It was difficult to reconcile the image of a doting pet owner with the killer who’d mutilated Trish’s body. And the others.
“Reynolds!” Hunter called. “He’s pulling hard toward that house.” He pointed at the tidy little ranch-style house with roses climbing up one side.
Gideon looked up ahead and for a second could only stare. Because smoke began to billow into the air. Oh God. “The one on fire?”
Hunter’s eyes widened at the smoke rising from the house. “Shit.” He opened the backseat of the SUV and the dog jumped right in. “There’s a fire extinguisher under your seat.” He slammed the door and ran around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and grabbed the extinguisher as Gideon called 911 and gave the address to the operator.
Hunter ran toward the house and Gideon followed, leaving the dog safe in the SUV. He drew his weapon, clutching it in his left hand, as he approached the house, where flames were licking up the exterior walls.
The bastard had set the beige Chevy on fire after fleeing the scene at Macdoel. Now he’d set fire to a house. Hunter was emptying the fire extinguisher on the flames, but it wasn’t going to be enough.
Fuck. This had to be where Zandra had been held.
Gideon looked around for something to use to fight the fire, even if just to slow it until the fire department arrived. He started around the perimeter, stopping short when he saw the water spigot and a hose next to the climbing rosebushes. And a stack of eight big bags filled with soil.
“Hunter!” he shouted, pocketing his gun and yanking at the hose with his good hand.
Hunter rounded the corner and skidded to a stop. “Let me do that,” he said when he saw Gideon pulling the hose toward the flames, which seemed to be confined to only one wall at the moment.
“I’ve got this. You take the bags of dirt. We can dump them on the fire.”
“Will do.” Grimly, Hunter hefted a bag of dirt onto each shoulder and followed Gideon around to the back of the house. He ripped the bags open and began hurling dirt at the flames while Gideon soaked the wall with water.
“This isn’t going to be enough!” Hunter shouted over the crackle of the flames.
“We don’t have to put it out,” Gideon shouted back. “Just keep it from spreading. The firehouse is only a few blocks away.”
Nodding, Hunter went back for more dirt and returned with two SacPD uniforms who’d just responded. Between the three of them, they threw the rest of the dirt on the flames, and then one of the cops took the hose from Gideon.
He thanked them and dialed Molina. “It’s Gideon,” he said when she answered.
“What the hell is going on there?” she demanded.
“We found the house. He’d set fire to it.”
“Sonofabitch,” she spat.
“We may have slowed it down a little, Hunter and I and a few SacPD cops.” Loud sirens got louder as the fire truck barreled down the street. “Fire department’s here.” He gave her the address as Hunter gestured him toward the front of the house. Gideon and one of the SacPD cops followed.
“I’m going in,” Hunter shouted. “He could have more victims in there.”
Gideon nodded at him. “Get a warrant,” he told his boss, “but Hunter and I are going in.”
“I heard,” Molina said. “I want you to sit this one out, Gideon. You’re too close. I will not lose this fucker because you get accused of planting evidence because he fucking shot you. For which you are on medical leave. I’m serious.”
Hunter gave him a questioning look. Gideon just pointed at the SacPD cop. “You two go. I’m sidelined.”
With a sympathetic nod, Hunter turned to the cop. “Ready?” The cop nodded and Hunter kicked in the door. The two disappeared into the house.
Gideon ground his teeth, knowing she was right, but not liking it one little bit. “Hunter’s in,” he told his boss levelly. “I’m not.”
“Thank you,” Molina said. “Stay on the line with me. I’ve got a judge signing the warrant and my clerk just looked up the property record. The home belongs to Carson Garvey. People related to him are . . . his father Paul Garvey and . . . bingo. Sydney Garvey, Paul’s wife. Paul Garvey owns a charter air service.”
Carson Garvey. Finally a name to put with the evil.
“He won’t be here,” Gideon said. “He set the place on fire and took off.” He looked in the garage window. “There’s a Jeep in there. I’ll talk to the neighbors to see if he had another vehicle. He may have just stolen one again. I’ll call you right back when I know.”
He ended the call and crossed the street to where a group of neighbors had gathered. “I’m Special Agent Reynolds. Did anyone see a car leave the property within the last ten minutes?”
They all shook their heads no, but several had seen a black Mercedes parked there a few hours before.
“He never has visitors,” one woman said. “I noticed the car because I was surprised to see it there.”
Several other neighbors nodded their agreement.
“Thank you,” Gideon said. “I’ll be right back.” He walked away and dialed Molina again. This time he was put on speaker. “Do either Carson, Paul, or Sydney have a black Mercedes?”
“Checking the DMV records,” a male voice said. That would be Jerry, Molina’s clerk. “Yes,” he said a minute later. “There’s a black Mercedes Cabriolet, S class, registered to Sydney Garvey, age forty.”
Gideon whistled. “Those start at a hundred and thirty grand. Not exactly inconspicuous. We need a BOLO, but make sure any photo comes with the caveat that he uses disguises.”
“Done,” Jerry said.
The phone picked back up, speaker disconnected. “I’m sending two more agents to the scene,” Molina said. “They’ll take care of interviewing the neighbors.”
Gideon had to bite back his disappointment. “Got it.”
“For what it’s worth?” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” And he really did. It just sucked.
“Gideon,” she said quietly. “You’ve performed above and beyond. You were just operated on less than thirty-six hours ago. What if he shows back up? And has another gun? He shot you once. I’m not going to lose a good agent because you want in on the action. There will be other cases.”
“Yeah, I know. Speaking of which, I’d like to do a facial recognition search on two of the members of the Eden cult. I’ve had their photos age-regressed.”
“Send them to me,” she said. “And stay out of the line of fire. Got it?”
He huffed. “Yes, ma’am.” He ended the call just as Hunter came out of the killer’s house, looking grim. And pale.
He met up with Hunter at the SUV. “What did you find?” Gideon asked.
“If that house had gone up, all the evidence would have been gone. He’d doused the inside with gasoline, down the basement stairs.” Hunter dipped his head in a respectful nod. “So fast thinking with the dirt. Looks like SFD was able to put it out.” He rubbed one hand over his face, leaving behind streaks of dirt. “Two bodies in the basement. Both female. One about forty. She was on a bed in a soundproofed room. Strangled. The other was younger, but hard to say. She’d been stuffed in a chest freezer.”
“Shit,” Gideon murmured, then cleared his throat. “The house is owned by Carson Garvey. The forty-year-old is probably Sydney Garvey, wife of Paul. Paul owns a charter air service.”
Hunter nodded. “All fits.” He held out his phone. “There’s a cabinet down there. I pried it open.” He swallowed. “Took photos of the contents.”
Gideon dropped his gaze to Hunter’s phone. “Oh my God,” he whispered, looking at the rows of driver’s licenses, of the necklaces and bracelets and rings hanging from hooks beneath the respective licenses. His souvenirs. “How many?”
Another hard swallow. “Thirty-one.”
Gideon’s horrified gaze jerked up to meet Hunter’s. The other man looked equally shaken. “Thirty-one?”
“Zandra Jones was not one of them,” Hunter said. “Nor was Sydney Garvey. But Trisha Hart is. And Kaley Martell. And Eileen Danton. I’m sorry.”
Gideon’s chest hurt, and he realized he was holding his breath. “Thanks.” He enlarged the photo and sighed. “The hook under Eileen’s ID is empty.”
“So is the one under Trisha Hart’s.”
Gideon gave Hunter back his phone. “Send those to Molina, if you will.”
Hunter nodded. “I was going to after I showed you.”
Gideon found a small smile of thanks for the gestures of respect. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“As soon as our backup arrives, I can take you back to Daisy’s house. Then I’ll take you both to the ER to see Zandra.”
Daisy was no longer Miss Dawson, Gideon noted. He glanced in the SUV’s window when a furry paw gave it a smack. Right. The dog. “What do we do with him?”
“That’s a damn good question,” Hunter said. “Maybe ask a K-9 cop? They might recommend a place to keep him. I’d hate to see him go to a shelter.”
“We could. But one of the victims was abducted while walking her dog.” Gideon rubbed at his temples. “If it belonged to her, her family might want it back. The woman from Seattle. Janice . . .”