Although the Harbinger Cove PD didn’t have the resources Lucy was used to, Chief Hayden and her force appeared to have things fairly well in hand. At least the chief didn’t rush to pre-judgment like Officer Gant, who seemed to want credit for solving this case before they even knew what the case was.
Time to get Megan out of here and resume their vacation. She placed an arm around Megan’s shoulders, steering her away from the house. “You have our numbers if you need anything else, Chief Hayden.”
“I surely do.” The chief hesitated, as if performing an internal calculation. Juggling the time it would take to finish processing the scene, how many officers she could pull in off duty, estimated time for the sheriff’s department to arrive with additional manpower, hours of daylight remaining. “I’ll need an official statement from both of you. Could you wait for me at the station?”
Lucy knew that wait would be longer than expected, but she also understood the pressures Hayden faced. Two high-risk missing persons in a remote area with no leads… “Of course, Chief. Let me get some shoes on and we’ll head right over.”
“Thanks for all your help, Special Agent Guardino.” Hayden handed her a business card with the address of the police station and her phone number.
As they retraced their steps back to the drive, Lucy spotted something in one of the flowerbeds. She stopped to take a closer look without disturbing it. Megan bent over as well and Mrs. Fleming joined them, now holding a handkerchief so tightly in her hands Lucy was surprised she didn’t rip it in two.
“What’s that, Mom?”
“Don’t touch it.” Lucy glanced back at the chief. “You’re going to want to take a look at this.”
“Oh my goodness,” Shelly Fleming gasped. Before Lucy could stop her, she lunged forward and grabbed the small black box that looked like a pager. It had a short length of tubing coming from the back of it. “Robert. Without his insulin, he’ll die.” She thrust the box at the chief who hurried forward with an evidence bag. “Those monsters. They’ve as good as killed him. He might even be dead already.”
Her voice crescendoed into a shrill note of despair. Then she glanced at her hands and noticed the blood streaking them and shrieked in terror, dropping the pump to the ground. It bounced, landing face up.
Lucy glanced down and noted the model number and insignia out of habit—it was the same type of pump a friend of hers, a Pittsburgh police detective, used. The screen was flashing a warning that it was out of insulin.
“Did your husband carry extra insulin with him or in his vehicle?” Lucy asked.
“No. Yes. I mean, he always has a backup insulin pen with him, but—” Shelly’s voice trailed off. “You think he’s alive? That they’d let him have his insulin?”
While the chief bagged the pump, Megan tried to comfort the distraught wife, wrapping her arms around Shelly. Lucy felt a surge of pride at the act of compassion—Megan really was her father’s daughter, brimming over with empathy. Sometimes Lucy worried that empathy might make her vulnerable, but times like this, she truly admired Megan.
Lucy felt for Shelly Fleming, she really did. But she also knew the best way to help everyone involved was to stay focused and follow the evidence. Get too wrapped up in the maelstrom of emotions that random acts of violence brought with them and you could get swept out to sea.
“Is there someone I could call for you?” Megan asked Shelly.
“I’ll see to her,” Chief Hayden assured her. “If you could just sit with her for a minute longer.” Megan nodded and the chief beckoned to Lucy who followed her to the trunk of her Taurus where she handed Lucy back her bag and secured the insulin pump that was now evidence.
“What do you think?” Hayden asked in a low voice.
“You have an alert out for Fleming’s vehicle—”
Hayden nodded. “Black BMW with vanity plates, it should show up pretty fast. If they haven’t made it to the mainland and the highway already. Nice thing about only having one road off the island, we can control access. But that’s a lot of blood. And did you see the safe?”
“There’s no blood outside the house. From the photos I saw, Fleming wasn’t a small man. It would have taken a lot to subdue him.”
“Six-one, a good one-ninety or two hundred pounds. He was in great shape, too. Does those mini-triathlons. He would have gone down fighting.”
“It would have taken a lot to restrain a man like that. Yet there’s no drag marks.”
Hayden considered that. “The Romero kid is strong, in good shape as well. And maybe he wasn’t alone.”
“Why carry Fleming? Why move the body at all—if there is a body?”