She glanced at Matt, expecting him to be shaking his head, but there was no sign of humor on his face. His mouth was locked in a grim frown as he stared at the doll. She turned back and played her light down the rest of its body.
As one would expect, the doll was naked. Her beam fell on its huge breasts, where a badge had been drawn on with black Sharpie. Someone had written SHERIFF TAGGERT in block print. Three red spots had been drawn onto the chest. The paint had been allowed to drip.
Like bullet wounds.
A sense of dread settled over Bree, and the relief she’d felt a minute earlier dissipated like smoke in the wind as she examined the rest of the doll. A police baton protruded from between its legs. A handcuff dangled from one balloon-like hand, and the rope around its neck had been fashioned into a noose.
Bree stepped back. She had no words.
“Clearly, this is a threat.” Matt’s tone was controlled, but the undercurrent was angry.
“Ma’am?” Juarez had moved a few feet away and pulled out his own flashlight. He faced the opposite direction, sweeping his light over the rest of the space. The six-bay space was mostly empty except for takeout containers, bottles, and other trash. On the walls, faded graffiti had been written over with fresh, bright red paint.
The new profanity covered the walls with messages. Bree read KILL THE WHORE, FUCK TAGGERT, and SLUT TAGGERT WILL PAY. All around the words, the “artist” had painted crude yet clear images of a large-breasted female being raped in multiple positions. In case she didn’t grasp the fact that the females being raped were supposed to be her, the artist had labeled them with a sheriff’s badge and her name.
She felt a little sick as she took in a depiction of a violent gang rape. The female was on her hands and knees, being assaulted by three males simultaneously. The male kneeling behind her held a rope tied around her neck. Bloody tears leaked from her eyes.
There was no reason for her to be embarrassed. She hadn’t done anything. Yet she was filled with shame. The scene was graphic and disturbing and humiliating in a way that wasn’t logical.
Matt muttered something under his breath. “Sick.”
Get a grip.
She glanced at Matt. His features were locked in his stony cop face, as were the other deputy’s. Bree turned to Juarez, who clearly hadn’t mastered the flat cop stare. His cheeks were still beet red.
Bree had been a patrol officer, then a homicide detective in Philadelphia before she’d moved back to her hometown of Grey’s Hollow. She’d seen things this young rookie likely couldn’t yet imagine. He was a local, not a jaded city cop. He hadn’t witnessed the terrible crimes Bree had. He’d gone to Catholic school. He was, for lack of a better term, a nice young man.
And with that thought, Bree felt a thousand years old.
But then, her hardened exterior had as much to do with her personal past as her career. At the age of eight, when her father had shot their mother and then killed himself, Bree had ceased being a child. She’d lived true horror in grade school.
Juarez cleared his throat. “What should I do with it?”
Bree mustered her no-nonsense attitude. “The usual. Take photos, bag it, and type up your report. You can try and get prints.” She looked around. “Did the property owner make the call?”
“No, ma’am.” Juarez vibrated with anger. “It was a mobile number.” He pulled a notepad from his pocket. “The name was Mr. Skunt.”
“Skunt.” Matt raised a suspicious brow.
Blushing more, Juarez reached for his radio mic. “I’ll confirm with dispatch.”
Bree stopped him. “Use your cell.”
Even as she said it, she realized trying to keep the details from the rest of the department and other local law enforcement was futile.
But Juarez pulled his cell phone from his pocket and made the call. A few minutes later, he ended the call with a frown. “The caller was male. He gave the name of Mr. Louis Skunt.”
Repeating the name silently to herself, Bree sighed.
Matt said it out loud. “Loose Cunt.”
“Yeah.” Juarez’s tone went flat. “Dispatch didn’t get it, and neither did I.”
Bree said nothing. Her older deputy shook his head.
Matt pointed to the wall, then to Bree. “This is a direct threat to you.”
She read the messages on the wall again. Her gaze fell to the drawn-on badge with her name written on it. Fear coiled in her belly. This was way too close to her home and her family, and the threat was extremely personal. “Yes, it is.”
Juarez propped a hand on his duty belt. “I should have realized the caller wasn’t legitimate right off.”
“Don’t beat yourself up.” Bree circled a hand in the air. “No one would have expected this.”
“This is no prank.” Matt shook his head. “The call might have used a fake name, but this threat is very real.”
Bree admitted it with one quick nod. “But it isn’t the first threat or nasty message I’ve received. Hell, it isn’t even the first one I’ve gotten this week.” But this one was different.
Juarez blinked in surprise at her.
“I get nasty phone messages and emails all the time.” She gestured toward the walls. “Many are sexually explicit or violent,” she admitted. “This is, however, the most elaborate and disturbing threat.”
“Someone went to a good deal of effort here.” Matt leveled her with a look that said he wasn’t happy.
Bree pulled out her cell phone and took photos of the doll and messages. The flash went off with each photo, highlighting the ugliness. When she’d finished, she turned away and walked out of the building. The deputies and Matt followed her outside. After the dimness of the building, the sunlight seemed harsh, and she shaded her eyes. She caught a whiff of smoke. The fire was running out of fuel and burning itself out, but sirens wailed.
Bree stared across the field at her own house in the distance. “Why did they pick this place?”
“It’s vacant. Close proximity to your house means it was a good bet that you’d come personally. Plus it’s threatening to have this”—Matt gestured toward the garage—“near your home. Also, your place is wired tight and covered with security cameras, which makes it a riskier target.”
“And Dana is there—armed,” Bree added, grateful for her highly suspicious and very capable best friend.
“This was as close as they could get to you and yours.”
Too close.
Two engines turned into the driveway and parked. Firemen unrolled hoses and put out the small fire in a few minutes.
Bree’s phone buzzed. She read a text from Dana. LUKE IS BACK. ALL FINE HERE.
She answered, THX. Then she added, TAKE EXTRA CARE THERE.
Dana replied, WILL DO.
Bree went to her vehicle and opened the door. She turned to Juarez. “Follow up with the property owner. You can try to trace the mobile number, but it’ll probably be a burner.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Juarez’s jaw sawed back and forth, as if he was grinding his teeth. “I’ll dust for prints too.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t want to speak out of turn here, ma’am. But please be careful.”
“Thank you for your concern. I do appreciate it.”
Juarez grabbed a fingerprinting kit from his vehicle and headed back toward the garage. The older deputy followed. Trusting her deputies to process the scene, Bree climbed into her SUV.
Matt slid into the passenger seat. “Like Juarez said, someone has it out for you. Please be careful.”
“I will.” Bree waved a hand at the building. “There’s a lot of hate out there these days.”
“And lately, a good portion of it is directed at you.”
She swallowed and took two deep breaths. She couldn’t let fear paralyze her. She needed to catch this bastard, and for that she’d need a cool head.
With a glance back at the graffiti on the house, she vowed that she would stop him before he made good on his threats.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the passenger seat of the SUV, Matt tried to cool the rage burning through him. He was a supporter of law and order, but the threats to Bree made him want to exact some vigilante justice.
Bree stopped at a light and glanced at her phone screen. “Collins is at Todd’s place. His personal vehicle is parked at his house. He’s not answering the door.”
Dread lumped like cold oatmeal in Matt’s gut.