Right Behind Her (Bree Taggert) Page 8

On the eastern side of New York State, Randolph County was in close proximity to New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, Massachusetts, and Vermont.

  Their sandwiches arrived and they ate while they worked.

  Bree checked her watch. “I have to leave for the budget meeting.”

  Matt said, “Todd and I will start calling contacts on the NamUs search results.”

  Bree nodded. “Ask about a broken jaw and extensive dental work. See if there are dental X-rays available for comparison. Also, see if any of the women went missing with a male companion. If she went missing with Frank in 1990, then she wasn’t born in 1985. The anthropologist says the female victim was over twenty-five when she died.”

  “What if her name wasn’t Jennifer?” Todd asked. “Don’t women wear jewelry with their kids’ names on them? Maybe Jennifer is her daughter.”

  “In that case, if the victim’s name might not even be Jennifer, then our search just got harder.” Bree picked up her laptop and the remains of her sandwich. “Hopefully, I’ll be back in an hour or two. Text me if you need me.” She left, taking a bite as she walked out.

  Todd typed on his computer. “There are seventy missing women from New York State who meet the general physical description of our victim. If we include women from other states, we’ll be searching hundreds of records. I’ll work on a master list, and I’ll tap into the NCIC too.”

  The National Crime Information Center was the lifeline of law enforcement, a national database of crime information that held records from stolen boats to missing persons to murders.

  “We can run the fingertip amputations through ViCAP,” Matt said. The FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program collected and analyzed data on violent crimes. “Maybe we’ll get a hit.”

  “Let’s hope.” Todd got up and went to the door. He summoned a deputy and sent him into the basement to look for Frank Evans’s file.

  Matt turned back to his computer. Without some luck, identifying Jennifer was going to be difficult, if not impossible. More than four thousand unidentified bodies turned up every year in the US, and a thousand of those remained unidentified a year later.

  Skeletal remains might never be identified. Matt pictured Bree’s face. She had too many tragic memories dogging her. She needed this case to be solved.

  Matt pulled up his original search on the missing Jennifers from New York State. May as well start closest to home. Jennifer Swan, nickname “Jenny,” was last seen in Bay Shore, New York, in March of 2011. She was forty-two years old when she went missing. Her bank account hadn’t been accessed and her cell phone hadn’t been used since she disappeared. She was five feet, five inches tall and weighed one hundred forty pounds in 2011.

  Matt checked an online map. Bay Shore was on Long Island, about four hours from Grey’s Hollow. The case contact was a detective with the Suffolk County PD. Matt picked up his phone and started dialing.

  Someone somewhere was missing a loved one.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bree felt a little sick. Todd’s line of thinking was spot on. When remains were found, they always investigated the property owner. In the back of her mind, she’d considered her father as the killer. Her parents died in 1993. Frank had been killed and buried on the land while Bree’s family lived there. It seemed reasonable, and not at all shocking to her, to assume her father had been involved.

  But if that were true, what would that knowledge do to Adam and the kids? She hoped the other kids at school didn’t tease Kayla or Luke, and she hoped just as hard that Adam could handle the possibility that their father had killed other people besides their mother. That he hadn’t committed one rage-fueled act of violence, but had been a cold-blooded murderer.

  Why had Adam bought the property? Was he keeping it as some sort of shrine? Was it a way to connect with the mother he didn’t remember? Bree had thought it odd, but then the house only reminded her of the night Daddy had killed her—the night he’d almost killed them all.

  A creeping sense of foreboding crawled up her spine. The press had finally stopped being obsessed with their family. Would this case refocus media attention on the Taggerts? She dreaded endless phone calls and reporters showing up on her doorstep or doing stories from the road, with Bree’s farm in the background. The only way to protect Adam and the kids was to solve this murder.

  Bree stopped at Marge’s desk on her way out of the office.

  Marge opened a drawer, withdrew a stack of files, and handed them to Bree. “I have those files you asked for.”

  They were heavier than she’d expected. The thick file would be her parents’ case. Bree stared at the faded, frayed manila folder. Her parents’ deaths would be detailed. There would be photos she did not want to see. Unfortunately, she had no choice.

  But she couldn’t do it this very minute. She needed to focus.

  Her throat clogged. “Thank you.” She slid the files into her briefcase and left the building.

  In her vehicle, her phone buzzed. A glance at the screen told her the caller was Nick West, a local reporter. She answered the call as she drove out of the parking lot. “Hello, Mr. West.”

  “Hello, Sheriff,” Nick said. “I just read your press release.”

  “And?”

  “And I want more information. Do you have time to answer a few questions?”

  “Maybe,” Bree said carefully.

  Nick laughed and jumped right in. “The human remains on the press release—are they the same ones that were found on your family property?”

  “Yes.”

  “What else do you know about the remains?”

  “The basic descriptions were listed in the press release.” Bree had held back the information about the severed fingers.

  “Are these bodies related to your parents’ deaths?” Nick asked, his voice rising with excitement. “Or are they newer remains?”

  “We’re waiting on more information from a forensic anthropologist. These things take time, and the family deserves to be notified first. You know that.” Bree turned into the municipal lot, which was only a few minutes from the sheriff’s station. She shoved the SUV into park. “Why are you calling, Nick?”

  “Well, your father killed your mother there.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think your father killed someone else?”

  “I don’t know,” Bree answered honestly, with no bullshit. “First, I need to identify the remains. Whoever lost their loved ones deserves closure.”

  So did Bree.

  “You must have more information,” Nick said.

  “The few details we have on the victims are in the press release.”

  “My story angle is more about the violent history of the property,” he persisted. “I’d like to interview you.”

  Oh, joy.

  “Again?” she asked.

  “If you don’t have time for me”—Nick’s tone turned fake casual, almost smart-ass—“I can always start with your brother. He bought the property, right?”

  Bree wanted to reach into the phone and give him a hard shake.

  She breathed. Nick knew exactly what he was doing. She’d thought he was better than this. Instead of playing his game, Bree called him on it. “Using my family as leverage isn’t all right, Nick. The Taggerts have endured enough public attention. Don’t you think?”

  “I’m just doing my job.” Despite his denial, Nick sounded regretful—maybe even defensive.

  “In this case, doing your job means waiting for actual evidence.”

  “Other reporters will be racing to post the first headline.”

  Bree paused. She’d sensed potential in the young reporter the first time they’d met. “I’ll give you some free advice. Leave the sensationalism to the tabloids. I’m willing to give you first dibs if you’re willing to cooperate. Do you want speculation and a weak story now? Or a solid one when I have real, corroborated information? It’s your choice what kind of journalist you want to be.”

  He laughed. “Sinc
e you framed it so delicately, I guess I’ll choose the solid story.”

  “OK, then. Give me a day or two to work the investigation and let the anthropologist finish excavating. Then we’ll set something up.”

  “Great!” Youthful enthusiasm bounded through his voice. “When?”

  Bree gritted her molars. “If I don’t call you Monday, call me and remind me.”

  “I will.”

  Of that, she had no doubt. Nick was as persistent as Ladybug tracking a squirrel.

  Nick ended the call without saying goodbye. Bree called her brother. Adam didn’t answer. He was probably painting. Finding the bodies would have stirred up emotions in him. Painting was how he coped.

  She left him a message. “Hey, Adam. Reporters are on Mom and Dad’s story again. Don’t answer your phone, OK?”

  As if he ever answered his phone.

  “Or your door,” she added. “I’ll stop by this weekend.”

  On the way into the municipal building, she tried to put aside the community’s macabre interest in her family. She mentally reviewed her points on the proposed sheriff’s department operating budget.

  Her conversation with Nick had set her back a few minutes, and Bree walked into the conference room three minutes late. Donovan and Keeler were already at the table. The two older men sat with their backs to the far wall, presenting a united front against Bree. Both men stood as she entered. Elias wore a frown like an accessory. Dark circles hung under his eyes. Had he been up late with his brother at the ER? The look he shot Bree was weary but less antagonistic than she’d expected. She couldn’t expect him to love her after she’d arrested his brother.

  A few years younger, Keeler was super fit, but extreme leanness aged his face. He’d shaved his head, and a dark shadow indicated he had a deeply receding hairline.

  “We’re pleased to finally have this meeting, Sheriff.” Easing into his chair, Elias gave his french cuffs a tug. He wore his gray suit as if he’d been born in it.

  Sitting, Keeler leaned on the table and clasped his hands together. His blue dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows to reveal bony forearms. He made a point of checking his watch. “Thank you for squeezing us into your busy schedule.” His tone held just a hint of sarcasm.

  Bree checked her watch. “Don’t worry, gentlemen. I won’t keep you long.”

  Keeler asked, “Have you identified the remains found on your brother’s property?”

  “No,” Bree answered. “The anthropologist and his team are still excavating the grave.”

  Elias’s eyes narrowed. “I heard this morning that the two victims were murdered.”

  Bree had not made that information public, but the leak didn’t surprise her. It had happened before in critical cases. “The medical examiner has not officially declared a cause of death.” She paused. “I prefer not to issue statements until the data has been confirmed, but the initial hypothesis is that both victims were shot in the head—execution style.”

  Elias froze, and Keeler paled. She’d surprised them. Good.

  “We’ve had an awful lot of murders since you took over as sheriff—most of the cases are related to your family.” Keeler shook his head in disbelief. “You’re sure this was a homicide? It couldn’t have been another murder-suicide?” His voice was hopeful. Murder was bad for business.

  Bree deadpanned, “People don’t bury themselves.”

  “I suppose not.” Elias sat back. “My source says there was a driver’s license found in the grave.”

  Bree clamped her molars together. Damn small-town gossip. “Yes, but we don’t know for certain that it belonged to the victim.”

  Elias waved off her concern. “Who else would it belong to? Besides, the license belonged to a man who’s been missing for thirty years.”

  Bree raised a brow. “And how do you know that?”

  “Now, now. If I gave away my source, I wouldn’t have it anymore,” Elias said.

  Keeler looked relieved. “If the case is that old, you probably shouldn’t devote too much time to it. It’s hardly a pressing matter—unless, of course, you don’t have enough current cases to keep you busy.” He said this as if an old murder weren’t important, and as if Bree had nothing else to do. In reality, a county sheriff provided law enforcement services to unincorporated towns within the county borders, served warrants, and ran the jail. Hell, Bree was responsible for animal control.

  She met their gazes over the table. Keeler looked smug, as if he’d somehow outsmarted her—how, she couldn’t imagine. Elias looked tired.

  “You think I shouldn’t work an obvious homicide?” Bree didn’t flinch from Keeler’s gaze. Anger rose warm in her chest. She couldn’t tamp it back down. How dare he? Had he ever lost a loved one to a violent crime? She had. “If this was your family member, wouldn’t you want a thorough investigation?”

  Keeler’s smug smile faded, and he didn’t answer.

  Well done, Bree. You’ve pissed him off too. Excellent start to your negotiations.

  The politics of this job were going to be the end of her.

  She shifted her gaze to Elias. “Do you think I should work this case?”

  A quick spark of anger lit his eyes but faded. “Of course I do.” His voice was unexpectedly sincere. Had she misjudged him? Maybe he was trying his best to do the right thing and manage his brother. Maybe she was jaded.

  She wondered if he’d mentioned his brother’s arrest to Keeler. She did not bring it up. Technically, Shawn was a suspect, but only because he’d had possession of a skull and hadn’t called law enforcement. His I found it defense was actually plausible. Until she had more facts about the murders and had identified the victims, she had no real suspects other than her dead father. On the bright side, if Jake Taggert was the killer, he was no longer a danger to anyone. Also, there would be no need for a trial.

  Elias shifted forward, his elbows coming down on the table. He tapped the tabletop, breaking the tension. “Let’s get down to business. We all have busy schedules.”

  “I can save us all time right now.” Keeler steepled his fingers, his eyes small and superior. “There isn’t any more money.”

  “I understand that funds are limited.” Bree lifted both hands. “I’m trying to save the county money.”

  Elias’s head tilted. “Save us money? Your proposal asks for more funds.”

  Bree nodded. “As you both know, I’ve recently filled five vacant deputy positions, and we’re still understaffed.”

  “Maybe your deputies need to prioritize calls,” Keeler said.

  Bree gave him a level gaze. “For now, we’re doing our best, but we have more issues than the number of deputies under my command.”

  Keeler’s frown deepened the lines alongside his mouth.

  Bree continued. “Three of the new hires are female. Two are currently attending the police academy and will start as soon as their training is complete. One has already started. We were lucky to hire Deputy Laurie Collins. She has six years of experience with the LAPD.”

  “OK.” Keeler rolled a hand in the air in a get on with it gesture. “You hired some women. We get it.”

  “There are no locker-room facilities for the female deputies,” Bree said. “Collins is currently using the restroom, but that isn’t an acceptable long-term solution.”

  Keeler scowled. “You hired them. You figure out how to make it work. I’m sure they’ll survive.”

  “Deputies need the ability to shower and change clothes,” Bree said.

  “Can’t they change in the restroom?” Keeler asked.

  “Wouldn’t you want to shower immediately if a suspect vomited, urinated, or bled on you?” Bree asked. “Biohazards need to be washed off immediately.”

  Keeler’s nose wrinkled in disgust. Elias regarded Bree with renewed interest, as if he were looking at her as an experienced cop for the first time.

  Bree flattened her palms on the desk. “It happens all the time. Right now, the men have a locker room and th
e women don’t. Frankly, the situation is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

  Keeler’s frown lines deepened until he looked like a marionette. “Was it necessary to hire females?”

  Bree swallowed the response on the tip of her tongue. Really? That’s your takeaway? Instead, she took a deep breath and pointed out, “Discrimination in our hiring practices would also open the county to lawsuits. This isn’t the 1950s.”

  Keeler’s expression suggested he’d preferred that decade.

  “She’s right.” Elias surprised her with his response. “The county needs to modernize. Many of our buildings are outdated and inefficient.”

  Keeler shot him a traitor look, then shifted his gaze back to Bree. “What do you want?”

  “Ideally, a new building.” Bree tapped the file containing her proposal. She knew her opening bid would be rejected.

  Keeler rolled his eyes. “We can’t afford a new building.”

  “Another option is to expand and renovate our current facilities,” Bree suggested.

  Elias shook his head. “I understand your needs, but I honestly don’t see where we can find the money for a project of that size.”

  Bree lifted a shoulder. “The sheriff’s department used to have a larger budget. Funding was cut after Sheriff King passed away, deputies quit, and the interim sheriff didn’t replace them. What happened to that money?”

  Keeler’s face reddened with anger. Elias looked thoughtful, as if he were thinking, What did happen to all that money?

  Bree continued. “I suggest we get estimates for expanding and renovating the current building as well as new construction. If we get sued, we can at least say we recognize the inequality in our department and are making attempts to correct it. I’m sure updating the building would come with an improvement in energy efficiency. Some money would be saved in the long run.”

  Keeler grunted.

  “Get your estimates,” Elias said. “We’ll take a look at our current countywide budget and see where we might find some money.”

  “Thank you.” Bree nodded. “The next item on my list is to acquire a K-9. We’ve been borrowing from the state, but I’ve run into multiple situations when a team simply wasn’t available in time to serve very immediate needs. We had a K-9 three years ago, but they weren’t replaced after a shooting.”