Frozen (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (32 page)

Tall. Dark-haired. Leather jacket. Another missing woman.

It just … fit.

“Who has one?”

In a tired voice, she went on. “The description fits Bryce Grantham right down to the leather jacket. There was blood in her car. If the search of his cabin and car turns up the jacket and there’s a trace of her blood on it, he’s done. It’s pretty difficult to move someone who is bleeding and not get some of it on you.”

“If it
doesn’t
turn up the jacket, that also gives us some solid circumstantial evidence,” McConnell pointed out, swinging the car back onto the slushy county road. “From what I understand, he’s no idiot; far from it. If he walked back from where we found her car, he wouldn’t have any time to dispose of anything except to dump it. If he did, we’ll find it.”

The fatigue was shutting her down. Ellie could feel it thrumming through her veins with each sluggish beat of her heart. She rested her head on the back of the seat and watched the road wind in front of them. “I agree. He might have tossed it in the woods somewhere.”

No. She didn’t believe it.

No
.

“It’s an easier search with a defined area and we have teams out there now, looking for Cummins. We have a starting point and an ending. Son of a bitch,” McConnell said with a smile, “I think you’re right. I think you’ve got him. He must have shit when he got back to the cabin, changed clothes, and went to leave and found he couldn’t. Fast thinking on his part. Then he realized that he needed to alibi himself as fast as possible, so he flattens the tire, produces the earrings, and calls you.”

“Maybe.” She was too exhausted to think straight anymore, her body slumped in the seat. “Why did Jane stop? If it was Grantham, how would he manage it? The story has been all over this part of Wisconsin. She lives with Rick, for God’s sake, and she was scared enough, according to him, she talked about getting a gun.”

With chilling logic, McConnell said, “What better time to get someone to stop than right before a major weather event? Especially a well-dressed, nice-looking guy who might have had car trouble, or gone into the ditch, trudging through the snow on the side of a country road.”

“She saw him in the store, McConnell.”

“Our friend Neil said he
thought
they spoke to each other.”

The words made sense. Horrible sense in a case that made little sense to begin with. Dully, she murmured, “I never sensed it was him. From the beginning, I liked him. Even now, I don’t
believe
it. I would stake my life he’s a
nice
man.”

And she had. She’d spent the night alone with him in a raging storm with closed roads, no power, no available help.

McConnell’s profile was defined against the glass, and he didn’t smile, his voice somber. “Didn’t your mama warn you all men are assholes, Detective MacIntosh?”

“It isn’t true,” she argued, weariness giving her voice an uncharacteristic throatiness. “I adored my father. Rick Jones is a good guy under his somewhat blustery exterior, and I even like
you,
so don’t try to sell me that. If I didn’t trust my instincts, I wouldn’t be a good police officer, Lieutenant. If you want my take on this, we are putting an innocent man through hell and somewhere out there a killer is laughing at us.”

Her companion glanced over. “You sound sure, Detective. How sure are you?”

In the face of Jane’s disappearance, she said finally, “I thought it was one hundred percent.”

*   *   *

Alan arrived in
a suit that had Armani written all over it, his leather briefcase shining, his bland face sporting the usual bonhomie that was belied by the razor-sharp look in his eyes. He set down the briefcase on the plain table and asked pleasantly, “Are you charging my client?”

“Not yet.” Pearson, the sheriff Bryce was getting to know despite the fact he wished just the opposite was true, folded and refolded a piece of paper in a methodic rectangle. “We’re waiting on several reports back.”

“In other words, you have nothing.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“He’s finished talking to you until there’s a formal charge.” Alan turned to Bryce. “Let’s go.”

“I won’t hold him if he doesn’t leave the county.” Pearson stopped fiddling for a moment and his gaze was steely. “We might have more to talk about, Dr. Grantham.”

Bryce stood, waiting for the sheriff to say something more, but there was no objection. Wearing the clothes from the day before made him feel grimy—especially next to Alan’s sophisticated elegance—though he hadn’t done anything at all except sit around and had taken a long, hot shower at the hotel. He silently followed Alan out of the interrogation room, and down an institutional hallway. They walked past the main desk, and he could feel the stares of the assorted county employees sitting there, the faint ring of a phone the only sound.

At least it was in the forties and sunny, he thought ironically as they stepped outside in a puddle of melted snow. They’d taken his coat, adding it to a long list of possessions now held by Lincoln County. Car, laptop, clothes …

“You know the area,” Alan said briskly. “Where can we go and get something decent to eat and talk? It’s not a short drive up from Milwaukee and I could use a bite.”

Decent by Alan’s standards wasn’t exactly available. Bryce said, “There’s a place with some pretty good food on the edge of town.”

Alan drove a sleek dark green Jaguar that he unlocked with a push of a button. “As far as I can tell, the entire town is on the edge of town. That works in your favor. Be happy you aren’t dealing with big-city cops who sometimes bend the rules a little, because when you’re overworked and underpaid, you tend to cut corners.”

“I’ll be sure to thank my lucky stars,” Bryce muttered darkly when he slid into the leather seat.

His lawyer looked amused. “We’ll talk when we get there.”

The Antler Inn was a little less romantic in the late afternoon sunshine, or maybe it was that this time Ellie was not his companion. Alan looked askance at the red imitation leather seats, requested a far booth in a corner, and when they were seated, asked the thin blond waitress for two Beck’s Darks and menus. She pointed at his place mat and walked away. Bemused, he finally realized what her gesture meant and scanned the offerings. “The half-pound Antler burger with chili fries,” he mused, his mouth twitching. “My doctor is going to double my cholesterol medication, isn’t he?”

“Probably,” Bryce agreed. “Try the walleye.”

“Everyone in Wisconsin says that.”

“Cheese and great walleye. Not bad things for a state to be known for.”

“There’s also a plethora of serial killers here for some damn reason. Maybe it’s the weather.”

Not that Bryce was all that hungry to begin with, but Alan really knew how to do a number on someone’s appetite. “I’m not one of them,” he said evenly.

The other man’s gaze was steady. “If you are, you should tell your lawyer.”

Their beers arrived, halting the conversation. The background music was country, and at this hour, not even five o’clock yet, the place had only a few patrons.

“I can give you a better defense with the truth,” Alan said after the waitress took their orders, resuming their conversation seamlessly, his fingers smoothing the label of his bottle of beer.

“You’d defend a serial killer? Excuse me if I think that’s just plain wrong.” The beer was ice cold and good, and Bryce took a second swallow, wondering at the dark side of the justice system.

“Everyone is entitled to due process and a fair trial.”

“I’ll take your word for it, if you’ll take mine that the worst thing I’ve done in all of this is buy a young woman a drink and then give her a ride home. When I found her cell phone, I compounded my crime by trying to return it. I’m obviously a menace to society.”

Alan, incongruous in his expensive suit against the worn wood of the booth, just looked at him for a moment. Then he nodded. “All right. Let’s start with Melissa Simmons. Tell me about it as best you can remember. The cardinal rule of successful defense law is to never allow the prosecution to spring an unpleasant surprise on you because your client failed to mention a detail that will potentially convict him in the eyes of a jury.” He leaned forward, his expression intent. “Keep in mind you may not recognize that detail, Bryce, but I will. It’s why you retained me. So, tell me everything. Start at the beginning.”

Everything? He wondered if that included sleeping with Ellie MacIntosh. Probably, but he doubted he was going to offer that up. It couldn’t possibly pertain to the case and might just get her in trouble, and though at the moment he felt a bit betrayed, she also had a job to do. Bryce hesitated and then rubbed his eyes. “I’ll need another beer.”

“That’s fine.” Alan sat back and smiled. “You’re paying, so what the hell?”

Chapter 26

It could be he’d just made his first mistake.

The Hunter didn’t count the blood he’d left behind at the scene … that wasn’t how it worked. There were incidents and there were errors. The blood was an incident, inevitable, out of his control.

The leather jacket was different.

That was definitely an error.

*   *   *

“The forensic evidence
is inconclusive.”

Ellie had slept three hours. It wasn’t enough, but it helped, and she was sipping coffee even now at ten at night, sitting at the bar in her kitchen when the sheriff called. “How inconclusive?”

“The blood in the car isn’t hers. Wrong blood type.”

She took a minute and processed that. It changed …
everything
. “Then all we need is a solid suspect and we have him. Once Bryce is cleared…”

Her voice trailed off. She was tired or she never would have said that. Not used his first name. Three hours of sleep was
definitely
not enough.

“Detective, I’m aware of your opinion on Grantham’s possible guilt, but let’s make sure we still have an objective approach to the case. If it is his, this is all over.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pearson went on inexorably. “It doesn’t match the blood on Margaret Wilson’s clothes either. A third party, and what do you know, we weren’t invited to the festivities.”

“Maybe not, but this is real progress. Did you find the leather jacket?”

“Yes. It was in Grantham’s suitcase.”

She stopped in the act of taking a drink, the cup halfway to her mouth. “And?”

“No blood.” Pearson sounded defeated. Worn out. “We checked his clothes, his car, the cabin … nothing. Even took the heavier parka he was wearing when you picked him up but there doesn’t appear to be anything on it.”

Thank God
. Relief poured over her, strong enough to make her blink and take a solid swallow of coffee. She wanted to catch the killer. There was nothing she wanted more, but …

But
this
was good news. Her job was to catch the man terrorizing this part of the state, not to clear Bryce, but if both ends could be achieved at the same time …

“What condition was it in?”

“The jacket? All I asked was for them to call me if it tested positive for blood. There wasn’t any. We’ll have the written report by tomorrow, though they are complaining about Lincoln County overworking them.”

“The jacket should still be wet. If he was out on the icy rain in a leather jacket, it would show it. He didn’t have time for it to dry before he called me if he had really followed Jane into that store. Just walking down the driveway the parka he wore was soaked. If he packed his leather one away, it would be at least damp.”

“They didn’t mention it being wet, but you have a point. Feel free to call and ask for yourself and use my name. I don’t have time. I’ve got a possible fifth victim, my phone beeps every five seconds, and I’m up to my earlobes in media coverage.”

“I’ve sent pictures of the earrings to all the families but we still don’t have a definitive link back to any of our victims. I’ll check with the forensic lab tomorrow, sir, about the jacket, but it sounds like we still have no physical way to connect Grantham.” Statement— not question.

“All right, all right. How solid is the witness testimony?”

She did her best to consider it dispassionately. “He described the man who was seen in the store the same time as Jane fairly clearly, and certainly Grantham fits, but Neil Hathaway wasn’t all that close when we asked him for specifics. Unfortunately, we need to keep in mind the newspapers ran a piece on the finding of the bodies. You know how it is. We could get sightings of him all over the place now that his name is out there. Tall and dark-haired doesn’t narrow the field to just a few suspects. It would be easy enough to get a description of Grantham if someone tried.”

“Neil is your witness?” His voice perceptibly altered.

She set down her cup. The house was very quiet, the windows blank dark oblongs against the night. It smelled like coffee and a hint of oregano from the pasta Bryce had left for her. She’d been too hungry to feel guilty about eating it. “You know him?”

“Not him all that well, but his dad and I went to high school together. We’re in Rotary … old friends, though not exactly buddies. When you said a store clerk, I didn’t realize you meant Neil. I’ve looked through too many reports lately.”

“Is there a problem?”

“He’s gotten in some trouble. After he graduated from high school at the top of his class, he went to UWM for a while, but dropped or flunked out. I don’t know what went wrong. He’s a bright kid, but likes to be outdoors. For a while he was living in northern Minnesota working for a logging operation, but moved back here a year or two ago.”

A year or two ago. That was damned interesting, she thought, interest stirring despite her fatigue. A more specific date was something she’d look into. An image of him pulling off the latex glove came to her mind. That would explain the lack of prints in Jane’s car. Carefully, she asked, “What kind of trouble?”

“Russ didn’t say, but you can’t blame him for that. Not something you advertise.”

For the very first time, she had a glimmer of something that wasn’t frustration or fear in the case. “Maybe we need to look into Neil Hathaway. Sir, he is admittedly the last person we know of to see her … well, to
see
her.”