When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(28)

“Pray for me,” he agreed.

Kimberly smiled again. She touched her lips with two fingers, as if she could send her husband a kiss across cellular towers. As if she could feel the brush of his lips in return.

Then, she went back to work.





CHAPTER 12





D.D.





D.D. DRAGGED FLORA AND KEITH to the county sheriff’s first thing in the morning. The building’s conference room would be serving as command central for the original taskforce. Given yesterday’s discovery of additional remains, a mobile command post had been set up at the base of the hiking trail to coordinate the bone experts and other forensic specialists who would be scouring the mountainside.

Kimberly and D.D. had spoken late last night. Given the explosion in size and scope of the investigation, Kimberly had requested that D.D. partner with Sheriff Smithers on local interviews, as Kimberly would need to supervise the exhumation of the newest grave. A big ask, and a nice show of trust from a federal agent for a city cop not even in her own jurisdiction. Which just went to prove how understaffed their taskforce was. In fact, D.D. suspected Kimberly knew D.D. intended to drill the locals one way or another. This way, the feebie probably figured she’d have some control over the situation.

Like others hadn’t tried and failed to manage D.D. before.

D.D.’s mood was downright cheerful walking into the squat municipal building. Shuffling behind her, Flora looked like she hadn’t slept a wink, Keith either. But what else was new?

Personally, D.D. loved this phase of a major investigation. Gearing up for battle. Here are the knowns; here are the unknowns. Now marshal the troops and get it done.

The sheriff wasn’t in the conference room. D.D. recognized two FBI agents from their original taskforce meeting. One was directing local officers to various stacks of paperwork, while attaching a giant map of hiking trails to the main wall, front and center. D.D. guessed blown-up maps of Niche and the surrounding towns would go up next. Plus the murder board, photos of each victim, what was known. Then a basic whiteboard for organizing group discussion.

The second FBI agent seemed to be the designated IT guy. The tables had been moved into a standard U-shaped configuration. Now he was distributing laptops at discrete intervals while referring back to his own computer, where he would then type furiously away. Most likely, the agent was establishing a secure network for all the taskforce computers, rather than utilizing the sheriff’s system. It was a better way of managing all the data and ensuring chain of custody of sensitive docs. Welcome to the new age of policing, where the issue wasn’t getting information but managing the deluge of data. From witness statements to hotel records to restaurant credit card receipts, they’d be drowning in docs by the end of the day. D.D. appreciated the FBI had better tricks for managing the madness, given their expertise in major cases.

D.D. waved hello to the overworked agents, earned curt nods in return as both remained on task. Then, given the level of chaos, she exited from the room—Flora and Keith still trailing behind—and headed down the hall.

If she were the sheriff, she’d be taking refuge in her own office, away from the bedlam. After a few tries, she found his office.

“Sheriff Smithers.”

The sheriff had indeed been leaning back in his chair, feet up, eyes closed. Now he bolted upright, feet dropping with a thud to the floor, his hat falling from his head.

“Uh, uh . . .” He clearly recognized her, but was too befuddled to remember her name.

D.D. took pity on the exhausted man. “Sergeant D. D. Warren from Boston PD. Call me D.D. And you remember Flora Dane, Keith Edgar.”

The three of them could barely fit in the office, given the small size and piles of paperwork. The sheriff looked around belatedly, as if he should offer them a seat, but couldn’t figure out how.

He gave up with a deep sigh. “Ah hell.”

“It’s okay. There are more important things going on right now than housecleaning.”

“Got that right.”

“SSA Quincy asked me to meet with you this morning, coordinate the interview efforts.”

“Yes, ma’am. I spoke to her last night.” He looked past D.D. to Flora and Keith. Neither had said a word. Sleep deprivation? Shell shock from a sad case that had already taken a sadder turn? D.D. didn’t know, but she turned and eyed them expectantly.

Keith managed to extend his hand, mutter a greeting. Flora just stared at the sheriff. The flatness of her expression didn’t bode well. The woman had retreated deep inside herself. Maybe a protective measure. Maybe honing her homicidal impulses.

“With all due respect, ma’am”—the sheriff eyed D.D.—“those two are civilians.”

“Guilty as charged,” D.D. agreed.

“Can’t have civilians conducting official interviews.”

“Agreed. Not to mention, talking really isn’t Flora’s strength.” She arched a brow at the silent woman. She got nothing back. Definitely not good.

“Did Quincy review with you her initial goals?” D.D. turned back to the sheriff.

“Yes, ma’am. Identify town leaders, influencers—”

“Busybodies,” D.D. offered helpfully.

“Business owners,” the sheriff continued dryly. “Get the lay of the land.”