“You know, Alice, I would have expected more from you,” Killian said. “Not from Ms. Fancy Pants. Those big-city folks play by their own rules, but I thought you were in a different league.”
Killian glanced back at two deputies and cocked his head toward the building in a gesture that said, “Let’s go.” After commanding a third deputy to remain with the cars, he swiveled back to Alice and me and bored in with slate-colored eyes. “Stay put,” he commanded. Then he and the two deputies strode up the bank, their polyblend pants making swishing sounds in the tall, dry grass.
I leaned against the hood of the car and considered how I could defuse the situation with Killian. He knew I was from New York, which meant he must have checked me out online after I lobbed the question at the press yesterday. Ihatedthe label he’d just tagged me with in his huff. I should have told him that though I owned a few cute dresses and some killer shoes, I was hardly a fancy pants.
Almost fifteen minutes passed, and though there was no sign of Killian, one of the deputies eventually emerged from the smaller building, flashlight in hand, and began an inspection of the exterior of the big stone house, fruitlessly jiggling the front door lock a few times. Finally, Killian and the other deputy stepped out of the small structure, and Killian joined the guy inspecting the larger building while the other deputy trotted down to Alice and me. He explained that we would both have to drop by the Warren County municipal building in order to make statements to the sheriff once he returned. Alice could drive herself there. I was to go with him.
“But what about my car,” I protested. “And Alice’s is at the diner.”
“You can leave yours at the top of the road and find away to retrieve it later,” he said, unmoved by my plight. “The sheriff ordered me to accompany you. We’ll get Ms. Hatfield back to her vehicle.”
Alice turned to me. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll give you a lift.”
“Thanks.” I was clearly in the hot seat, and I appreciated her support.
The ride to the municipal center took about twenty minutes. I rode in the passenger seat, not the rear of the vehicle, but, still, at stoplights people craned their necks for a better glimpse of me. I’m sure they wondered if I’d pulled some bitch chick move, like tried to crush a cheating bastard of a boyfriend with the front end of my car.
I assumed I’d be in for a long wait once I was deposited at the location, since Killian would be up to his ass in body bags for a while. Or technically speaking, contractor bags. They were thicker and sturdier than regular trash bags, and I knew from some research I’d done for another story that they were available in a variety of sizes, even six feet long.
Was it really Shannon inside the one that had tumbled out? If she’d been snatched by a serial killer while jogging, she also might have been raped and tortured. I cringed as I wondered how long she’d been alive and terrified before being killed.
And if there were bodies in the other bags as well, this story was going to blow up big-time. I felt a wave of guilt over the next thought that popped into my head: traffic for myCrime Beatposts would explode, too. This story had more layers than Dodson could have imagined, and I was smack in the middle of it.
I ended up waiting close to two hours for Killian. I’d been without food or caffeine since my meager breakfast, and I could feel my energy flagging. I used part of the time to jot notes in my composition book. I also replayed my brief conversations with Nolan, trying again to recall who was in the vicinity at the press conference, but except for the main players, it was a blur of nameless faces.
When Killian finally arrived, his expression was beyond grim. I bet he was wishing he’d hit retirement age before ever coming across a scene as grisly as the one he’d encountered this morning.
Two people trailed him into the sterile interview room, a deputy whom I didn’t recall from the scene, and a female state trooper.
“Start from the beginning,” Killian said bluntly. “With the phone call. And don’t leave anything out.”
“Of course,” I said. I wanted him to see me as an asset, not a thorn in his side. “I’ve been reviewing everything in my mind so I can be as thorough as possible.”
I shared every detail I recalled and showed him my phone so he could see when the blocked-number call had originated. The state trooper made a note of my number and service provider. I also explained that the caller had probably been at the press conference yesterday and seen me speaking to Tom Nolan, or that Nolan had mentioned our conversation to someone.
“By the way,” I said, “I suggested to Mr. Nolan that he tell you about Shannon rejoining the church in case it was relevant.”
Killian’s expression gave nothing away, so I had no idea whether the deacon had followed through.
“And how do you think the caller managed to get his hands on your number?” Killian asked.
“I’ve handed out my business cards to a lot of people this week, including many of the volunteers. One of them could even have left one lying around Dot’s. Other than that, there’s no easy way for a stranger to have access to it.”
“Here,” he said, passing a pad to me. His skin, I noticed up close, was slightly weathered from sun and wind and maybe from trying to keep the peace as well. “Write down the names of everyone you remember handing a card to.”
When I’d finished, he ran his gaze over the names and then dropped the pad back on the table with a thud.
“I’ve just gotta ask,” he said, returning his gaze to me. “Is this the way you big-city reporters do business? Following up on leads that should go to the police? Because that’s not how we do business here, and it’s going to have to stop.”
“I’m really sorry about that,” I said, doing my best to appear remorseful. “But I figured the call might not be anything more than a prank. Or maybe a local person wanting me to turn up some gossip about Shannon. The idea of finding her remains seemed very remote.”
I scrutinized his face, watching for any hint that I’d guessed wrong about Shannon’s body being in that bag, but Killian continued to be all Robocop with his expression, revealing nada.
“If the person contacts me again, I’ll share it with you immediately,” I added.
Would there be another call? I wondered. The prospect was scary in one sense, but I couldn’t deny part of me was hoping for another lead. As long as I was the conduit, I was at the center of the action. And the more contact I had with the killer, the greater my chance of learning his identity myself. Wouldn’t Dodson go bananas forthat?
Killian didn’t appear mollified, but I sensed the lecture was over. I would have loved to have asked what was contained in the other bags, but it was pointless, since there was no way he’d disclose that information. I also briefly considered whether I should mention the encounter at my motel with Cody but decided not to. That conversation didn’t seem relevant to what was now in play.
