A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(48)

“Maybe.” Nick didn’t look convinced. “I had the impression Truman was headed back to the station when he left, but he turned the wrong way out of the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll hunt him down.”

“Don’t you have GPS tracking on your department vehicles?”

“We’ve looked into it. Too spendy.”

“Hmph. Maybe it’s time to consider it again so you’re not wasting time looking for one another.”

“I’ll bring it up. See you around.” Ben headed back to his vehicle. As he pulled into the street, he turned in the direction Nick had mentioned. If Truman had been going back to the department or back to the Moody home he would have gone the other way. In this direction the most logical location was Truman’s home.

I bet he’s home sound asleep.

Ben knew the last two nights had been long ones for the police chief. He relaxed as he headed toward Truman’s, confident he’d find the boss sacked out on his couch.

Truman’s vehicle wasn’t in the driveway. Ben knew he occasionally parked in the garage, so he parked at the curb and headed up the driveway to take a look in the garage door windows before ringing the doorbell.

“Meeeoooow!”

Simon glared at him from the window next to the front door. Ben grinned and waved at the indignant cat before he peeked in the skinny horizontal windows in the garage doors.

No Tahoe.

Ben frowned. The cat expressed her displeasure again, and Ben decided to ring the doorbell.

He waited.

Simon continued to complain through the glass to him, and Ben rang the doorbell again. Of course he’s not here. There’s no vehicle. He slowly walked away, half expecting Truman to sleepily open the door as he left.

No luck.

Where to next? Ryan Moody’s house?

Ben stopped, his boot in the air, his gaze locked on blotches on the driveway.

Blood.

The biggest spot was still wet in the center. Ben studied the entire driveway. The blood was on the side closest to the house. Where Truman’s driver’s door would have opened.

Maybe he hit a dog in his driveway and drove it to the vet.

His heart pounding, Ben went to his car, popped the trunk, and found his blood-testing kit. His hands shook as he slipped on gloves and opened the small box. He studied the directions. He hadn’t used this type of kit in years, but he knew it would tell him if the blood was human.

Squatting next to the biggest stain, he dipped the kit’s long Q-tip into the blood. He broke the seal on a small container of liquid and stuck the wet end of the Q-tip in and stirred, letting the blood mix with the liquid. He put the lid back on and shook the tiny container. He set it down and ripped open a small envelope from the box, then shook out a white plastic stick with two windows on the flattest side.

He removed the lid of the container of the blood mixture and dripped three drops into the smaller round window on the stick.

He held his breath as he watched it soak up the stick toward the other opening. If one line showed in the second window, it meant the test was working. If two lines showed, it meant the blood was human.

Two lines appeared, and Ben nearly dropped the test.

Shit.

I need to call Lucas.



“That’s great about confirming the Hartlage parents,” Jeff told Mercy late that afternoon as they met in his office. “What else do you have?”

He always wants more.

Eddie sat beside her in front of Jeff’s desk, listening to her recap of the latest developments. She missed working with Eddie, but he was up to his neck in another case.

Mercy shared Dr. Peres’s theory about the Asian skull.

Jeff’s brows shot up. “I’ve heard people buy stuff like that. I consider it to be in the same class with serial killer memorabilia.”

“What is wrong with people?” asked Eddie.

“Everyone has their little secrets and obsessions,” said Jeff. Mercy caught him looking at her and immediately studied her notes.

Does he know the true reason I have my cabin?

“Chuck Winslow published an article that outed Britta Vale,” Mercy added. “Now she’s being harassed online.”

“I repeat,” said Eddie. “What is wrong with people?” He shifted in his seat, a black glare in his eyes.

“Is she safe?” Jeff asked.

“I think so. She said someone would have to dig deep to figure out where she lives. I can’t imagine anyone would go to that effort. It’s much easier to sit at a keyboard and vent, but she did have a prowler the other night. She found footprints outside her home, and her dog went ballistic.”

“Before or after the article?” Eddie asked.

“Before.”

“Probably not related, then,” Jeff said. “But she does need to take precautions living in the remote place that she does.”

“She’s very cautious,” asserted Mercy, remembering the rifle during their first visit.

“What are your next steps?” asked Jeff.

“I need to interview Don Baldwin, Grady Baldwin’s brother—who, by the way, has been keeping tabs on Britta for Grady for the last twenty years.”

“Could he be her prowler?” Eddie suggested.

“I wouldn’t rule it out.” She looked at the list in her hand. “I’d like to talk with Britta again. I feel like she’s holding something back, but I don’t know what. She’s reached out to me twice now, so I think she’s starting to trust me.”