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Dipping his head in a silent greeting, he stepped into the gentle hum of the main section of the station. Where desks scattered along the tanned, carpeted floor. He scanned the open space, spotting Cruz in one of only two offices squeezed inside the station, a phone pressed against his ear and fatigue written on every line of his face.
Chet halted outside the open door, not wanting to interrupt Cruz’s conversation.
Cruz waved him inside and pointed a finger at one of two chairs on the opposite side of the desk then mouthed, ‘Close the door’.
Chet complied then plopped into the empty chair. He rested his elbow on the arm then let his head fall into his hand. He closed his eyes, needing a second to pull himself together while also listening in to Cruz’s call, hoping to hear something of interest.
“How ya holding up, man?”
Chet opened his eyes to find Cruz staring at him, the receiver nestled into the old-fashioned phone at the corner of his desk. He scrubbed his palms over his cheeks. “Shit. I think I just fell asleep.”
“Feel free to take a nap.” Cruz grabbed a manilla file from the top of his closed laptop and flipped it open. “But I have a feeling you’ll want to see this.” Slipping a paper from the file, he passed it over the oak desk.
Leaning forward, Chet snatched the paper and studied an image of a young woman with long blond hair and a warm smile. “This is the girl from the grave.” The skin tone was lighter and the blue of her wide-set eyes more vivid, but there was no mistaking who he was looking at.
“Janie Simpson. Reported missing two days ago. From Knoxville. Does she look familiar to you at all?”
The unexpected question knocked him off balance and took him right back to three years before when police threw more than one curveball his way as they searched for Laurie and Riley’s killer. At the time of their deaths, only one other branded victim had been found. Shelly Preston. Investigators had searched for any possible connections between his family and the unlucky woman who’d been murdered two weeks before his living nightmare began.
“No.” He laid the photo back on the desk. “Have you learned much about her?”
Cruz shook his head. “Just ID’d her this morning. I talked to her family earlier. Damn, that was brutal.”
Unwanted memories assaulted Chet. He couldn’t go back to that place—to that time. Back to notifications and autopsy reports. Only to remember every excruciating detail after he’d been released from the hospital, forced to replay every second in his mind. Forced to wonder if he’d done something different, made a different choice or fought harder, if he could have saved his family.
But he had to go back to it. Had to remember it all and replay it over and over if he was going to help find the bastard responsible for taking so many lives, leaving countless others beyond repair.
“How long was she in the grave?”
“Not long,” Cruz said. “The crime scene unit is guessing an hour tops, possibly less. She hadn’t been dead long.”
A flash of alarm straightened his spine. “Could he have seen Mia?”
“It’s possible. We searched every inch of terrain we could yesterday, and another team is out there right now before the rain hits. No trace of whoever dug that grave. The only thing we know is it was fresh. If Mia had started her hike earlier, she may have stumbled upon something much scarier than a hand.”
“He might have heard her coming. Spooked him into running and leaving a half-ass job. There’s a reason those other graves hadn’t been found until now. Without Mia interrupting something, this grave could have faded into the unknown like the others.”
Cruz shrugged. “It’s possible, but no proof as of now to confirm anything.”
Chet threaded his fingers through his beard, running scenarios through is head. “How did he get the body up there? I was sitting on the porch and would have seen if anyone had driven up the lane. It’s private property. No parking lots or side streets to park on. And why would the killer bury the body first thing in the morning and not at night? He’d obviously been in the area before, doing the same despicable thing. He could have navigated the area at night.”
“He might have panicked,” Cruz said, tapping his finger on the edge of the desk. “Plans might have been screwed up. This is the first time we’ve got a whiff of this asshole since he vanished three years ago. He made a mistake when he left you alive in that house, and now he’s made another one. This time, we will find him.”
“Any idea how he found his victim?” Chet asked.
“Looks like he snatched her after one of her night classes. She was a student at Highpoint Community College.”
A wave of dizziness sent his senses spinning, and he gripped the arms of the chair to center himself. “Professor Lipton.”
“Doesn’t mean anything.” Cruz held up a hand, a deep frown squaring off his jaw. “Just because it’s the same college.”
Anger and frustration shot Chet to his feet. “Are you kidding me? He was the last person to see my wife before she went missing. The last person she talked to. He was always inappropriate, never hid his interest in her. He told her to drop that stupid paper off in his office, after hours, and she took Riley with her. Then poof.” He flicked his fingers in the air, mimicking an exploding bomb. “Gone until he brought them back to that damn house.”
He’d been nothing but supportive and proud as hell when Laurie decided to go back to school for her masters. Teaching was her passion, and if furthering her education would set her career up for a better future, he was more than happy to help in any way he could. Never would he have imagined her fateful encounter with one of her professors would rip his family apart.
The police might not have proven Professor Lipton was the killer, but no other suspect came close to drawing the same suspicion. Having the same red flags.
“Did Janie Simpson have a class with the good professor?” The last words were spat out on a wave of venom and sarcasm.
