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7:00 a.m.
Leigh had spent the night scouring through past abduction cases and missing persons reports with nothing to show for it once she’d secured the broken bedroom window. If Chris Ellingson had fed his deadly addiction after he’d left Lebanon, the scope of crimes was too broad for her to pinpoint him in a sea of attention-starved killers. Without probable cause, she’d need Director Livingstone’s approval to request a warrant for his phone records and financials to pinpoint where he’d been hiding and confirm his alibi. That wasn’t happening unless she uncovered solid evidence.
As far as the Behavioral Analysis Unit and Lebanon PD were concerned, the investigation into the murder of two boys had been closed with the arrest of her father. Michelle Cross’s and Gresham Schmidt’s deaths was an entirely separate case.
Still, the way Chris Ellingson had confronted her last night, how he’d offered to help with the investigation as he’d claimed he had during Troy’s and Derek Garrison’s… He was hiding something. She could feel it, but feelings didn’t convict. Evidence did.
Her phone lit up from the cup holder in the middle console of her rental. She hadn’t bothered saving the number into her phone, but she’d seen it enough times to know who was on the other line. Her uterus cramped as though sensing what was coming if she picked up. It would keep going like this. Missed calls. Voicemails. Phone tag. Her doctor’s office might physically track her down next. “Shit.”
Leigh grabbed for the phone and swiped to answer. “This is Leigh Brody.”
“Leigh, hi. I wasn’t sure you were going to answer. This is Elyse calling from Dr. Wilson’s office,” a too-bright voice said. Details of the woman’s face bled into focus with every cheery word. They’d met once before. During Leigh’s physical. At the time, she hadn’t noticed much about the woman in the corner taking notes on her tablet while the doctor had her go over her medical history before the big show, but Leigh had caught the glimpse of a small offering of a smile at hearing the latest symptoms. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a few days about the results of your ultrasound.”
More than a few. Leigh scrubbed at the tiredness in her eyes. Sleep was never a priority when she was in the middle of an investigation. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m on assignment. Haven’t really gotten the chance to return calls.”
“Well, I’m glad I caught you,” Elyse said. “Unfortunately, it’s not good news.”
The shapes outside her car windows distorted as rain started to peck at the glass. Or was it the lack of oxygen from holding her breath? “It’s back.”
The words barely scratched the edges of her throat, but Elyse had somehow been able to hear them through the line.
“We believe so. The radiologist who reviewed your ultrasound discovered a series of small masses in the endometrium layer in your uterus. Thankfully, it doesn’t look as though it has metastasized.” Thankfully. Elyse was trying to hold on to that bubbly quality of her voice. To stay positive. But it was strained. Leigh could hear it in the way she over-pronounced her Ss. “We’re still waiting on the results of your Pap smear, but considering your history, I wanted to reach out and let you know about your options and what Dr. Wilson suggests should happen next.”
Surgery. Radiation. Chemo. Medications. She’d already been through this once before. She had the scars from countless blisters to prove it. It was supposed to be enough. Her mouth dried at the thought of going through all of that again. The fatigue, the nausea, the hours spent scratching every inch of her skin until it bled. “I already know my options.”
“Okay. Well, because you’ve been through radiation treatment once before, and the cancer hasn’t spread outside of your uterus, Dr. Wilson suggests we move on to surgery.” That last word hung there for a series of moments.
“You want to take my uterus.” Air stalled in her chest. The scene through the windshield darkened with a pre-spring storm moving in, as though sensing the clouds stirring within. Her entire life had been put on hold the moment she’d found Troy’s body beneath her home. School had been necessary to get out of Lebanon, but things like friends, staying in touch with aunts and cousins and grandparents, dating, having a family had been buried at the back of her mind in a box meant to be opened one day. As small of a chance she’d ever have the space in her life for more than a twenty-year-old murder, she still wanted those things. All of those things. “No. That’s not… That’s not an option for me. I’m not having a hysterectomy.”
Elyse seemed to struggle then. “Leigh, I understand?—”
“I don’t think you do, and I have to go.” She ended the call and tossed her cell into the passenger seat to get it as far from her as possible. It lit up again. Same number. Same caller. But she wasn’t answering this time. She had a job to do.
Leigh left her cell in the car and hiked the long gravel driveway toward a boxy, two-story house surrounded by thick forest devoid of its leaves this early in the year. Rolling thunder rumbled from a few miles away, but the pickup of wind said the storm would be on top of them soon. Patrol cars angled to block access to the scene while Lebanon PD searched the property and home. A waist-high chain-link fence sectioned off less than half an acre around the house in an expanse of open grass. Coffee warmed both of her hands. A failing attempt to counter encroaching gray skies and dropping temperatures. Uniformed officers had been posted as scene security, and her stomach dropped as recognition flared at the one closest to the gate. “Officer Pierce. I don’t suppose we can skip the harassment this morning and pretend you don’t know who I am.”
The patrol officer didn’t respond, shoving the corner of the clipboard into her chest.
She dropped one of the coffees trying to keep the board from falling. The lid broke free and hot liquid splashed across the bottom of her slacks and into her shoes. Great. Frustration and an equal amount of resentment tightened her hand around the clipboard. The coffee was sliding between her toes. She’d literally have to dump them out before stepping into the house so as not to contaminate a potential crime scene. Leigh signed her name, the time, and the date then handed back the clipboard with a maturity her father would’ve been proud of. Her mother, on the other hand, would’ve expected her to put those schoolyard boxing lessons to good use for once. “I’ll be sure to send you my dry-cleaning bill for that.”
She didn’t wait for a response and passed through the chain-link gate. Draining the coffee from her low heels as Officer Pierce watched on, she stretched a set of booties over her feet and crossed the threshold into Michelle Cross’s home. She’d have to live with coffee-soaked hems. Lebanon PD had been on the scene since last night, but, barred from turning on lights and bringing more equipment into the too-small house, Lieutenant Boucher had restarted the search early this morning.
An officer circled around the dining table off to her right, dusting for latent prints with a fanned white brush and a camera strapped around his neck while another uniform set up a path for investigators to follow into the home to minimize compromises to the scene.
“Watch your step, Brody.” Boucher ran a gloved hand over a collection of books stacked on top of one another in the living room to her right.
Worn, sparse furniture. Minimal decor. No signs Michelle Cross lived with a significant other or roommate. Too clean for someone who’d grown up in the house all her life, apart from the stack of books and a single glass left on the kitchen counter at the back of the house. The space felt as though it’d been stripped bare. Purged of memories and anything else that might tell a story.
The lieutenant straightened fully. “You know your pants are soaked, right?”
“You should be a detective.” She shouldn’t have brought in the second cup of coffee. While studying crime scenes and criminal behavior had consumed her life since she’d left this town, she hadn’t physically stepped foot onto a scene until yesterday. Not even while she’d been with Concord PD. There’d been no need as a rookie responding to domestic disturbance calls and writing speeding tickets. Homicide had been for the big boys, and her consultations for departments across the country had focused on predicting criminal behavior, never one requiring her to visit a scene. She was out of her depth here, and it showed. “Figured you could use this, but now I’m realizing I probably shouldn’t have brought it in here.”
He crossed into the entryway and took the to-go cup, downing the entire serving before handing it back empty. “Appreciate it. Lucky for you, there’s not much to contaminate. Place has been cleaned.”
“Cleaned?” Leigh surveyed everything in her limited view of the home. The hardwood floors had seen better days, but they did look freshly mopped, and the officer processing prints at the dining table seemed to be coming up empty. She hadn’t heard his camera click since she’d come into the room. Most people didn’t live like this, and unless Michelle Cross had been planning on being murdered early yesterday morning, she’d bet someone else had cleaned up. “When?”
“Hell if I know.” Boucher made a note on a small notebook from his breast pocket. “We’ve got no fingerprints. No garbage to go through. No landline or answering machine. Same with the car. We found chargers for a cell phone and a laptop, but both devices are missing. Everything’s been wiped down. Shit, even the garbage disposal smells of bleach.”
“What about the background check?” Leigh followed the outline of markers toward the back of the house. The kitchen was as she’d expected. Tiled countertops with grout that’d once been white, linoleum peeling up at one side of the room, cabinet doors hanging from hinges. Just like any other kitchen in this town, including the one she’d grown up learning how to cook in.
