Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10 (5 page)

“They’re honing their investigative skills.” Troy Lee leaned on the counter and scrawled his signature across the inventory report. He grinned, a distinct smart-ass tinge to his expression. “Besides, she’s totally hot.”

Cook’s grunt dripped disparagement. “She totally goes out of her way to make cops look like idiots.”

“These cops are idiots.” One of the deputies—Steve Wilson, maybe?—pointed the remote at the TV and the volume rose. “The husband did it, I’m telling you. Why they don’t arrest the guy is beyond me.”

“Maybe because they need something more than circumstantial evidence and speculation?” Cook turned his attention on Rob. “You don’t watch this mess, right?”

“No.” He shrugged. “Get my news the way my daddy did, reading newspapers, except I read mine on the ’Net.”

Steve grinned. “Yeah, but the ’Net ain’t that damn hot.”

Troy Lee slid the inventory sheet into its folder. “Told ya.”

Cook snorted. “Your wife know you’re scoping out other women?”

“My wife is secure in my affections.”

“Cookie, I need you to forward me that purchase order for the body cams. County commission approved them last night.” Calvert strode into the room and made straight for the coffee station. He gestured at Troy Lee with his mug. “And your license-plate scanner.”

“Awesome.” Troy Lee tagged Rob’s shoulder. “Wait until you see what that baby can do.”

Calvert paused, mug lifted halfway to his mouth. “Is that Susannah Hartley?”

Cook groaned. “Not you, too.”

Calvert squinted at the television. “When did she make News Central? I remember when she was a field reporter for some Podunk station in Nowhere, Virginia. Of course, it’s not like we’ve stayed in touch.”

Steve gaped. “You know Susannah Hartley?”

“Dated her for almost a year.” On the screen, the woman in question hounded a panel of legal “experts”. Calvert quirked an eyebrow. “She always like this?”

“Unfortunately.” Cook clapped a hand on Calvert’s shoulder. “Your taste in women continues to astound.”

Steve raised his hand. “I have one question. Is she that smokin’ hot in person?”

“I’d exercise great caution in answering that.” Cook held out his mug for Calvert to fill. “Anything you say may, and probably will, be used against you when it gets back to your wife.”

“Like Cait’s threatened by other women.” Calvert paused a moment, listening to the television. “That is not the Susannah I knew. She was all about freedom of the press and idealism and…wow.”

Cook lifted his mug for a sip. “Guess a lot changes in a decade or so.”

“Guess so. If you gentlemen will excuse me, shift reports don’t compile themselves.” Calvert pointed at Troy Lee. “That reminds me. I need your recap from last night.”

Troy Lee nodded. “It’s in the car. I’ll go get it.”

Rob accompanied him down the hall, still trying to make sense of the maze of hallways and offices that comprised the justice center.

“Last night?” Rob squinted against the midday sun as they stepped outside.

“Yeah.” Troy Lee jogged to the car and snagged a report from his clipboard. “Covered half a shift. Slow as hell too.”

In a few minutes, the report was submitted, and they were back on the road. As far as this day went, slow as hell was an apt description. Rob wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. He could see where he’d like this side of law enforcement, but damned if he wanted a trial by fire on the second day, either.

The radio blared its distinctive bleep and crackled, dispatch rattling off an address and requesting an available deputy to respond to a possible missing person. Troy Lee slammed the brakes and slid the Charger into the turn lane. He lifted the mike to his mouth. “C-13 to Chandler. Repeat?”

The dispatcher repeated the address. Troy Lee pulled back into traffic and flipped the lights on, leaving the siren silent.

“C-13 and C-2-A en route.” He replaced the mike. His customary grin was gone, and tension tightened his mouth. “That’s my in-laws’ place.”

Within minutes, they pulled into the long driveway before a large brick ranch. A gravel parking area stood at one end, but Troy Lee stopped short of it. He called in their arrival and grabbed his hat. Rob slid from the car, urgency pounding under his skin. He sucked in a couple of deep breaths. Hadn’t his father always warned him about cops who got ahead of themselves?

Despite his speed in responding, Troy Lee appeared calm as well, although the taut skin around his mouth stayed pale under his tan. Rob followed him up a set of steps to the side door next to the gravel parking area. A bell tinkled over their heads, and they stepped into a small beauty shop attached to the house. Every head in the room swiveled in their direction. Troy Lee removed his hat and propped it against his hip. “What is going on?”

A fortyish man in the quintessential farmer outfit—boots, jeans, faded shirt and a gimme cap—laid his hand on the shoulder of a blonde in one of the chairs. “Hope’s afraid something’s happened to Brittany.”

She glared up at him, tears glittering in her eyes. “I’m not afraid something’s happened. I know something’s happened.”

“Why don’t you tell us what’s wrong?” Troy Lee tilted his head toward Rob. “This is Investigator Bennett. He’s going to take some notes.”

Rob already had his notebook and pen in hand. Notes he was good at.

“She was supposed to be here at nine. I started calling at nine thirty, and I’ve called every ten minutes. Nothing. Daryl called Zeke, and he says she was at the house when he left but now she’s not. Neither is the baby. And her car is still there.”

Rob underlined the name Zeke on his pad and lifted a brow at Troy Lee.

“Her name is Brittany Jenkins. Zeke’s her husband,” Troy Lee said. “Hope and Daryl Michaels are her parents. You’ll need all those names later for the report.”

“Why are we just sitting here?” Hope shrugged away from Daryl’s gentle hand. “My daughter is missing.”

“We don’t know that yet.” The automatic words slipped from Rob’s mouth while he jotted. Hope glared at him, and he tried for an apologetic grimace. “We really don’t, ma’am. She could have gone for a walk or left with a friend…”

He trailed off under Troy Lee’s warning look.

“It is not like her to disappear.” Frightened frustration roughened Hope’s voice. “She always has her phone with her. I’m telling you, something is wrong.”

“Why don’t we follow you out to her home?” Rob snapped his notebook closed and returned it to his pocket. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Well, I’m glad you are.”

In the car, with Daryl’s truck billowing up dust in front of them on the driveway, Rob blew out a breath. “I sure as heck handled that well.”

“You’re doing fine.” Troy Lee steered them onto the blacktop. “It’s like being a medical intern. You have to develop a bedside manner, and it takes time and practice. Not the same as sitting in an office and writing up reports from interviews, is it?”

“No.”

“Hope is…” He paused, and Rob knew he was choosing his words carefully. “Intense. A little quick to jump to conclusions. And Britt’s a little immature and rebellious. She’s out of her mama’s house, but she likes to push Hope’s buttons.”

He rubbed his hand over the steering wheel, opened his mouth, closed it. Rob frowned. Troy Lee lost for words? That was a first.

They wound deeper into the rural area of the county, woods warring with fields and neatly planted pine forests. After long minutes, Troy Lee turned onto a blacktop road behind Daryl. They went a couple of miles before turning in to a dirt drive. The Charger bounced over the rutted red clay.

Rob surveyed the scene. The ancient singlewide, stained green with pecan sap, seemed innocuous enough. A dusty older pickup shared the dirt parking area with a small Honda that sported several dings. The grass was neatly trimmed, and the plants in terra cotta pots on the front metal steps flourished even under the summer heat. As Rob and Troy Lee stepped from the squad car, a young man emerged from the battered metal front door. Hope surged forward. “Where is she? Where’s my Brittany?”

The young man threw his hands wide. “I don’t know. I told you I came home for lunch and her car was here, but she and the baby—”

“Where is she?” Hope lunged at him, but her husband caught her up short. “Daryl, he knows where she is!”

“Honey, let the police handle it, okay? It’s their job. Troy Lee knows what he’s doing. They’ll help us track her down.”

“I don’t believe you. Just like my sister… ‘Calm down, Hope, she’s fine. Call Troy Lee if you need to.’”

Discomfiture flashed over the young man’s features at the mention of Troy Lee’s name. His unease only grew more apparent as he realized Troy Lee was standing at the side of the Charger. Intuition tingled down the back of Rob’s neck. He might have spent the past five years investigating jail crimes and writing up a shitload of reports, but he’d also done his share of interviewing. He knew that look.

Rob pulled his notebook from his pocket. “Mr. Jenkins, right? Zeke.”

The kid nodded, looking more like a miserable rabbit than a worried husband. Rob gave him his best version of his father’s politician smile. “Zeke, tell us what you know.”

“I’ve told you. Britt was here when I left for the fields this morning. She and the baby were still asleep—”

“What’s the baby’s name? How old?”

“Emma. She’s a year old.”

“Fourteen months.” Hope crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at Zeke.

Rob darted a glance at her and scratched down the correction. Intense was certainly one word for her. He nodded at Zeke. “Go on.”

“I came home for lunch and they were gone. Her car was here, so I figured maybe her mama came and got her to go shopping for something.”

“On a Tuesday?” Hope spat at him.

Zeke shrugged. “I called her friends and none of them have seen her.”

Rob rested his hands at his belt line. “Anything missing? Her purse, her cell?”

“I didn’t really check.” Disquiet flitted over the kid’s features again.

The car was here, the girl and her baby gone, and he didn’t look to see if her purse and phone were gone? Something simply didn’t add up here. Rob jerked his chin toward the house. “Mind if I look around?”

After the briefest of hesitations, Zeke waved at the door. “Go on in.”

The inside of the trailer was dim and cramped, incredibly dated but scrupulously clean. Clean dishes waited in the dish drainer. Baby toys filled a couple of baskets bracketing a hand-me-down plaid couch. Rob let his gaze trail over every detail. A set of car keys lay in the middle of the kitchen table. A phone charger was plugged into the wall next to the toaster. But no phone or purse was in sight. No diaper bag, either.

A metal Louisville Slugger leaned in the corner of the kitchen. Rust or…something…spotted the middle, above the handgrip. Rob squinted at it a moment and kept going. A small laundry room lay open beyond the kitchen. He peered in. Neat piles of folded laundry sat atop the dryer, the scent of fabric softener heavy in the room.

Down the hallway, the bedroom was also clean and orderly, the bed and crib neatly made.

The bathroom was a different story. Broken cosmetics littered the tiny vanity, pieces of eyeshadow covering the sink. Bloody fingerprints, dried to rust, dotted the sink and wall. More blood splatter on the floor. The trash can sat beside the door, a couple of beer bottles crammed next to what looked like a shattered cell phone. More rusty spots stained the broken glass.

He backed out of the room. Hope might be intense, but he was beginning to think her mother’s intuition was spot on.

Outside, he motioned Troy Lee to the bottom of the steps. He leaned in to whisper in the other man’s ear. “The house is clear, but call Calvert or Cook. There’s blood in the bathroom.”

Troy Lee paled. He closed his eyes and swore. For a moment, Rob thought his partner might throw up. Troy Lee opened his eyes and nodded. “I’ll call it in.”

Looking past him, Rob narrowed his eyes at Zeke, who stood apart from his in-laws. The kid ran a finger around his collar.

Just inside that collar, two long scratches marred the tanned skin of his neck.

Chapter Four

“Come on, Bennett. We’ve got to roll.”

Amy glanced up at Madeline’s terse command and immediately shut down her laptop. She pushed back her chair. “What’s up?”

“Chandler County has a possible missing person and a suspicious scene. Requested investigative backup along with the crime-scene van.” Madeline jingled the keys at her. “Let’s go.”

The small trailer was in the middle of nowhere, set far off the blacktop road. Amy examined the woods and fields in the distance. Why would someone want to live out here? The rutted drive was lined with Chandler County units—a gray Charger, the white K9 unit, an unmarked car and another duty unit. In the yard itself, a late-model Dodge pickup shared space with a beat-up Ford and a little Honda. Tension hovered over the tableau—a couple in their early forties waited by the Dodge, a young man sat on the tailgate of the Ford, and two uniformed deputies worked at setting up a perimeter with yellow crime-scene tape.

Madeline angled their car in behind the unmarked unit, the crime-scene van stopping behind them to block off the driveway. Madeline flicked a finger toward the neatly mowed yard. “Someone is getting their ass chewed. Wonder what that’s all about?”

Rob stood with Troy Lee and the two plainclothes cops from the day before. Rob’s face was impassive, but tension gripped the deputy’s features. The taller of the two plainclothes men jerked a hand through his black hair.

“Definitely an ass-chewing.” Amusement colored Madeline’s voice. She opened the door. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”

Amy followed more slowly. Surely Rob wasn’t in trouble. He was such a rule-follower, always had been, and he was nothing if not a by-the-book investigator. Still, he hadn’t been such a by-the-book cop yesterday, had he? The lump of dread took up residence in her belly once more.

“What’s the protocol for a domestic, Troy Lee?” The tall investigator’s voice was quiet and weary.

“If we go out on a domestic call, one of the parties goes to jail.” The deputy stared at a point beyond the other man’s shoulder. Amy met Rob’s gaze. This close, she could see a corresponding tension in him, but it was more camaraderie, she thought.

“Look at me.” The calm command held encouragement rather than anger. “Why do we have a protocol?”

“To protect the safety of both parties.” Troy Lee’s lashes fell after he delivered the rote answer. He sucked in an audible breath and opened his eyes, meeting the investigator’s gaze head-on. “Look, Tick, I know the protocol, and I know I screwed up. It was basically over when I got here last night, and I cleared out the other kids. Zeke and Britt seemed calm enough once they were gone. If anyone went to jail, it was going to be Britt and…” He cast a glance toward the couple at the Dodge. “And that was not going to be good. It was settled down, and there didn’t seem to be any point to stir it back up.”

“In the future, follow the protocol, no matter who’s involved. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tick turned his attention to Madeline, Amy and the waiting crime-scene techs. “Bennett, fill them in, would you, while Cookie and I talk to Vaughn and her crime-scene guys.”

The two plainclothes officers walked away to confer with the crime-scene team. Rob flicked a quick glance at Troy Lee and opened his notebook. “Dispatch got a call from Hope Michaels. She wanted to report her daughter Brittany Jenkins missing. Deputy Farr and I responded—”

“You’re not writing us a report. Just tell us the story, Bennett.” Madeline let out an exasperated sound. She jerked her thumb at Amy. “Pretend you’re talking to your wife at the dinner table.”

Amy bristled at her partner’s tone. She and Madeline had entered an uneasy truce early on, and she tolerated Madeline’s at-times high-handed nature. Being brusque and bitchy with her was one thing. With Rob? That was something else. She opened her mouth, but the quick snap of Rob’s notebook stalled her.

“The daughter and her baby are nowhere to be found. Her cell phone is smashed to hell in the bathroom wastebasket. Her cosmetics are busted up too, and there’s blood on the bathroom floor. There’s a bat in the living room, looks like it might have blood on it. Nothing else is out of place.”

“Good job.” Madeline gave a satisfied nod. She turned her attention to Troy Lee. “What did you do wrong this time?”

Troy Lee glared. “Came out here on a noise complaint—”

“There are neighbors close enough to complain?” Amy looked back down the driveway, then out at the fields. “Really?”

“Older woman who lives across the road. Apparently, the music was too loud, and then Britt was screaming threats loud enough for her to hear.”

“She takes after her mother,” Madeline muttered. She looked at the others and shrugged. “Hope always was a spitfire. Go on.”

“You heard me tell Tick. I got their stories, sent the other kids home—”

“Other kids?” Amy asked.

“The husband’s best buddy and his girlfriend.” Troy Lee cleared his throat. “Calvert’s nephew and my sister.”

“Playing favorites, there, weren’t you, Troy Lee?” Amusement gentled Madeline’s accusation. “Talk about being in a tough spot. Britt’s your niece by marriage, your supervisor’s family and yours are present… I might have done the same thing. Cheer up. It’s not the same as committing a warrant error that voids most of the direct evidence against a serial killer.”

Troy Lee groaned, a rough, strangled sound low in his throat. Amy and Rob both stared at him, and Amy knew they were thinking the same thing. Every single new agent assigned to a GBI office south of Macon knew that story from having it drilled into them during initial orientation. Eyebrows lifted, Rob rested his hands at his hips. “You’re the one?”

“I’m the one.” Disgust colored Troy Lee’s voice.

One corner of Rob’s mouth lifted in a brief smile. “I don’t feel so bad about yesterday now.”

“Thanks a lot, man.” Troy Lee glared at him until understanding flashed between the two men, and Troy Lee grinned, some of the tension falling away.

Madeline crossed her arms over her chest. “If you two are finished bonding, we might want to start putting together an investigative strategy.”

“Calvert’s the lead investigator.” Rob jerked his chin toward Tick and Cook, who were talking to the deputy who’d unloaded the department K9. Tick swept his hand in an arc indicating the distant fields and woods.

“Who can’t head up this investigation because his nephew might be connected. Cook can’t because he has a connection to the Michaelses through his kid. Farr’s not an investigator, and he’s married to the missing girl’s aunt. You were the first investigator on scene. This one’s yours, Bennett, and that explains why I’m here. Experience trumps a college degree.” Madeline slanted a sardonic glance at Amy, then turned her attention back to Rob. “According to the GBI, you’re good, but when it comes to this kind of case, you’re green. So, what’s your take? The husband do it?”

Rob’s brows dipped. “I can’t say yet. A dozen scenarios could work here. Yeah, one is the husband did it. Another is she got mad and took off. One of her friends could have picked her up. Maybe even someone came in off the road and snatched her and the kid, although that’s statistically unlikely. We won’t know much from the scene until the techs are done processing it. The first thing we do is get her info into NCIC. Then I say pull the cell records while they search the woods and see what those show us, plus we need actual statements from the husband and the kids who were here last night. Maybe talk to the neighbors across the road.”

“Well.” Madeline smiled, and Amy recognized genuine admiration in that rare smile. “They’re right. You are good. And you won’t be green for long. Let me get my tablet and we’ll get started.”

She walked away as Tick called for Troy Lee. The deputy excused himself, and Rob blew out a breath. “Do I sound as nervous as I am? I can’t screw this up, Amy.”

“You’re doing great.” She curved her palm into the spot between his belt and the ballistic vest he wore over his duty shirt. The warmth of him seeped into her palm. “Your dad would be proud.”

“You think? Maybe I learned a thing or two from him. Can’t you hear him?” A hint of pain darkened his eyes, but he smiled. He pitched his voice lower. “Robert, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck…”

“Unless it’s not a duck,” Amy finished with him. His low laugh rumbled between them, and she flexed her hand, enjoying this moment with him even in the seriousness of the situation. How long had it been since she’d heard that laugh?

Under her light touch, he stilled, the voices and chaos fading away as her awareness narrowed to simply the two of them in this moment. This—
this
—was what had been missing for so long.

“I know you miss him. He would be proud of you, Rob,” she whispered. “Like I am.”

His dimple flashed in a small, genuine smile before reality rushed back in. He shifted away as Madeline joined them and flipped open her tablet cover. “Okay, let’s see what we can get.”

While Madeline typed in a request to retrieve Zeke’s and Brittany’s cell-phone data, Rob settled in the driver’s seat of the Charger and pulled out his notebook and a card from his wallet. He swiped the card through the reader to access the unit’s laptop and launched the NCIC interface. Amy stood in the open doorway, her attention alternating between the search unfolding in the fields beyond and Rob entering Brittany and Emma Jenkins’s information.

“You want to go over with me to interview the neighbors?” He logged out of the laptop.

“Sure.”

As they walked down the drive and across the road, Rob cast glances over his shoulder at the trailer.

Amy tapped his arm. “What are you doing?”

“Estimating the distance between the houses.” He paused at the low steps before the small brick home. “It’s summer, and sound travels faster and farther at night. But still, she had to be screaming pretty loudly.”

He bounded up the steps and rapped on the screen door.

Amy squinted at the windows, screened but with the sashes raised. “There’s no air conditioner to interfere.”

A woman, her gray hair in a tight bun, appeared at the door. She eyed them with mingled suspicion and curiosity. “Yes?”

“Ma’am.” Rob nodded at her. “I’m Investigator Bennett with the sheriff’s department, and this is Agent Bennett with the GBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your neighbors.”

“They’re noisy, and that is one unhappy little girl.” The woman crossed her arms over her paisley shirtwaist dress.

“Emma?” Amy asked, and the woman fixed her with an arch look.

“Brittany.”

“Can I get your name, please?” Rob poised his pen over his notepad.

“Maureen Sutter.” She rattled off her address and phone number, leaving the impression she’d done this whole scenario before.

“I understand you called in a noise complaint last night?”

“Because I knew where all that was headed.” She pointed toward the trailer. “Whenever they get together with their friends, that little girl gets riled up. One day, someone is going to get hurt.”

If she hadn’t already been. Amy rested her foot on the bottom step. “Did you see anything this morning? Any visitors? Brittany around the house?”

“No.” She shook her head, arms still folded over her chest. “I heard Zeke’s truck when he left—that boy really needs a new muffler.”

“Do you remember what time that was?”

“Around six thirty.
Today in Georgia
was about half over. I heard it again when he came in around lunchtime, but nothing in between.”

“All right.” Rob extended his card. “If you think of anything, even if it seems minor, please give me a call.”

She examined the card, turned with a harrumph and walked inside.

“Well.” Rueful humor colored the word as Rob joined her at the bottom of the steps. “That was fruitful.”

They strode across the road. Rob spun his wedding band, a sure sign he was thinking hard. “Zeke Jenkins has what looks like fresh scratches on his neck.”

“I saw them when the crime-scene guys were swabbing his hands.” Amy tucked her hands in her back pockets. Behind her sunglasses, she squinted at the scene. Two more Chandler County units had joined those already parked along the drive. Beyond the trailer, figures moved in the field in a painstaking cross-search.

“His story feels legit, though. He doesn’t deny they argued, and everything he says squares with Troy Lee’s version. Plus, he’s consistent. Doesn’t matter what I ask or how I ask it, his story never changes. Do you know how rare that is?” Rob gestured toward the fields where Zeke had joined the searchers, although it appeared Tick Calvert had been careful to keep the young man separate from Brittany’s parents. “And he’s worried about the baby.”

Amy darted a look at him. “What makes you say that?”

“He had real fear in his eyes once he figured out that Brittany wasn’t with any of her friends and that meant not only was she gone, but so was his little girl. He’s not our guy.” The gold band made another circle around Rob’s finger. “He might not be the best husband in the world, but I can’t see him putting that baby at risk, either.”

“Last time I checked, being a bad husband wasn’t a crime.”

“Good thing. You could have Calvert put me under the jail.”

“Rob.” She reached out to catch his arm and drew him to a stop. He looked down at her, his green gaze troubled. “You have never been a bad husband. We’re just in a rough spot right now.”

“Hey, lovebirds.” Madeline approached, tablet in hand. Cheeks warm, Amy let her hand fall from his arm. “Zeke’s story seems to check out with the cell-phone pings. His has been bouncing off the closest tower all morning, so apparently he’s been in the vicinity, which fits with him working the fields.”

“And the neighbor says she heard him leave around six thirty and then come home at lunch.”

Madeline nodded. “Britt’s, of course, quit pinging this morning around eight thirty. I’m still trying to get the provider to send me their text and call records.”

“That can take days.” Amy feathered her bangs away from her face, the ends sticking to her skin. Any early-morning coolness was long gone, and the sun burned down.