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“Ms. Brody, this is Lebanon Fire Marshal Sam Hoover,” the caller said. “I wanted to give you an update of the incident at your home.”
Incident. More like attempted murder.
“Right.” She scrubbed her fingers into one eye, trying to get a clear picture of his face but failed. She hadn’t actually met him. It’d been Chandler Reed who’d talked to the marshal. “Have you found anything that confirms my statement about an intruder?”
“Well, we’ve identified gasoline as the accelerant used, and based off the fact there’s no insurance to claim for you burning down your own house, I think it’s safe to say you’re cleared of any fault.” Low voices penetrated through the line from the marshal’s end. “That being said, we did recover a blood trail leading into the woods behind your property. Fresh, too. The crime lab is running it for DNA as we speak.”
“That’s great news.” Her mind tumbled end over end with the potential results. Lebanon PD officers were required to submit DNA and fingerprints during the hiring process. Donavon Pierce wouldn’t be able to hide behind that mask if the results came back a match. “Thank you for keeping me in the loop.”
“My pleasure. Have a good night.” The fire marshal ended the call.
The night was looking up.
Leigh tossed her phone on the bed, slipped her index finger beneath the single line of Scotch tape securing the brown wrapping around the box, and tore it free. A rainbow of colors peeked through the opening, lit by the dim lamp on the bedside table. Shucking the packaging, she flipped the box over. Chris Ellingson had given her a box of Legos, as she suspected.
But now she knew.
He’d been watching her, studying her, following her, learning her habits.
It wasn’t enough he’d taken her brother and her dad, or that he was the reason her mother had given up on this life. He’d set out to systematically destroy her entire family. Including her. That took patience, resources, and hunting skills. She turned the box to read the title of the set. “Everyone is Awesome. Yeah. Sure they are.”
She didn’t have the mental capacity to put the set together. She needed to change the dressings on her wounds, get a good shower, down a granola bar, and chase a full night of sleep. She could deal with whatever game Ellingson was playing in the morning before she and Boucher set themselves up for disappointment all over again. Tossing the box, she tried not to let the sound of plastic bricks knocking together soothe her nerves as she headed for the bathroom, but damn it, it did. The promise of something familiar and quiet and focused in the middle of a case that was pulling her in too many directions called to her at a deep, cellular level.
Leigh gripped the bathroom doorframe. Chris Ellingson knew her well, but she guessed that was the point. Knowing a target allowed you to predict their behavior, learn what they cared about most, and more importantly, who they trusted. Everything he would’ve utilized against her brother and Derek Garrison. “You asshole.”
She grabbed the box and brought it to the desk shoved up against the wall between hers and Boucher’s rooms. Twisting it end up, she caught sight of the small circle of tape that’d already been cut. Hesitation nearly pried her curiosity from her, but she’d already started chasing the pleasure that came with shutting off her brain. Ellingson had opened the box. Only one way of finding out why.
Bricks tumbled onto the desk and spread out in an array of bright colors. Not a single plastic bag in sight, but Chris Ellingson didn’t strike her as an environmentalist. Legos were usually grouped together to make certain elements easier to assemble. He obviously wasn’t interested in making her life easier. Leigh made quick work of piling the twelve people figures together. Her inhales were steadier already, the bite of straight plastic corners familiar against her fingertips. Shame and a fiery dose of embarrassment she’d given in so quickly took a backseat to the silence in her head.
It was a distraction. She knew that. If Ellingson had studied her as thoroughly as evidenced by his gift, then he’d know she wouldn’t have given up on uncovering where he’d been hiding all these years. After all, he’d practically challenged her to do exactly that, knowing she’d need a warrant for his financials, credit, and phone records. And without cause, she was dead in the water. She could, however, use her federal influence to look into crimes already committed. Her request for the Fruitland missing persons case would take a couple days to ensure she wasn’t raising any red flags. All she needed was one look. Until then, she’d play Ellingson’s game. And wait for him to bury himself.
Within minutes, she’d assembled the platform the people figures would stand on. A rounded stage with a vertical rainbow backdrop of color. The set itself paid homage to the LGBTQ+ community with its varying spectrum, meant to garner appreciation of the differences between each figure. Eleven colors ranged from black to hot pink in streaks with one figure drenched in the matching color from head to toe. Every figure in its place.
But there’d been twelve figures in the box.
Leigh grabbed the instructions. She picked the last man off his face and turned him toward her. This figure had been added. He’d blended in with head-to-toe black. Same drench of color, same hairstyle, but there was something different. She rubbed her thumb across the front of the figure’s chest. The plastic had been gouged close to where his heart would’ve been. Setting him under the desk lamp, she tried to make out the shape.
A heart?
No. Too narrow, and the sides weren’t rounded enough.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
She’d seen that shape before.
Pinned to every Lebanon PD officer’s chest while on duty.
A police badge.
Leigh sank back into her chair. The color of the figure, the carving in its chest. Chris Ellingson had added it for a reason. As a message. It didn’t take much for her brain to connect the dots, even as exhausted as she was. She had no doubt in her mind Officer Donavon Pierce had graffitied her garage and shoved her down that hill, that he’d been the one in her home the night it’d burned to the ground, almost taking her with it.
But did that make him a killer?
Did his hatred of her, her family, and what’d happened twenty years ago fit with what they knew about the unsub who’d murdered three victims in cold blood?
She needed to talk to Hailey Pierce again. Get a sense of Officer Pierce’s habits, schedule, interests. Her instincts said a home visit wouldn’t just piss off the man she suspected of burning her house to the ground but, given what little she knew of Pierce, that his wife would be the one to pay for it. She’d have to time another visit to the Coffee Garage. Without Boucher.
Chandler Reed had failed to find anything of use in Gresham Schmidt’s hotel room. Cleaned. Just like the other scenes. Phone GPS had become worthless after learning the former detective’s cell had been turned off the day of his disappearance. The manufacturer was notorious for shooting down subpoenas for access to the device. They could try to guess Schmidt’s passcode, but three wrong attempts would lock them out of the phone altogether, and phone records hadn’t given them any evidence he and Michelle Cross had been in contact. All they had was an old family photo.
