murderer’s footprint. The print’s location—off to the side, at the bottom of the ramp—explained its survival. It was clear by the trampled path in the sand that the workmen who’d discovered the body, along with the responding sheriff’s deputies, had destroyed any other footprints the killer may have left behind.
Ashley trudged forward, the protective boots feeling a size too big for her feet. She wound around a row of orange drums, their sides labelled with a black skull and crossbones, stopping just short of where the victim’s body had lain.
Where Hannah Kemp had gasped her last breath of air.
Despite the warmth of her suit, Ashley shivered.
She couldn’t imagine the level of terror that Hannah must have endured—unable to move or fight back—as the pressure from the garrote crushed the hyoid bone in her neck. Ashley studied the spot. It was such an odd location for a murder.
Did the killer work at the landfill?
Ashley jumped as she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was one of the techs. Howard, she thought.
Howard pointed up to another hazmat-clad figure standing on a high slope just outside of the pit. Although the suit’s hood obscured the figure’s face, based on the person’s build, she was almost certain that it was Wyatt. The figure waved for her to join him. She nodded a thank you at Howard and headed back toward the ramp.
