Steve’s sympathetic expression probably worked wonders with a jury. “She worked for my firm, and she was an excellent paralegal. Casey worked closely with two of our associate attorneys, and they’ve both been devastated by her loss.” He scratched his neck. “It’s looking more and more like Casey was killed by the Snowblood Peak serial killer.” His eyes gleamed as he no doubt plotted the defense for Meyer Jackson.
Laurel would follow up about Casey’s personal life with the attorney, and the rest of his firm, during her appointment on Monday. It was the first time the secretary could fit her in, and considering it was already Thursday at noon, she didn’t mind. Plus, now she knew exactly why Steve Bearing couldn’t meet that afternoon—he was here defending the pastor. “Pastor? I’m going to ask you to look at some pictures, and they’re bleak. But do you recognize any of these women?” She brought up the photos on her phone—the victims they’d been able to identify so far.
John took the phone and looked at the pictures of the identified victims, which were mostly mugshots. He flipped through them. “No. I’m sorry.” He flipped again to a picture of a decimated body and dropped the phone on the table. It clattered toward Laurel. “God. That’s terrible. Who woulddothat?”
“I wish I could answer that question,” Laurel said quietly. Honestly. Part of what pushed her every day in this job was her need to answer that impossible-to-fathom question. Who would do that, and more importantly, why would anybody cause such pain and destruction? She looked at Huck to see if he had any more questions.
He shook his head. “I’m done for now.” He stood up and pulled Laurel’s chair out for her. “We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”
Laurel stood. “Thank you for your time.”
Pastor John also stood. “Have you had any leads on finding Pastor Zeke Caine?”
“No,” Laurel said. “Not yet, but I’m just getting started on that one. I would like to speak with his daughter soon.” Abigail Caine was a mystery on many fronts. “Right now, the Snowblood Peak cases take precedence.” She moved into the hallway.
Pastor John followed. “After you were here the other day, I went through some of the records in the basement and found a couple of boxes that belong to the pastor. Most contain journals that look like fairly boring checkoff lists.” His smile was both fond and sad. “Pastor Zeke loves to-do lists. Just loves them.” He walked her into the vestibule and reached for a large box hidden beneath the table holding pamphlets.
Huck intercepted him and accepted the box, which looked fairly heavy.
“Thank you,” Laurel said.
Pastor John nodded. “You’re welcome. Pastor Zeke resided in a cabin about a mile down the side road from the main parking lot, and you’re more than welcome to check it out. There’s nothing of his left there, and he lived pretty sparsely before. I was lucky to find that box of his journals and personal effects in the basement.”
Laurel looked at Huck. “We’ll go there right now, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure,” Huck said.
“Feel free,” Pastor John said, waving his hand toward the door. He looked at his attorney. “How about lunch? I can’t deal with any more talk about death and crime. The only topic will be the Seahawks and next season. Deal?”
“Deal,” Steve Bearing said, his gaze on Laurel’s hair. “I look forward to seeing you on Monday, Agent Snow. Perhaps we, too, could grab lunch afterward.”
Huck made a sound that could only be interpreted as a growl. Laurel moved toward the door without answering, wondering why that sound had shot straight south of her abdomen in a way she shouldn’t appreciate but did.
Life was getting much too peculiar.
Chapter Thirty-One
In the conference room of her office, Laurel sat on the rough table and stared at the whiteboard. More snow blanketed the skylight above. Her phone buzzed and she lifted it to her ear. “Snow.”
“Hi, Laurel, it’s George. I was calling for a status check,” the FBI deputy director said.
She should’ve checked who was calling before answering. “You don’t want my status right now. I have more suspects than I’d like, and I’m expecting the killer to make a move soon. In fact, to be honest, I think he probably already has taken another woman.” The thought made her want to vomit. “But we don’t have any missing persons yet. I have computer techs monitoring for any within this or the surrounding states, and nobody fits the description.” Did the guy know the schedules of his victims and exactly when to take them to avoid exposure, or had he just gotten lucky? “I wish I had better news for you,” she admitted.
“How’s the PR side going?” George asked.
“News vans have been camped out in the parking lot, and reporters keep trying to get inside. So far, we’ve directed them to the PR arm of the Washington State authorities, and that’s working well.” She angled her neck to peer out her window at the forest land behind the building. “Last time I checked, I didn’t see any vans in the parking lot, and there’s nobody climbing trees out back, so maybe they’ve given up for the night.” One could always hope.
George sighed. “All right. Keep me in the loop, and Snow? Make something happen soon. My balls are to the fire on this one.”
“I think it’s supposed to be your feet to the fire, sir,” she said absently, still studying her board.
“Feels like my balls. Talk soon.” He clicked off.
Laurel set her phone to the side. She had the oddest urge to call Huck, which was the exact wrong thing to do. He’d made his preferences clear.
Movement sounded in the hallway, and Kate poked her head in.
“What are you still doing here?” Laurel asked. “I told everyone to head home at five and hope for a weekend with no missing persons.”
