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“Agent Brody believes she was killed because of a negative character statement she gave against a man named Chris Ellingson during the investigation into the two murdered boys.” Boucher folded his arms across his chest as though expecting Leigh to argue. “Ellingson was once a primary suspect, but detectives soon turned their attention to Joel Brody after one of the victims was discovered in the crawl space beneath Brody’s home. His son.”
Any warmth she and Boucher had shared up until now evaporated. The urge to defend herself exploded behind her rib cage, but emotion had no place in a case like this. One slip. That was all it would take for Livingstone to ban her from consulting, but her suspicion hadn’t been built on nothing. “It’s common knowledge Michelle Cross’s statement ended Ellingson’s career. We also can’t forget Ellingson was originally suspected because he had a habit of gifting toy soldiers similar to the ones found on the victims’ bodies to his students. In fact, I’m willing to bet the soldier we found this morning is the same toy Ellingson gifted Michelle when she’d been one of his clients. He’s far more intelligent than police gave him credit for during the original investigation, and I believe he had the means, motive, and opportunity to get revenge on the woman he blamed for ruining his life. He also moved back to the area three months ago, so the timing fits.”
“Common knowledge isn’t evidence, Agen’ Brody, even if there does seem to be a connection.” Cold assessment froze Director Livingstone’s expression in place. She settled back against the nearest table. “I take it you questioned Chris Ellingson. Did he give you any reason to suspect he was involved in Gresham Schmidt’s or Michelle Cross’s deaths?”
“No, ma’am.” Leigh searched Boucher’s expression for support, but she wouldn’t find it. From his perspective, she hadn’t earned it. Not yet. “He gave us an alibi.”
“Then your next step is to verify that alibi so we can get a clearer picture of Ellingson’s movements in the past two weeks.” Livingstone’s heels caught on fibers from the industrial carpet as she rounded to the front of the room. “Until then, we look at the evidence. I’ve got two patrol officers dispatched to seal off Michelle Cross’s home and vehicle and to interview her neighbors. Boucher, I want you there to oversee the search. Get me a list of her friends, family, and coworkers. I want to know what was going on in her life, if she was having any problems, or if she had anyone new coming around. Killers like this don’t choose their victims randomly. He would’ve gotten up close and personal with his target over the past several weeks or months.”
“You got it.” Boucher didn’t bother with a goodbye as he headed for the door.
Leigh moved to follow.
“Agen’ Brody, a moment.” Livingstone nodded for Leigh to take a seat at the table directly in front of her. Reed busied himself with a laptop set up a few rows back, just beyond her peripheral vision. “I’m aware of your efforts to prove your father’s innocence for the deaths of your brother and Derek Garrison after his arrest.”
She didn’t know what to say, what to think. “I was seventeen. I?—”
“I’m also aware this case is personal for you. Not only did you lose your brother to violence, but you lost your father. It was just two years later your mother took her life, is that right?” Livingstone shifted away from the podium, revealing the large Lebanon PD emblem on the front. She already knew the answer. “I brought you in to consult on this investigation because I believe Gresham Schmidt and Michelle Cross are connected to what happened to your family and this town, and no one, not even the detectives themselves, is as knowledgeable with that case than you are.”
Leigh had learned how to read people long before she’d applied to the bureau as a criminologist. It’d started as a survival technique, a way to get through high school but had since proved valuable in her work during her time with Concord PD, consulting with other agencies, and with CJIS. Reed’s attention pressed at the base of her neck, but she refused to turn around. “You’re worried I’m too close to this case, that I’ll let emotion get the best of me.”
“Will you?” Perfectly manicured eyebrows arched higher up the director’s forehead.
The walls of this station—this mausoleum containing a large chunk of the life she’d refused to take with her—started closing in. They crushed the defenses she’d built in Clarksburg. Until there was nothing left but the truth. Leigh slid her hand into her blazer pocket and set her brother’s toy soldier on the table between them. The plastic had lost its shape in places, but there was no doubt in her mind Director Livingstone recognized it for what it was.
Reed made his way forward. “Is that?—”
“The toy soldier left on my brother’s body.” The past threatened to overwhelm the present and resurrect the demons she’d run from, but as long as she kept hold of this small totem, she was safe. Ridiculous, really. It didn’t have any special powers. This police station couldn’t hurt her either, but the deformed infantryman had guided her. To Concord after high school, to leaving law enforcement after her mother had died and spending the next few years learning everything she could about killers like the one who’d murdered her brother. She’d known she’d end up back here, but having a memento of Troy’s had given her the courage to face it all over again.
Leigh ground the base of the soldier into the table. “It was a gift from Chris Ellingson during one of their appointments. Detectives weren’t convinced his killer had left it on purpose because Troy never went anywhere without it, but I knew the moment I saw it. The placement was too perfect.” She studied the bent tip of the soldier’s rifle. One day it would break. One day it wouldn’t give her the comfort she relied on.
“It’s untraceable. There are millions of this exact model in the world, making it impossible to narrow it down to a single transaction. I can’t prove where it came from, but to answer your question, yes.” She rubbed her thumb against the small green figure. “This case cuts close to home. It will get the best of me. It will spark my emotions to the point I may see connections that don’t make sense to anyone but me, but that isn’t going to stop me from finding whoever murdered Michelle Cross and Gresham Schmidt.”
Leigh slid her brother’s toy soldier toward the director. Her insides coiled at the thought of letting it go, but canvassing had yet to produce any answers and Chris Ellingson would fight to the death to get away with murder. Surrendering the one thing connecting her to her brother was the only lead they had. A hollowness spread through her. “Take it. Reed can test it against the soldiers recovered with the victims’ bodies. Derek Garrison’s might still be in evidence here. If we can prove they come from the same set, maybe we can finally get some answers.”
Reed collected the soldier with an evidence bag in hand and sealed it inside. “I’ll take the smallest sample I can.”
“This would’ve been considered evidence during the investigation, same as the soldiers we recovered from these latest scenes.” Director Livingstone lowered her voice. “The original incident report stated your father was the one who found the body beneath your family home, but that was a lie, wasn’t it?”
The small muscles in Leigh’s jaw ached under the pressure of her back teeth. Leigh forced herself to meet the director’s gaze. She reached for the control she’d let slip these past few minutes and stood. “As you said, Director. I’ve got an alibi to verify. I’ll be sure to keep you apprised of any updates.”
She didn’t wait for an answer and headed for the door.
FIVE
Lebanon, New Hampshire
Thursday, March 11
5:00 p.m.
Home, sweet home.
Leigh pulled her rental into the descending driveway of the last house on Guyer Street that’d once been her entire world. Light blue siding and white trim had weathered more than she’d expected, but that was nothing compared to the graffiti spray-painted across the boards protecting the windows.
Murderer.
No matter where she looked, the vulgarities followed. She could get a hotel room. She could turn around, drive farther into town, and never set foot on this property again, but the truth would follow. There wasn’t going to be a homecoming. No parades. No potlucks from the neighbors or “Welcome homes”. Just… this.
