“Thank you, Mrs. Ferin. Have a good night.” Sloane disconnected the call and set her phone on the edge of the bed beside her, sending Mark a smug look. “Karla Ferin is positively irate about people trespassing at one of the properties in the realty’s portfolio. She’s going to insist on charges being filed. She was quite indignant when I asked about access to the keys for the lake house. According to her, they’re kept in a locked case at the realty office. Although they arrange for a regular cleaning service for the owners, an outside service hasn’t been used in several months, because—get this—her son is being paid to take care of it.”
“Which backs up Newman’s story about how he acquired possession of the key. Unfortunately, he’s also telling the truth about the place he rented up to a few months ago. Sheriff Richards had put in a call to Police Chief Miller. Apparently, the address of the property had been a bane for city law enforcement for some time, so he’s well acquainted with the landlord. I put in a call, and the man verified the approximate dates that Newman had rented from him.” Mark rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. It had been a trying day. But in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t come close to the day experienced by the Willard family.
His sympathy for their tragedy could blind him if he let it. Could fog objectivity and alter investigative decisions. But he’d have to be made of stone not to feel compassion for parents given the worst sort of closure in the disappearance of their child. If he ever got used to delivering that sort of news to families about their loved ones, it was time to switch jobs.
“And, you haven’t heard a word I said.”
His attention jerked back to Sloane. “What?”
“Karla Ferin. I asked how long she’d been showing the property. She said she’d only been with the company since she moved to town two years ago. But it took very little coaxing to get her to rattle off the other three Realtors before her who had tried and failed to sell the place.”
“Good. We’ll need that information when the pathologist narrows down how long Willard has been dead.” Speculating about the length of time her body had been at the lake house would be dicier.
Sloane approached the table and picked up a pen to write the names Ferin had given her on a small pad of paper. “I think we need to consider what Rossi told us about the breakin at the lake house three years ago.”
A window had been broken out in back near the kitchen, Mark recalled. The deputies had blamed vandals. But had the killer gained access that way? And why the change in dump sites? According to Sims, the ten-mile radius in Wayne National Forest where the other victims had been found had been isolated. Difficult to reach. So breaking and entering to hide a body in a crawl space would be much easier in comparison. It also might signal that Willard’s was a copycat killing and not the work of the TMK at all.
Sloane rubbed her eyes. For the first time, Mark noticed shadows beneath them. He quickly looked away. It didn’t pay to observe anything about the woman that didn’t pertain to the job. But he recalled in that moment that he’d worked two cases with her, and he knew little about her personal life. Under the circumstances, it wouldn’t be wise to change that now.
He turned his attention to his e-mail to answer the work-related messages he’d received that day. There would be investigative reports to pore through. His own to write. And the priorities for tomorrow to discuss with Sloane. Priorities that would be shifted accordingly as the forensic results started filtering in from the lab.
For a moment, he was distracted by the array of pictures Sloane had run off from the TMK case file. The top row had photos of the four victims Sims had guessed were the work of the killer, although their bodies hadn’t been found. Whitney DeVries’s photo had been added, a constant visual reminder of what was at stake. In the next row were the verified victims. Sloane had switched Kelsey Willard to that line of pictures, for the time being. More evidence would be needed to ensure that she belonged there.
She began typing, and Mark started to scroll through his e-mail. Stopped when his phone rang. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Didn’t recognize the number. “Mark Foster.”
“Mark, this is Greg Larsen.”
He glanced at Sloane. Larsen, he mouthed. Then he pushed away from the table to stand. “Greg. Sorry to bother you on the weekend.”
“Not at all,” the other man replied. “Your reports have been forwarded to me by your SAC.” Mark’s brows rose. That was news to him. “I understand that you have tentative ID on Kelsey Willard’s body.”
“Positive, as of today. The parents ID’d it.”
There was a short pause. Then a long whistle. “Tough day all around, then. How can I help?”
“You know where this victim was found.” Mark dove right in with his questions. “A total deviation from the other body dumps. Does it mean we’re looking at a copycat killing? Or a killer who has changed his MO?”
“Ask an easy question, why don’t you?” the man joked. “The truth is—and you’re not going to like this answer—it’s hard to tell. We’ll have a better idea when the tests are run on the body and we compare victim photos. Luther Sims, the agent who worked the profiling before me, did attribute one victim to a copycat, so it’s possible. But it will take time to make that judgment.”
Mark had spent a couple of hours going over the digital photos of past victims. He hadn’t found a glaring discrepancy between them and Willard’s body. But there’d be tests on the fabric they wore. Measurements on the exact angles of the limbs. Comparison on the wire used on the fingers. With luck, they’d even be able to tell if the wire came from the same lot as that used on the others. “What would cause an offender to change part of his routine like that?” Mark paced the room as he spoke.
“A change in his circumstances.” He could hear the shrug in the other man’s voice. “Maybe he was physically unable to make the dump in Wayne Forest. Pretty arduous terrain, from the looks of the photos. Or perhaps this marks the beginning of a new trend of his. Leaving victims close by their homes. Sort of a last twist of the knife for the parents.” Mark hadn’t thought about that. What would it do to the Willards, he wondered, knowing that their daughter had been so near?
“Do you think it means he’s in the vicinity?”
“With this dump, he’s switched from a rugged site to a basement. From outside elements to inside. From hard to find to . . . I saw the photos. It didn’t look like great pains were taken to hide the body.”