Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter #2)(3)

Zane nodded and held out the tissue box. Any soft spot he had for Bob Fletcher had vanished when the man admitted he’d killed Amber Lynn, but Zane wasn’t going to argue the point with Sheila. He knew he’d lose.

Did Bob kill Vanessa Phillips too?

“Tell me again what happened when you got here,” he said to Sheila. Stevie leaned against the door frame of his office, looking very un-cop-like in her boots, jeans, and reindeer sweater. She’d held her fingertips to her lips and then touched them to the photo of her father on the office wall. Big Bill Taylor deserved his place of honor, and Zane had a visual reminder to be the best possible police chief.

“Kenny left the door unlocked,” Sheila said with a stern look. “I’ve told him over and over, if he’s the last one out the door, he needs to lock it.”

“I suspect he was a bit distracted when he got the call about the death from the motel,” said Zane. “You know Kenny.”

Sheila sighed. “I do.” Her Christmas-light necklace twinkled nonstop, and Zane struggled to keep eye contact.

“Anyway, I knew Kenny wasn’t in the building . . . his patrol car was missing. So I came in and put a plate of cookies on his desk and started a fresh pot of coffee. I was about to put away the files left in the break room when I decided to say hello to Bob back in holding. It is Christmas.”

“You have a good heart,” said Stevie. “That was very kind of you.”

“I slid open the little peekaboo window in the door and saw he was on the floor in the cell.” She paused and took a deep breath. “There was blood everywhere. My first instinct was to rush in, but I stopped myself and yelled his name instead.” She wiped her eyes. “He didn’t move and so I called you.”

“You did the right thing,” said Zane.

“Maybe I could have stopped the bleeding if I’d gone right in.” Sheila blinked rapidly, holding back more tears. Her green eye shadow was the exact color of a ribbon he’d torn off a Christmas package that morning.

The medical examiner stepped in the room. “Nope,” Hank said. “Nothing you could have done. There’s no way that boy could have survived beyond a minute. Both his carotid arteries were sliced wide open.”

“Thank you, Hank.” Sheila stood and hugged the medical examiner. “That helps put my mind at ease.”

Hank’s face reddened as he patted her awkwardly on the back. He met Zane’s gaze, and Zane bit his cheek. He’d never seen the examiner at a loss for words.

“Sorry to keep you so busy on a holiday, Hank,” said Stevie. She squeezed Sheila’s hand as the thin woman excused herself and left the room, taking Zane’s Kleenex box with her.

“Can’t say I’ve ever had a holiday quite like this one,” admitted Hank, as he sat heavily in the chair that had been vacated by Sheila. “A long time ago Luke Jemmings shot his ex-wife and then turned the gun on himself on a Valentine’s Day. But I don’t consider that a real holiday.”

“Did Bob kill himself?” asked Zane. He hadn’t seen anything in the holding cell that Bob could have used to commit suicide, but he asked anyway, hoping Hank would answer in the positive, because Zane’s stomach churned when he considered the other option.

There was a second killer in Solitude.

Hank looked at him sharply. “That was no suicide. His neck was sliced from one side to another, and it was damned deep. You think someone could do that to himself? It takes a nasty-edged blade with a lot of strength behind it to cut through those tissues.”

“Shit.” Zane’s heart sank. Stevie met his gaze and gave a small nod. They’d both believed someone had murdered the man, but he had wished . . .

“We’d hoped that he’d somehow done it himself,” said Stevie, leaving her post against the wall to sit on the edge of Zane’s desk and face the medical examiner. “This means that someone got into the holding cell and murdered him right under our noses.”

“No weapon left behind?” Hank asked.

“We haven’t found one,” said Stevie.

“What about cameras in here?” asked Hank.

Zane shook his head. “If we had cameras, I’d have nonstop footage of Sheila typing and answering the phone. Nothing ever happens inside here. Until today. Kenny was on duty this morning, but he got called out to the Wayward Motel when Vanessa Phillips was found.”

“Kenny called in a few minutes ago,” Stevie said. “The morgue wagon finally arrived at the motel to remove Vanessa, so he should be here soon.”

“Well, someone got in, took care of Bob, and left with the knife,” stated Hank. “I heard Sheila say the front door was unlocked. I suppose Kenny’s going to get some tough questions from you, Zane.” Hank pushed out of his seat. “I need to get moving. I’ll take a closer look at your two victims tomorrow morning, but first I need to get out to the county hospital.”

“Everything all right?” asked Stevie.

“Yep, every year I play Santa for the kids who are stuck there over the holidays. I better get moving before I’m too late.”

Zane blinked. How does the man go from seeing two murder victims to handing out gifts to children?

Hank met his gaze and gave a half smile. “I’ve gotten used to it,” he said, as if reading Zane’s thoughts. “I leave my work at the office or else I have no life. Seeing those happy faces is something I look forward to every Christmas. It’s good for my old, cranky soul.”