LET ME BREATHE, page 8
“You sure?”
She nodded. “I can turn up the heat if it gets too cold in here.”
“Just don’t use the bedspread.”
He didn’t need to warn her. Ashley cringed just looking at the striped green and brown coverlet. She’d heard all about the bodily fluids commonly found on top of motel bedspreads. And in this place … she didn’t even want to think about it.
Wyatt stripped the blanket from the bed, fixed a pallet on the floor, and then headed for the bathroom. She heard the pipes in the wall rumble as he turned on the shower.
Ashley stared at the bed. She knew that it was silly, but she didn’t want to lie down until after Wyatt was tucked in and the lights were off. While she waited, she booted up her laptop and studied the details of the case.
Luke Jenkins had been the perfect suspect. There seemed to be no one else with access to the landfill’s gate keys who also shared a history of violence.
Maybe the key had been stolen.
The thought led her back to her foreclosure theory. She’d left a message for Hannah’s assistant, inquiring about recent sales, but she hadn’t heard back. She’d make another phone call first thing in the morning.
She reminded herself that it was possible the J didn’t represent a name.
Maybe it stood for Justice.
The kind of justice a person would seek if they felt their land had been stolen out from under them. Mountain justice.
The bathroom door creaked open. She looked up to see Wyatt dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of gray workout shorts. At least one of them had something comfortable to sleep in.
“It’s been a long day,” he said as he made his way to the pallet.
She guessed that meant he wanted her to turn off the light. She closed her laptop and slid it onto the bedside table.
“Good night,” she said, flipping the lamp’s switch.
Ashley curled on her side beneath the yellowed top sheet and closed her eyes. Thoughts of Daniel, and images of a summer picnic, swirled through her mind as sleep beckoned her to dreamland.
A scream jerked her awake.
Ashley bolted upright in the bed. It took her a split second to get her bearings, to remember where she was. Then she switched on the light.
Wyatt seemed to be dancing next to the bed. Strange, high-pitched grunts flew from his mouth as he shook out his blanket. Something fell to the floor. Something brown and ugly.
It was a huge cockroach.
Ashley stifled a scream of her own. She shivered as the roach scurried underneath the battered cabinet that housed the television.
Wyatt met her gaze, and they both started laughing. The creepy-crawly had transformed the tough TBI agent—who looked death in the face every day—into a screaming, hopping mess.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“I can’t blame you for yelling, because I would have done the exact same thing.”
The thought of the roach touching her skin was enough to make Ashley want to grab her suitcase and leave.
She caught Wyatt studying the floor. Probably wondering how many buddies—or babies—the cockroach had. Ashley couldn’t help herself; she felt sorry for him. How could she expect him to get comfortable on the floor now? She sure wouldn’t stay there.
“The bed is big enough for both of us,” she heard herself say.
She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. But it was too late now. She’d made the offer.
Wyatt glanced at her and then looked back at the floor. “Well … if you don’t mind.”
He sat down on the bed—on top of the upper sheet—and Ashley scooted to the far-right side. She was tempted to leave the light on, but she knew that Wyatt would likely complain. As she reached for the bedside lamp, a thought struck her.
How would Daniel feel if he knew that she and Wyatt were sleeping in the same bed?
Sharing a room was one thing, but she realized that she may have just crossed a line. Although her actions were innocent—her intentions honorable—they could still prove hurtful to Daniel.
Ashley lay awake, hugging the right edge of the mattress as the hours ticked by. Although she was tired, sleep eluded her. She stared at a dark stain on the moonlit wall, her thoughts racing.
How did Wyatt feel about their sleeping arrangements? He was a single man. He had nothing to lose. She hoped that he didn’t think that her invitation to share the bed meant something. The last thing she wanted was for Wyatt to believe that she was attracted to him.
And he did have a reputation as a womanizer.
Would her act of kindness prove to be a terrible mistake? Would Wyatt decide to take advantage of the situation? She wished that there was a way she could talk Brenda into pairing her with a different partner. But that couldn’t happen until after they solved Hannah’s murder.
Ashley listened to Wyatt breathe as she watched the bedside clock flash to six a.m. She’d only managed to get a couple of hours of sleep before his screaming episode. And in thirty minutes, the alarm on her cell phone would sound. She sighed, realizing that she had a rough day ahead.
Maybe it would be a good idea to get up now and make a coffee run. She knew the convenience store down the street was open.
As her feet touched the floor, Wyatt’s cell phone rang.
A pang of dread hit Ashley. News at this hour was never good. She switched on the light.
Wyatt grumbled as his hand slid across the top of his bedside table, reaching for the phone.
“Clark,” he answered, his voice heavy with sleep.
A split second later—just like magic—he appeared wide awake. He tossed back his blanket and leapt from the bed.
“We’ll be right there.”
He ended the call and turned toward Ashley, his face grim.
“They found another body,” he said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The rising sun cast an orange glow into the passenger seat of the SUV, prompting Ashley to rub her sleep-deprived eyes. But the fact that she’d lain awake for most of the night—and now felt bone tired—was the least of her problems. With another body discovered, it appeared as though Hannah’s murder may have been the first link in a chain.
Ashley realized that they may be chasing a serial killer.
Ahead, on the left side of the highway, loomed the entrance to the Sparks County Hazardous Waste Treatment Facility. Another odd location to commit a homicide. Was the killer’s choice of murder sites designed to send a message of some kind? Ashley had thought Hannah’s killer may have viewed the real estate agent as toxic trash that needed to be discarded. What could the treatment facility symbolize? Did it mean the same?
Wyatt wheeled the SUV into the parking lot, rolling to a stop next to a cruiser belonging to the Sparks County Sheriff’s Department. The TBI forensic team’s mobile unit hadn’t yet arrived, and there was no sign of the medical examiner’s van. So, except for the deputies who’d responded to the call, Ashley and Wyatt would be the first to check out the crime scene.
Sliding out of the SUV, Ashley followed Wyatt to the facility’s entrance now guarded by two deputies. The tall chain-link barrier surrounding the treatment plant lacked the razor wire that topped the landfill’s fence; however, it appeared just as secure. Ashley noticed a keyed lock built into the frame of the metal gate.
Wyatt flashed his creds at a middle-aged deputy with a clipboard who seemed to be in charge.
“Are you one of the responding officers?” he asked the man.
The deputy shook his head. “That would be Deputy Foster. Short guy with brown hair. You’ll find him inside.”
Wyatt headed through the gate.
The deputy with the clipboard eyed Ashley with uncertainty as she offered her badge for inspection. He probably wondered why she looked like she was on her way to hike the mountain instead of being decked out in business attire similar to her partner’s.
“You can go ahead, ma’am,” he finally said.
Ashley caught up with Wyatt. She spotted Deputy Foster standing next to a gray, metal-sided building talking on a cell phone. The man looked up as they approached, ended his call, and offered his hand in a greeting.
“Deputy Foster?” Wyatt began, “I’m Special Agent Wyatt Clark, and this is my partner Special Agent Ashley Hope.”
“Good to meet ya.”
Although the man appeared to be pushing fifty, and likely had years of experience under his belt, the expression he wore revealed that the crime had shaken him. Ashley guessed that they didn’t see many murders in Sparks County. At least, not of this type.
“You were first on the scene?” Wyatt asked him.
“Yeah.” He glanced at his watch. “Got here about forty minutes ago. The sheriff contacted you as soon as we realized what we had.”
Ashley assumed the deputy meant the victim had been killed in a similar manner as Hannah.
Wyatt continued, “What exactly did you find?”
“Deceased female. Early thirties. There’s duct tape over her mouth, and it looks like she was strangled with some kind of cord.”
Just like Hannah.
“Did you find her ID?”
Foster shook his head, let out a sigh. “No, but we know who she is. She’s a local. Her name’s Trina Hollis.”
If the deputy was acquainted with the victim that would explain one reason that he seemed so unnerved.
“How well did you know her?”
“Not very. But her granddaddy used to be a meter reader for the electric company. Everybody knows him.”
Before smart meters edged their way into the mountains, workers had to collect the electric usage data in person. In Ashley’s home county, the residents were cautious as to who they let onto their land. A uniform and a utility truck didn’t grant automatic access. For this reason, the electric company employed generational locals who everyone knew and trusted. She guessed it was the same in Sparks County.
“Is her grandfather still alive?” Wyatt asked.
“He’s living at the old folk’s home over on Vine Street. They say he’s got dementia. His name’s Hoyt Hollis.”
“Was she married, have any children?”
“She was single. Trina’s mama and daddy passed in a car wreck a few years back. As far as I know, that’s all her kin.”
Wyatt nodded, jotting the information down in his notebook.
Hannah had been widowed, with no children and no other living relatives in the area. Except for her grandfather, it appeared as though Trina was basically alone as well. Did that have anything to do with the murders?
Ashley asked, “Do you know whether or not she was dating anyone?”
“That, I couldn’t tell ya.”
Thoughts of Ashley’s foreclosure theory struck her, and she shifted gears. She wondered whether the woman was involved in real estate, banking, or a related profession.
“Do you know what Trina did for a living?”
“She worked over at the Broderick Paper Mill,” Foster said. “Had been there for a while.”
The answer was not what Ashley had hoped. What was the connection between Trina and Hannah?
“Was Trina friends with Hannah Kemp?”
Foster shrugged. “Well, they probably knew each other. I mean, most everybody knew Hannah. But as far as being friends? I don’t really think so.”
Wyatt asked, “Did Trina have any known enemies?”
“None that I’m aware of. But like I said, I didn’t know her that well.”
Wyatt pocketed his notebook. “We’d like to get a look at the body.”
Before Foster could answer, the door of the metal building opened and a young, heavy-set man with dark hair, wearing a uniform shirt bearing the logo of the treatment facility, emerged.
Foster said, “This is Bert Gowen; he found Trina.”
Wyatt introduced himself and Ashley. “Can you lead us to the body?” he asked Bert.
“Yeah, sure,” the man said, his voice shaky.
Ashley and Wyatt followed Bert past several large cylindrical tanks that she assumed stored liquid waste, or chemicals used during the processing. As they neared another metal-sided building, resembling an airplane hangar, Bert weaved to the right. It dawned on Ashley that whoever had murdered Trina had to be familiar with the layout of the facility. The killer had chosen to carry her deep within the grounds rather than dumping her near the entrance.
Straight ahead, a large four-story structure flanked by catwalks appeared. Near the right end, an oblong drum fixed at a slight angle hummed as it rotated on its axis. The contraption reminded Ashley of a concrete mixer, but at ten times the size.
“What is that?” she asked Bert.
“The rotary kiln incinerator. It burns the waste at temperatures up to 2300 degrees. The ash is collected and sent to the landfill. And the combustion gas is captured, filtered, and scrubbed. It’s eventually released into the air as steam.”
Although she realized that the steam had to be safe—at least as far as the EPA was concerned—Ashley still wasn’t too thrilled to be breathing it.
As they rounded the end of the structure, two more sheriff’s deputies met them. The men had obviously been tasked with guarding Trina’s body.
The woman lay on her back atop a bed of concrete, her arms at her sides. Trina was fully clothed—just as Hannah had been. But Ashley could see the blue pullover shirt beneath Trina’s denim jacket had been ripped at the collar.
A series of ligature marks striped the woman’s neck.
Again, just like Hannah, it was clear that Trina had been strangled with a garrote multiple times. The medical examiner would most likely find that she had also been drugged with quazodine.
A chill ran down Ashley’s spine as she imagined the horror the woman had suffered. She just hoped the killer didn’t have his sights set on another victim. That he would stop at two. But deep in the pit of her stomach, she knew that if they didn’t act fast, if they didn’t capture the killer soon, there would definitely be a third murder.
As Wyatt continued to study the body, Ashley moved toward the woman’s feet. The killer had signed his work once again. A pile of ashes, shaped into a capital letter J, marred the rough concrete.
Bert obviously noticed her studying the odd ash pile.
“There from the rotary kiln,” he said.
The murderer had used toxic waste to mark his latest kill.
“Did you touch … anything?” Ashley asked Bert.
The man shook his head. “No. I’d heard about the other woman. The one over at the landfill. And I just knew this woman was dead as soon as I saw her.”
Ashley noticed that since leading them there, Bert had kept his gaze averted away from the body, focusing instead on a point somewhere in the distance, his face pale.
“Do you know whether or not the facility’s gate was locked last night?”
“Yeah. It’s always locked.”
Just like the landfill. So how did the killer manage to get inside? Could he have stolen the keys to both places, or did someone let him in? Who would have access to both the landfill and the treatment facility?
“Do you have a list of the people who have keys to the gate?”
Bert nodded. “I’m sure we do. The manager will be here in a few minutes. He can get it for you.”
Something else bothered Ashley. How did the killer get in and out of the facility—especially while carrying his incapacitated victim—without being seen by anyone?
“How many people work on the overnight shift?”
“There are three of us,” Bert said. “We don’t actually process the waste like they do on the day shift. We basically just watch the gages for the machinery. We make sure that the temperatures are okay and that nothing breaks down.”
“Do you walk around the grounds and monitor the machines, or do you keep watch from inside one of the buildings?”
“Everything’s computerized. Unless something happens, we stay at our terminals inside the main office. That’s the building where I was when you arrived. This morning, a warning light came on for the incinerator. I went out to check it, and that’s when I found the woman.”
If the three workers had been busy staring at their computer screens all night that would have given the killer ample opportunity to sneak onto the grounds.
“And you didn’t see anyone lurking around?”
“No.”
At this point, there was no way for them to know exactly what time the murder had occurred. Trina could have been lying in the frosty night air for hours before being discovered.
“What was wrong with the incinerator?”
“It was a false alarm. It happens sometimes.”
Could the killer have done something that caused the warning light to come on?
“So other than the false alarm with the incinerator, did you notice anything else that seemed odd or out of the ordinary?”
“Well…” Bert hesitated as though he was mulling over something. “It’s probably nothing.”
Wyatt, who had been listening to the conversation in silence, interrupted.
“What’s probably nothing?” he asked.
Ashley knew that small details, things that were discounted as being unimportant, often proved to be the catalyst in solving crimes.
Bert glanced at Ashley and then turned his attention toward Wyatt. “I don’t want to get anybody in trouble. Especially since I’m not sure.”
“A woman was just murdered,” Wyatt reminded the young man. “Now is not the time to hold back information.”
Bert nodded. “Last night, I had car trouble, so I was late for my shift. I didn’t get here until almost one o’clock. Anyway, when I was coming in, I saw a car leaving the parking lot. I figured it was just somebody turning around.”
“What type of car?”
“I’m not sure of the make. It was an older four-door. A dark color.”
“Could you see the driver?”
Ashley held her breath. Did the man have a description of the killer?
Bert hesitated again. “Well, that’s the thing,” he said. “I didn’t actually get a good look, but I remember thinking he reminded me of somebody.”
“Who?”
