When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(43)

“Asphyxiation,” Keith murmured.

“Highly possible. We did get one break. This newest grave yielded several seed pods that were most likely interred with the bodies. Based on a preliminary analysis”—Thank you, Harold, thought Kimberly—“we assume the bodies were buried early spring. So that at least gives us a start on a more exact timeline.”

“Except we don’t know which year,” Keith spoke up.

“We’re starting fifteen years ago, working around that. Now tell us about your efforts today,” Kimberly addressed Keith and Flora.

“I ate,” Flora said.

“So I heard.”

The entire taskforce regarded Flora curiously. The woman cleared her throat, sat up straighter. She appeared defensive, but maybe that’s the best a survivor could do, surrounded by a room of professional law enforcement types.

“Jacob liked food. Lots of food.” Flora looked around the room, at the empty aluminum casserole pans. It was hard for Kimberly not to feel guilty. “Sergeant Warren recommended I try out some of the local establishments, see if any of the food tasted familiar. But, um, I just don’t know. It was too long ago. I don’t remember enough.” The woman sat back abruptly. Kimberly had a feeling there was more to it than that. She waited, but Flora didn’t speak again.

“You and Keith did make one major discovery for the day.” Kimberly nodded at Keith to do the honors.

“We worked on the logistical issue of getting four bodies up a mountainside, while also having to consider carrying an assortment of tools for digging a grave,” Keith rattled off. “It seemed to us, having already hiked up and down to the grave site a couple of times—”

Around the room, people nodded.

“—that wasn’t the most feasible way of accessing the area. And certainly not something one of our suspects, Jacob Ness, would even attempt.”

More nodding.

“Upon further investigation, an ATV seemed the most likely mode of transportation. So we approached a local dealer, established there is at least one trail running just above the grave sites that would yield easier access, and then, well, we rented a four-wheeler. Sure enough, we arrived at the second burial site pretty quickly.”

“You nearly ran over the second burial site,” Kimberly corrected.

Neither Keith nor Flora said a word.

“Which did prove your theory,” she grudgingly allowed. “And I appreciate your thinking. Hiking up bodies, tools, and now if we consider one of the victims may have been sick and/or incapacitated enough to require an IV . . . an ATV does make more sense as a mode of transportation.”

“We also learned many of the locals own ATVs and even groom their own private trails,” Keith said. He looked at Sheriff Smithers. “So it may be our perpetrator didn’t even come from the main road, but accessed the byway from a path on their own property.”

“Four-wheeling is popular around these parts,” the sheriff considered. “I can have one of my deputies check it.”

“Which brings us to your day,” Kimberly transitioned, turning focus to the sheriff and D.D.

“We interviewed local leaders and the town clerk,” the sheriff reported. “Reached out to local hotels on generating whatever reports they could on guests going back fifteen years. Timeline is an issue. The biggest property in Niche, the Mountain Laurel B and B, which is run by the mayor and his wife—they got a new computer system ten years ago, so they can’t even tell you who was around before then.”

“Shrimp,” Kimberly murmured, remembering the sheriff’s discreet oath from their first meeting.

“Exactly. Um . . .” The sheriff cleared his throat. “We got one name to chase, Walt Davies. Apparently an antisocial type. Lives alone in the woods and prefers it that way. Possibly brews his own moonshine and/or grows his own dope. Which will add to the tensions if a bunch of uniforms suddenly show up on his property.”

“Moonshine and weed?” Flora spoke up.

The sheriff nodded. Flora sat back, eyes narrowed in thought. The sheriff cleared his throat, continued on: “I’ll assign a couple of my boys to pay him a visit tomorrow. Local deputies, which hopefully will appear less threatening than, say, the feds. Either way, sounds like we should approach with caution.”

“You want to call in reinforcements? SWAT?” Kimberly asked evenly.

“Nah. I’m afraid showing up with the cavalry will start a war. I think we should try out some local charm first. Proceed from there. We got a list of other properties from the town clerk that fit our parameters as possible cabins Ness could’ve holed up in eight years ago. We should assign a couple pairs of investigators to check each location in person. Don’t know if you want to be part of that?” The sheriff looked at Flora.

“I wasn’t outside, so looking at exteriors, I won’t be any help. But the basement . . . I might be able to recognize the basement. Especially the brown carpet. I spent a lot of time studying that carpet.”

“How many properties?” Kimberly asked.

“Eighteen.”

She nodded. “Okay, send out pairs first. If there are some that are particularly promising—say, set back enough from neighbors and have a basement with brown carpet—Flora can review the finalists.”

“I think we have to look harder at the locals,” D.D. spoke up.