“That might be a great lead.” She set her palm on the floor and winced as a sliver cut into her skin. “Call the jail, and let’s go see Jackson right now.” If the sheriff was going to be a pain about this, she needed to act quickly, before he knew anything. No doubt he’d want to protect his arrest.
“Wait.” Walter rolled his shoulders. “There’s more, and it’s sticky. Before Casey dated Meyer Jackson, she dated Huck Rivers, according to the landlady who was quite a gossip.”
Laurel’s legs froze, even though she was sitting flat on the floor. “What?”
“Yeah,” Smudgeon said. “I haven’t had a chance to speak with Huck, so that’s all I know.”
Well, wasn’t that inconvenient, considering Laurel currently had whisker burn across her breasts from the man. She shook her head and tried to concentrate. “You know what’s interesting about Casey? She sounds a lot like Lisa Scotford. It’s possible . . . ,” she murmured.
Smudgeon leaned forward. “Go on.”
She looked at him, noting a cut from shaving on his neck. “She’s the first victim and things go wrong. He kidnaps her, like the others, and she puts up a fight in his vehicle. Maybe a good enough one that she somehow gets out, gets free, and starts to run.”
“There are no security cameras around the sports complex.” Smudgeon nodded. “She’s running for freedom into the forest, and he catches up to her, they fight, and he kills her right then and there. Maybe that’s why he moved to easier targets . . . to perfect his skills.”
“That makes sense,” Laurel mused.
Smudgeon rubbed his eyes. “Stay with me for a minute. I’ve been thinking about your profile.”
The hair prickled on Laurel’s nape. “Okay.”
Smudgeon leaned forward. “You said that the killer is methodical and organized.”
“Yes,” Laurel affirmed.
“Huck Rivers is organized and often takes the lead in search and rescue, which is map oriented. He leads the dive team when they search and recover drowning victims in the river. In addition, you said that the killer is from here and is familiar with the mountains and land.” Smudgeon looked deadly serious. “I’m totally just spitballing here, but who knows the land around Genesis Valley better than a Fish and Wildlife officer?”
“That’s true,” Laurel murmured, trying to keep her expression placid.
“Also, Rivers grew up here before heading to the military,” Smudgeon continued. “He was a sniper in the military, and he knows how to hunt humans and take them down.” He shifted uneasily. “I’m not sure you knew this, but Monty also grew up in this area. I took him a coffee early this morning and asked a few questions about Huck. It turns out that Huck’s mom deserted him, and Monty was fairly certain she was a blonde. Isn’t that one of those facts that makes these nutjobs hate women? Then they take out their anger with one woman on surrogate women?”
Laurel fidgeted. That was all true. “Yes, but—”
Smudgeon finished his coffee. “Casey’s dumping Huck and dating somebody new could’ve been the trigger.” He flushed. “I’ve been reading up on serial killers, and they often have triggers.”
Laurel took another drink of her coffee, her mind spinning. Her colleague’s logic was cutting into her in a new and very uncomfortable way, although she appreciated Walter’s attention to detail and his investigative skills.
Smudgeon coughed and then patted his round belly. “I know this is a long shot and crazy, but I wanted to throw it out there. This is fun.” He smiled, and long lines extended out from the sides of his hang-dog eyes. “Bouncing ideas off somebody. I’m so used to being the team muscle that theorizing is somewhat new.”
The muscle? Seriously?
Laurel swallowed over the lumpy rock now in her throat. “You’re good at it.” For the first time, she forced herself to forget last night and her interactions with Huck and look at him from an objective perspective. “We’ll have to investigate this further.” She tapped the papers into order and slid them into the case file. “I’d like to interview Meyer Jackson. Do you think you can get us in to see him before the sheriff finds out?”
Smudgeon smiled. “Definitely.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It no longer had a name.
The wind blew snow against the sides of the cargo container, scattering warning. No other sound remained in the wilderness, especially from the body. Its name had been Yana, a reference to God’s Grace.
Now Yana meant nothing.
The smell of blood and death rang through the hold, competing with the bleach slowly spreading across the floor. The blood was thicker this time, mixing with the clear bleach. Red and white, circling each other, not blending without assistance. Time to clean again. Why were bodily functions so putrid?
In the heat, in the moment, all sights and sounds were glorified. Then Yana had died. Too soon and too fast.
This one had been weak. Sadly, pathetically, dangerously weak. Sadness poured through the cargo hold now, along with anger. “How dare you be so useless?” A quick grab at former Yana’s ankle pulled the body away from the metal. When she smashed into the icy snow outside, the area smelled much better. Pure. Ready for a new occupant.
