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The door swung open, and Tucker marched in, plopping down on one of the chairs as if he’d been asked to join them. “Just talked to Mia. She filled me in on what you found.”
A low rumble vibrated from Lincoln’s chest. “What the hell? This isn’t a community project here, boys. It’s a police investigation. One that Cruz and I have the ability to handle.”
Chet worked his tongue over his top row of teeth, reigning in his temper. Snapping at Lincoln wouldn’t help his cause. “Consider us consultants. Ones who know the case and have insight you need. Will know about connections that could help you find a killer faster. This isn’t Nashville. You don’t have the same support here.”
Groaning, Lincoln shook his head. “Fine. I know Cruz is already filling you in. Might as well use it to my advantage.” Grabbing a tablet from the table, he swiped his finger across the screen. “The woman we identified this morning is Bonnie Preen. Age forty-seven. Reported missing eight months ago from a hiking trail in Kentucky.”
“The sonofabitch gets around,” Chet said. “That goes across state lines. Will the FBI want to be involved?”
Tucker tensed. “Maybe.”
Chet nodded. More help wasn’t a bad thing but involving the FBI could be hard on Tucker. Tucker’s experience with the FBI on the case that ended his career didn’t bring good memories. The case landed him in the hospital, injured Otto, and killed his close friend.
“They have a lot of resources we don’t have,” Cruz said. “My experience with them is if we play nice, so will they.”
Wanting to get back to Bonnie Preen, Chet asked, “Any connections between the new victims and the ones we’ve already found?”
“Not yet. But it’s early. We need to establish a pattern—create a profile,” Cruz said, standing and circling the table. “I want to read over all this. See if there’s anything you caught that’s not on my radar. That was missed from the notes at the station. Maybe that will give me a clear image of who we’re dealing with.”
Tucker cleared his throat, his stare distant and unreadable. “I might know someone who can help create a profile.”
His suggestion tugged at Chet’s heartstrings, and gratitude flowed through him. “You don’t have to do that.” Tucker was referencing Elizabeth. An ex-FBI profiler, and the widow of his old pal. “I appreciate the offer, but man…” He let his sentence run off, not wanting to expose Tucker’s past, and damnit, not being able to refuse his offer with any real sincerity.
Leaning forward, Tucker clapped a hand on Chet’s shoulder. “Whatever can help find this bastard. The least I can do is ask.” He smiled, but the wounds of his past shined in his blue eyes. Not even Tucker’s easy-going personality could camouflage the scars he kept buried.
Crossing his arms, Lincoln frowned. “Who are you talking about?”
“Elizabeth Gilmore,” Tucker said. “She worked for the FBI for years, one of their top profilers, before walking away.”
Lincoln raised his brows. “I know her. She’s good. You really think you could get her to work with us on this?”
Tucker lifted on shoulder. “If I can track her down, she just might.”
Chet wouldn’t hold his breath. He knew the long history between Tucker and Elizabeth. Chet wasn’t so sure Elizabeth would do any favors for Tucker. Even to help track down a serial killer.
10
Now that expectations had been met and notes looked through, the urge to act pushed Chet to his feet. Police investigations weren’t all action and drama like depicted on television and in movies. Usually, it took lots of research and way too much talking to track down leads.
One thing he was more than happy to have left behind. He liked getting his hands dirty. Digging in and seeing the desired outcome emerge from his hard work. Being the head of a small kitchen might be far from the police work he once loved so much, but nothing satisfied him more than seeing the fruits of his labor.
Something that wasn’t always the case when he had worked on the force.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked. He might have a few ideas of what the next moves should be, but he didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes. He sensed Lincoln wasn’t completely sold on letting him be a part of things, even if he said otherwise. Rocking the boat wasn’t a good idea. Better to follow along for now.
“Cruz will keep looking for connections among the victims. Tucker, can you let him know if you get ahold of Elizabeth? He can coordinate with her if she agrees to help.”
Nodding, Tucker rose. “Can do. I’ll see if I can get her on the phone. I still have her number but that doesn’t mean she’ll answer.”
“Thanks, man.” Chet watched his friend leave the room before focusing on Lincoln.
“I’ll send the photo to the lab for prints. So far, we’ve struck out on that end, but if this fell out of the guy’s pocket, he might have slipped up and left some evidence on it.” Lincoln shuffled Chet’s work into a neat pile before shoving it back in the file. “I want to take a closer look at the ropes tied on your tree.”
“You think you can trace them?” Chet asked. He’d been so thrown by the ominous threat swinging from the trees the night before, he’d never thought they could be used to find the killer. Rope could be bought anywhere.
“I’m gonna try,” Lincoln said. “Figure I can head to the trading post. The guy who runs it might be able to give me some details. If we’re lucky, someone messed up. Used material we can trace back to who bought it.”
“Let me go with you. I’ve known Eddy since we were kids. I’m close to his uncle, who owned the store before him.”
