Her Dying Breath (8 page)

“Feldon didn’t bother to see if the man checked out?” Nick asked.

Jake shrugged. “He said the only vehicles in the parking lot were his and the RV, so he assumed Logger had left.”

Nick made a low sound in his throat. “Not a very observant guy.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Jake said. “I asked about business—if Logger had been here before—but he said no. He claims business was slow, that it usually picks up mid-March.”

“I wonder if the killer knew that,” Nick said.

Jake shrugged. “Could be, especially if she’s from around here.”

“Brenda suggested the killer could be a man.”

Jake raised a brow. “I suppose, but my bet is on a female.”

Dr. Bullock cleared his throat. “I found some fibers in the man’s throat. Probably from a rag or whatever the killer used to muffle the man’s cries for help.”

Nick and Jake both walked over to examine the fibers, but it was impossible to tell the source. “Looks like satin,” Nick said.

Jake nodded. “Maybe a scarf that belonged to the killer.”

“Or satin underwear,” Nick suggested. “Bag them. If you can identify where they came from, it might help with the case.”

Maddison carried an evidence bag over to the ME to collect the samples.

Nick confiscated the Do Not Disturb Sign and gave it to the analyst. “Maybe the killer hung this on the door before she or he got down to business, and you can lift some prints from it.”

Jake’s phone buzzed, and he punched connect. “Yeah. Okay, good. Stay there with her. I’ll be there soon.”

“Did Sadie find Amelia?” Nick asked as Jake ended the call.

“Yeah, she’s back in her condo.”

“Where was she?”

“She wouldn’t tell Sadie,” Jake said. “She said she was tired and just wanted to sleep. Sadie’s trying to give her some leeway, to prove she trusts her.”

Nick hated to consider Amelia as a suspect, but she had mental problems. According to Jake, one of her alter personalities, Viola, was promiscuous. Another personality, Skid, was violent. The combination could be volatile.

“You still need to find out where she was,” Nick said. “What if Viola took a lover, then Skid emerged and killed him?”

Jake’s gaze met his, tension thrumming between them. “I know, but Sadie will be upset. Amelia has made progress in merging the personalities.”

“But she could have suffered a setback,” Nick said. “Maybe she saw the news story and snapped.”

A mixture of emotions tightened Jake’s face. Then he sighed, resigned. “Don’t worry. I’ll question her.”

“Okay—I’ll see if Logger has family or friends. We need to find out everything we can about him.” Nick addressed the crime team. “Copy me and the sheriff on your findings. And let me know asap about the prints and DNA results.”

Maddison agreed, and Nick left Jake to monitor the crime scene. He needed to talk to Brenda and to trace that text.

Determining its source might be the best chance they had to track down the killer.

Brenda gestured for Louis to capture the medics transporting the dead body to the ambulance.

The teens who’d first arrived protested as Deputy Waterstone ordered them to stay behind the line. “It’s a free country, man. You can’t make us go.”

“I can arrest you for interfering at a crime scene,” the deputy said.

“We’re not interfering,” one of the boys shouted.

“Let me see your IDs.” The boys argued at first, but the deputy took them and made a note of their names and contact information.

For a moment, Brenda wondered if he suspected the boys of the murder, although after seeing the body, she didn’t think they fit the profile of the killer. Still, killers often return to the scene of the crime to watch the investigation. She searched the crowd, then used her phone to take random shots of the crowd in the parking lot.

Louis photographed the deputy and the group, then followed Brenda to question the ME. “Dr. Bullock, can you confirm the cause of death?”

Bullock’s eyes narrowed below the rims of his glasses. “Not at this time. When I’m finished with the autopsy, I’ll release the results to the police.”

“Thank you, Dr. Bullock.” She turned to the camera as the doctor climbed in his car. “As I stated earlier, we will bring you more on this late-breaking story as more information becomes available.”

Nick exited the motel room and walked toward her while Jake remained inside with the crime team.

She braced herself for a battle.

“The crime unit is finishing processing the scene,” he said when he joined her. “I need to trace that text.”

“Of course.” Brenda removed her phone from her purse. “As long as I get my phone back.”

“Actually, I don’t need the phone. I can use your number from my caller history. But I figured I’d get your permission.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks. I’ll get a warrant for the wireless provider, and then we’re set.”

“I texted the caller back, but she didn’t respond,” Brenda said.

“Keep trying. And let me know if you receive any more communication from her.”

“Of course,” Brenda said. “You know, Nick, it’s not like I asked for this. The killer chose me.”

Nick’s dark eyes flashed with annoyance. “Maybe you did ask for it,” he said gruffly. “You dogged Jake to report this case from the beginning.”

Brenda’s heart thumped at the intensity in his expression. She had tried to persuade Sadie to talk to her about her grandfather’s murder, but that was because she’d wanted to help her and her sister. Maybe she’d wanted to atone for her less than stellar
behavior in high school. She’d had her own problems back then. She’d been upset over finding out that she was adopted, insecure, but that didn’t excuse her rudeness.

She couldn’t share any of those feelings with Nick, though. “Yes, I did,” she said. “If I hadn’t pursued the story, someone else would have. And they might not have been as easy on Jake as I was.”

“Because you’re still in love with him,” Nick said sharply.

Brenda sucked in a breath. “That’s not true.” In fact, she’d never really been in love with Jake. She’d dated him to fit in, at a time when she felt out of place.

Nick grunted. “Not that it matters to me, but you know he loves Sadie.”

Of course it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t feel anything for her. So why did it hurt so much? “Nick, I wrote the story the way I saw it,” Brenda said. “What your father did wasn’t Jake’s fault or yours.”

He licked his lips, drawing her gaze to his mouth. She chided herself for reacting, but forced herself not to look away.

“Not unless you knew what your father was doing.”

Nick glared at her. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “But I’m a good listener.”

He cursed. “Yeah, you’ll listen, then plaster my personal thoughts all over the fucking television.”

“No, Nick, that’s not what I meant—”

“Just stay out of my way,” Nick snapped. “And keep your end of the deal.”

Brenda started to assure him she would, but he stalked toward his car without giving her time to reply.

Frustrated, but knowing she’d gleaned all the information she could from him, she motioned to Louis to wrap it up.

Maybe Nick would have some luck with the trace. Meanwhile, she’d try again to open up communication with the killer. Jordan Jennings, the weather girl who’d wanted Brenda’s job, would kill to have this lead.

Brenda didn’t intend to waste it.

Her thumbs quickly typed another text:
Call me and tell me your story.

Maybe she’d arrange a meeting with the killer.

It would be dangerous, but it would be worth it if she uncovered her identity.

Nick fumed as he drove back to his cabin. Damn Brenda Banks.

She was persistent, so pushy that if she were a man, he’d have slugged her for digging into his personal life.

There was no way he would discuss his feelings or past with her or anyone else. Did she really think that he and Jake had known what their father was doing?

It was too late to go to the TBI office, but he’d installed a state-of-the-art computer system linked to their national database at his cabin, so he could do some research tonight.

He wound around the mountain, then turned onto the road to his cabin, grateful he’d found a place close to town but also tucked into the woods for privacy. A small group of cabins had been built on Slaughter Creek years ago, but the builder had nestled them into the trees and situated them miles apart for seclusion.

He parked, crickets chirping as he walked up to his door. Instincts always on alert, he scanned the perimeter and woods beyond for an attacker, but barring the sound of an animal skittering in the bushes, everything seemed quiet.

Forcing thoughts of Brenda from his mind, he let himself inside and flipped on the light. A profiler would have a field day with his obsessive-compulsiveness, the way he kept everything in perfect order. They’d say it was his military training, but Arthur Blackwood had beaten it into him long before he joined the service.

He went to the kitchen and poured a shot of whiskey, then sat down at his office nook and booted up his computer. Scanning in the picture he’d taken of the dead man, he input the name Jim Logger and sipped his drink while the computer program searched its databases.

Brenda’s face kept flashing in his head, making his body tighten with agitation…and something else. Lust.

He could not be attracted to that woman. She was infuriating and nosy and…her scent had invaded his pores.

Fuck.

He took another sip of his whiskey and stood, needed to expel his frustration. His phone beeped. Jake.

“Hey, brother, what’s up?”

“Logger drove a ’ninety-six black Jeep. My deputy found it abandoned out on Bogger Hollow Road.”

Nick perked up. “Anything in the Jeep?”

“I’ve gone over it myself. Just an old coat of Logger’s, pair of work gloves, tool kit. Nothing that looked as if it belonged to a woman.”

“How about prints?”

“The Jeep was wiped clean.”

Nick cursed. “She’s covering her tracks.”

“Yeah, looks like it.” Jake paused. “Oh, and I talked to the crime lab about that piano wire. Apparently you can order it online through dozens of websites. And Home Depot carries an almost identical wire that’s cheaper. I checked with the stores in Nashville and Knoxville, but they had no big orders for it.”

“Our unsub probably paid cash for it anyway.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck where it was stiff as he hung up. A second later, the computer dinged, and he glanced at the screen and saw Jim Logger’s name appear, along with a photograph.

Logger’s military photo. He slid into the chair and scrolled down. Logger had spent four years in the marines before receiving a medical discharge.

After his release, he went to rehab for a gunshot wound and physical therapy for an injury to his leg. Notations also indicated he suffered from PTSD.

Logger hadn’t worked for two years, but a few months back he’d taken a job at a security agency.

Questions mounted in Nick’s mind.

How could a tough marine, a man adept at security measures, have ended up dead in a cheap motel?

Several scenarios raced through his mind.

One—the killer had lured Logger into trusting her because he knew her. She’d obviously seduced him, so he didn’t sense the impending danger.

Two—he’d been forced at gunpoint to submit to being tied up.

Three—the killer had an accomplice who aided in restraining Logger.

But the most likely scenario was that Logger had met up with a lover, expecting a hot night of sex. After all, Logger had checked into the motel and paid for the room. No one had been seen with him, not a woman or a gunman, when he’d reserved it.

He studied Logger’s profile. Six-four, 230 pounds.

A big guy with military training would be difficult to subdue.

“Who killed you, Logger?” he murmured.

He skimmed the man’s personal information, searching for family. According to records, he had married five years ago and divorced six months ago. No other living family.

It was too late to visit the wife tonight, or search Logger’s apartment, but tomorrow he would. Besides, he wanted the ME’s report before he questioned the ex.