LET ME BREATHE, page 4
The sound of Ashley’s breathing echoed in the confines of her suit as she circled the perimeter of the crater. Plodding up the slope, she locked eyes with Wyatt. She wondered why he’d called her here rather than meeting her below, where the body had been discovered. Was he going to try to communicate something to her that he didn’t want the forensic techs to witness?
Ashley’s stomach dropped.
Had Brenda pulled Wyatt from the case? Was that the reason the deputy director had wanted to speak with him in private? But if Wyatt had been reassigned—or fired—then why did he go to the trouble of donning a hazmat suit? Why not wait for Ashley in the parking lot?
As she angled in beside him, Wyatt motioned behind her toward the pit. Ashley turned around and gazed down into the yawning cavity cut into the earth.
And then she saw it.
Understood what had brought Wyatt to the slope.
Using forklifts, the landfill’s workers had hauled dozens upon dozens of orange drums into the pit, lining them up into tidy rows. But the barrels in the spot where the victim’s body had been found were different.
They’d been rearranged.
The drums that had encircled Hannah’s body formed a giant letter J.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Is everything okay with Brenda?” Ashley asked as she strapped herself into the passenger seat of the SUV.
By the time they’d finished their work at Hannah’s murder scene, the deputy director had already left, having been called back to Briarwood to deal with another homicide. Ashley had last seen Brenda in the parking lot right after arriving at the landfill. She hoped their boss’s mood had improved since then.
Wyatt hesitated a moment as though he was choosing his words. But his blank expression failed to reveal whether his answer would be positive or negative.
“I’m on notice,” he finally said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
On notice?
Had Brenda threatened to fire him for missing the eight o’clock meeting? The punishment seemed rather harsh. Especially since his detective work had recently helped capture a serial killer in Bonner County. There must be more going on between Wyatt and Brenda than Ashley knew about. Something behind the scenes.
“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“She’ll get over it.”
Ashley studied his face, waiting to see if he would elaborate. He didn’t. He just kept staring through the windshield. She realized that a change of subject was in order.
“I didn’t see any names that begin with the letter J on the list of Hannah’s friends and associates,” she stated.
While it wasn’t unheard of for a killer to leave some sort of signature at the scene of a crime, the telltale marks were usually vague, not an actual letter of the alphabet. But there was a first time for everything. Maybe the murderer wanted to be caught. Or maybe the J didn’t stand for his first or last name. Maybe it represented an identity he’d created for himself.
Based on the method used—strangulation by garrote—they were most likely looking for a male killer. History proved that women were more apt to kill with firearms, knives, and poison. But again, she reminded herself, there was a first time for everything.
Wyatt didn’t respond. He’d retreated into his silent mode. A quirk she’d gotten used to during their last investigation.
As the speed limit on the highway dropped from forty-five to thirty, a sign proclaiming Welcome to Tomlinson popped into view. The road soon morphed into Main Street, bisecting the heart of the town. They rolled past city hall, the fire station, and the Tomlinson Bank & Trust—aging brick buildings that seemed to have served the residents for well over half a century.
They approached an intersection marked by a four-way stop sign: Lauderdale Street, the location of Hannah’s office.
“There it is: Kemp Realty and Auction,” Ashley stated, pointing to a single-story brick building painted dove gray.
Wyatt nodded and turned right on Lauderdale. Four vehicles rested in the building’s parking lot. Wyatt had contacted Hannah’s assistant the afternoon before, gathering information and requesting a meeting with the company’s two remaining agents. But the people Ashley most wanted to question were the friends who’d been with the realtor the night she’d been murdered: Kevin and Claire Mayton.
According to the case file, in addition to his job as a chemistry teacher at the Sparks County high school, Kevin also worked for Kemp Realty as an auctioneer. Ashley hoped the couple would be able to provide a glimpse into both sides of Hannah’s life—personal and professional.
Ashley slipped out of the passenger seat, circled around the SUV, and joined Wyatt on the sidewalk. Before they reached the entrance of the building, the glass door pushed open. A middle-aged woman, her dark hair twisted into a bun, stared at them through tortoiseshell glasses.
“You must be the state police officers,” she said, her face ashen. “I’m Glynis, Hannah’s assistant.”
Wyatt completed the introductions. They followed Glynis into a small reception area with a pleather navy sofa and two floral upholstered armchairs.
“It’s such a horrible shock,” Glynis said. “I still can’t believe it. Nobody can.”
Ashley wanted to offer words of comfort, but all she could think of was a worn-out phrase.
She touched the assistant’s shoulder. “We’re really sorry for your loss.”
Glynis nodded, her bottom lip beginning to tremble.
Wyatt asked, “Are the agents here?”
“Everybody’s in the back.”
Glynis led Ashley and Wyatt out of the reception area down a hallway. She paused and took a deep breath before directing them to the open door of a room that appeared to double as a kitchenette and an office for the real estate agents. A refrigerator and a row of cabinets that housed a sink and coffeemaker stood on the left. Four metal desks, arranged head-to-head, filled the right side of the room. Three people—two men, both middle-aged with dark hair, and a tall red-haired woman who seemed a few years younger—fell silent as they entered.
Ashley had been expecting to find four people in the room. Someone was missing.
Glynis said, “This is Special Agent Wyatt Clark and Special Agent Ashley Hope.” She motioned toward the woman. “Evelyn Bass.”
“Hello,” Evelyn said, her voice shaky.
Glynis continued, moving clockwise. “Sam Hargrove and Kevin Mayton.”
The men nodded in turn.
Kevin eyed Ashley, his expression dubious.
Was it her clothing—jeans and hiking boots—which contrasted with Wyatt’s sports coat and chinos that Kevin found perplexing, or was it the fact that she was a female?
One thing seemed to be a constant with the residents of the towns scattered throughout the Cumberland Plateau: they were wary of the members of law enforcement. Ashley had grown up feeling the same way. She’d realized early on that if she dressed like the mountain locals, she could build a better rapport. By drawing on her heritage, she found that she could fit in, gain the locals’ trust, and convince them to divulge information that they would otherwise keep hidden from the police.
Thinking Ashley should be dressed in business attire seemed a bit condescending but could be considered normal. However, if Kevin had qualms regarding her gender, that was his problem. It wasn’t going to keep her from doing her job.
Kevin’s gaze shifted to Wyatt. “Do you have any leads on who killed Hannah?”
“That’s something we can’t comment on,” he stated. “But we’re exploring all angles.”
Ashley knew it was Wyatt’s diplomatic way of dodging the question. Aside from the partial shoeprint and the letter J, they had nothing.
Wyatt turned to Glynis. “Is there a place where we can speak to the agents, one at a time?”
She nodded. “We’ve got a conference room. It’s back at the end of the hall.”
Kevin spoke up, “I’d like to go first. If that’s okay.”
“It’s fine,” Wyatt said.
With Kevin taking the lead, they headed back up the hallway and into a conference room just one size larger than the wooden table and six chairs that rested in the center.
Ashley chose the seat directly opposite Kevin, which seemed to make the man uncomfortable. Did he really have a problem with her, or was he hiding something?
The medical examiner had discovered quazodine in Hannah’s system. The paralytic drug was used primarily in the veterinary industry to prevent horses and other large animals from moving during medical procedures. She’d learned from Wyatt that quazodine was available for sale on the dark web via an anonymous transaction in exchange for a small amount of cryptocurrency. But did Hannah’s killer have another source?
Could quazodine be cooked up in a high school chemistry lab?
Wyatt pulled a digital recorder out of his pocket, placed it in the center of the table, and flipped it on.
“Do you mind if we record our conversation?” he asked Kevin.
“No, go ahead.”
Wyatt began by stating Kevin’s full name and the date and time of the interview.
“You were with Hannah the night she died?” He posed the statement to Kevin as a question.
“That’s right. Claire—that’s my wife—and I met Hannah at Wally’s Place. That’s a country western bar over on Springer Town Highway. We shared a large order of nachos. She drank a beer—just one. And then she left to go home.”
But they now knew that Hannah never made it home. Her car had been found in the parking lot of the bar.
“How did she seem?”
“Well, considering that it was just after Thanksgiving, I’d say she was doing well. The holidays have been rough on her the past two years. Ever since Charles died.”
Ashley had read about Hannah’s deceased husband in the case file. The couple had no children and his estate had been left to the American Cancer Society.
Was it possible there was someone new in her life?
“Had Hannah been dating anyone recently?” Ashley asked.
Kevin shook his head. “No, no. Nothing like that. Claire and I offered to introduce her to my cousin—he’s a widower—but she refused. She said that she wasn’t ready for another relationship.”
Ashley was about to ask her next question when the conference room door burst open.
A woman barreled inside. A woman who looked a lot like an older version of Ashley. She had the same wheat-blonde hair, the same big blue eyes, and her face and nose shared a similar bone structure.
Stunned, Ashley stared at her.
“I’m Claire Mayton,” the woman said, sliding into the chair next to Kevin. “Sorry I’m late.”
Kevin’s reaction to Ashley now made sense. He hadn’t studied her—seemingly in disbelief—because of her manner of dress or because she was a female. It was obviously due to the fact that she was close to being a younger doppelganger of his wife.
Claire grabbed Kevin’s arm. “Have you told them yet?” she asked, her tone urgent.
“Honey, I thought we had that settled.”
Wyatt cut in, “Told us what?”
Clair looked at him, eyes wide. “Who killed Hannah.”
Ashley found her voice. “Are you saying that you know the name of the person who murdered Hannah?” she asked, shocked by the woman a second time.
“Yes. It was Jennie Wilson,” Claire said. “I’m sure of it.”
CHAPTER SIX
Ashley studied Claire Mayton’s face from across the conference room table. But this time it wasn’t due to the woman’s physical resemblance to her, it was because of the level of conviction in Claire’s eyes. It was clear that she believed she knew Hannah’s killer.
But did she have any evidence to support her claim?
“Who is Jennie Wilson?” Ashley asked.
Could this be the person who’d arranged the toxic waste drums to sign the letter J?
“She’s an agent with Sparks County Realty, and she hated Hannah.”
Ashley exchanged a glance with Wyatt. “And you believe that Jennie is capable of committing cold-blooded murder?”
Claire didn’t hesitate. “You’re damn right. That woman is pure evil. Her brother’s in jail right now for selling meth.”
Although it might cast a bad light on Jennie’s family, the fact that her brother had been convicted of a crime didn’t make the woman a killer.
“How long had Jennie and Hannah been considered enemies?”
“For years. Ever since the sale of the Dennison’s farm. Jennie accused Hannah of stealing the listing, but of course, she didn’t. They had a huge fight about it in the parking lot of Fletcher’s Grocery.”
“Was the fight recent?”
“Well … no. It was about five years ago.”
The hope that had swelled in Ashley’s chest when they’d been given a name starting with the letter J faded a bit. It seemed unusual for a killer to wait five years to seek revenge.
“Do you know whether or not Hannah and Jennie had argued lately? Or if something had happened to stir up more trouble between them?”
Claire shook her head. “They steered clear of each other,” she said. “I don’t think they’ve even been in the same room since the fight.”
Kevin interrupted, “Which is the one reason I thought we had this settled, honey.”
It seemed obvious that Kevin didn’t share his wife’s opinion of the killer’s identity.
“Are there other reasons why you don’t believe Jennie Wilson is the one who murdered Hannah?” Ashley asked him.
“She couldn’t possibly have done it,” he said, seeming just as convinced of Jennie’s innocence as Claire had been regarding the woman’s supposed guilt. “Here, I’ll show you.”
Kevin pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began tapping the screen with his thumbs. A few seconds later, he held out the phone to Ashley.
“Take a look,” Kevin said.
Ashley angled the screen so Wyatt could see. It was Jennie’s social media page. A slim, pretty woman, appearing around thirty-years-old, with shoulder-length chestnut hair smiled for the camera. A sandy-haired man sat at the outdoor table next to her, holding up a glass of white wine. A swimming pool was visible behind the couple, complete with a waterslide bearing the logo of a popular cruise line. The caption read: Setting sail for the Caribbean!
The picture had been posted from Fort Lauderdale, Florida the day before Hannah’s murder.
Kevin said, “That’s Jennie and her husband.”
Ashley scrolled down the page. The next few photographs featured the couple parasailing on the cruise line’s private island in Haiti. The last entry had been posted that very morning: a photo of the couple posing in front of La Coca Falls in the El Yunque Rainforest of Puerto Rico.
“So now you see,” Kevin began, “Jennie’s not the killer.”
It would seem that Kevin was right. Jennie couldn’t strangle Hannah if she’d been floating on a cruise ship fifteen-hundred miles away.
Claire sighed. “I realize Jennie didn’t kill Hannah with her own hands,” she stated. “But I just know she’s behind it. She had somebody do it for her.”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “Look, real estate is a cutthroat business,” he said to Ashley and Wyatt. “You’ve got to hustle to earn a buck. Anybody can tell you that. But I know Jennie too. She might fudge the facts a little to make a sale, but she sure wouldn’t have Hannah killed over a five-year-old grudge.”
Ashley knew that the motive for a murder sometimes made no real sense to anyone except the killer. And it seemed convenient that Jennie had left town the day before Hannah died. Being a passenger on a cruise ship thousands of miles away ranked as one hell of an alibi. So, it could be quite possible that Jennie may have hired someone to kill Hannah.
Having the actual murderer leave the letter J behind might be the real estate agent’s way of saying: I did this! I got my revenge! Thinking no one could ever prove her guilty. But Ashley and Wyatt would have to wait for the woman to return from her trip before they could question her.
Wyatt asked Kevin, “Who do you think killed Hannah?”
The man sat silent for a moment, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth.
“I’ve been asking myself that,” he finally said. “I just don’t know. Maybe somebody high on drugs. Or a member of some weird mountain cult or something. I’ve heard there’s a backwoods group here that practices witchcraft.”
Claire huffed. “A witchcraft cult my ass. You just don’t want to believe that a pretty younger woman—who flirts with you every chance she gets, I might add—could kill somebody.”
A few of the puzzle pieces snapped together in Ashley’s mind. Claire was obviously jealous of Jennie. Was that the reason she was so quick to believe the real estate agent was involved in the murder?
Wyatt glanced at Ashley. She could tell that he’d made the same connection.
He turned his attention back to Kevin. “At the bar, what did Hannah talk about?” he asked. “Anything unusual?”
Kevin shook his head. “We talked about an auction coming up next month. And about the land Hannah had just sold. Normal, everyday stuff. She never said anything out of the ordinary. Didn’t seem worried or anxious.”
Claire said, “We had a really nice time.” Her voice broke as her eyes brimmed with tears.
From the way the evening sounded, Hannah probably had no idea it would be her last night on earth.
“How long did you stay after Hannah left?” Wyatt asked.
Kevin seemed to be searching his memory.
“About two hours, I guess. Claire and I danced for a bit. Talked to some friends. I had a few more beers and Claire switched to diet cola so she could drive us home.”
“Did you see Hannah’s car in the parking lot?”
“No. But we got to the bar before she did. We were parked up front, near the door.”
Ashley remembered reading in the case file that the bar had been packed. Probably due to the large crowd, Hannah’s sedan had been found in the shadows at the far end of the lot.
