A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(13)

The woman released the dog, who instantly sat, its dark eyes still locked on Mercy.

“Are you here about Grady Baldwin?”

“Yes,” Mercy answered.

“Is he out? I’m supposed to be notified if he gets out. No one has said anything to me.” Britta’s voice shot up an octave as the words spilled out of her mouth, terror and anger flashing in her eyes. Her fingers tightened on the butt of the rifle, and Mercy tensed.

“He’s not out and he’s not getting out.”

The woman lowered her chin a notch, and her shoulders moved as she exhaled. “I have nightmares about police vehicles abruptly showing up at my home, trying to get me to safety. They’re always too late.” She nodded at Mercy’s Tahoe. “You’re clearly armed, and you have government plates, so you understand my reaction.”

“I do. You are Britta, right?” The woman acted like a survivor, but Mercy wanted to be certain.

“I am. Why are you here?”

“Yesterday we uncovered five bodies. Possibly a family—we aren’t certain about that. But each one of them had been struck in the mouth. Their teeth and jaws shattered.”

The pale woman went a shade whiter as she slapped a hand across her mouth, and the dog whined, leaning hard against her thigh.



“I’m sorry I don’t have coffee. I gave up caffeine years ago.”

“The herbal tea is fine.” Mercy took a sip. It tasted of grass and flowers. The two women sat at a small table in Britta’s large kitchen. Zara, the Lab, had sniffed Mercy thoroughly, accepted some scratches behind her ears, and then planted herself next to Britta’s chair. The woman had stroked Zara’s fur nonstop since she found out the reason for Mercy’s visit, and Mercy wondered if Zara served as a sort of service animal for anxiety. The dog’s calm manner and serene dark eyes created a soothing presence.

“Your last name seems familiar,” Britta stated, studying Mercy from head to toe.

“I was a year behind you in grade school.”

“I don’t remember you. Did you have an older brother?”

“Two of them. And an older sister.”

“That’s probably it. I went to live with my aunt immediately after . . .” She looked away, and her jaw muscles flexed.

“I remember,” Mercy said gently. “The whole school was rattled. Students and teachers.”

Britta stared into her teacup. “Are you sure he’s locked up?”

She had asked the question four times now.

“I’m positive. I called last night and requested a visual check.”

The woman nodded absently and rubbed Zara’s head more vigorously.

“He always swore he didn’t do it,” Britta stated, staring off into the distance.

“Evidence placed him at the scene. His fingerprints were on a hammer and in the home,” Mercy countered.

“I know. No one knows the evidence better than I do,” Britta snapped as her pale gaze returned to Mercy and flashed in anger, but she immediately calmed. “Please excuse me. I’m a little rattled.”

“You have every reason to be,” Mercy asserted. “But I’m curious why you mentioned his claim to be innocent while you know the evidence.”

The woman’s gaze fixed on Mercy. “How long ago were they killed?”

Britta hadn’t answered her question.

“We don’t know yet. But the remains were fully skeletal.”

“Where were they found?”

Mercy shared an abbreviated description of the scene as Britta shed her sweater. Underneath she wore a short-sleeved T-shirt, and her toned arms were covered in an assortment of tattoos. There was little room left for more. She emitted the aura of a woman who could take care of herself, and Mercy figured the fear and uncertainty she’d just witnessed were rare for Britta.

She looked like a survivor who was determined to never again be a victim.

Britta was not her mother’s daughter. At least not the mother Mercy had seen in the pictures.

“I read that you moved here last summer,” Mercy said. “What prompted you to come back?”

“I’ve lived in a lot of places,” said Britta. “I’m lucky that I can work anywhere there is internet. My job doesn’t limit me.” She scowled and took a long drink from her cup. “I’m not sure why I came back. For a long time I’ve felt as if I’m searching for something, but I can’t name what it is. All my other homes have felt stale after a time. I find that moving to a completely new place invigorates me in a way I can’t describe. I love the space available to me here, and I feel like I can stretch out my arms.” Her face fell. “I’m sure I’ll feel suffocated at some point and move on again, but the last nine months here have been fine.”

“You rented the home?”

“Yes.”

The house had very little furniture. Even the table only had two chairs, but Britta had hung large framed black-and-white photos on the wall. Stark trees and muddy, deep ditches, icy rivers and broken fences, a lone gravestone with a somber flag. They were powerful images, colorless and stripped down to their essence. Sort of like the woman in front of her. Three long foreign-looking swords were mounted next to the photos. Deadly and silent. Mercy had no doubt they were real. Britta’s kitchen counters were completely empty, but there was a cozy chair with a lamp and small bookshelf in the sitting room that looked like a good place to curl up on a rainy day. No TV.