“Laurel? It’s George. What the hell is going on there?”
Laurel blew out air. “Hi, Deputy Director McCromby. A reporter was being a reporter, sir. Captain Rivers didn’t say anything to the journalist, so she went with supposition.”
“What the hell was he doing even speaking with a reporter?” George bellowed.
“He was trying to gain information from her. She has excellent sources and has given us facts before, but I can assure you that he guaranteed me he would not take a call from her again.” The board was still bothering her.
“Fine. Make sure of it.” George hung up.
Laurel set her phone down and rearranged the pictures and connections in her mind. Once and then again. Her phone rang and she lifted it absently to her ear this time. “Snow.”
“Agent Snow? It’s Officer Zello. I found Davie Tate per the BOLO and am outside his place of employment right now. What would you like for me to do?”
Laurel glanced at the clock. “He’s missing school, which is truancy. Bring him in for me, would you?”
“Sure thing. He’s a minor, so one of us will need to contact his guardian.”
“I’m aware of the law. Thank you, Officer Zello.” She clicked off and called out. “Nester? I need you to get me Davie Tate’s mom on the phone. As soon as possible. Also, we need the search warrant for Sharon Lamber’s newly found greenhouse and also the one for Charlene Rox’s workspace at the hospital, as well as phone records for any suspects you think we can obtain warrants for. Now.” Adrenaline shot into her veins. She was getting closer.
“You’ve got it. The state crime lab just sent over a report and there were no prints on either of the axes used at the murders,” Nester yelled.
“I figured,” she muttered.
“Also, Fish and Wildlife just called. They found Christine Franklin’s hands a mile away from the crime scene but on the main road. It’s like he pulled over and put her hands on a log,” Nester bellowed.
Laurel chewed her lip. “Thanks.” The killer did seem to want them to search for the hands now.
In less than a minute, Nester called back. “I have Ms. Tate on line two.”
Laurel hopped off the conference table and reached for the phone Kate had put on a small glass table in the corner.
“Ms. Tate?”
“Yes, hello? Is this really the FBI?” a woman asked, panic in her voice.
“Yes, ma’am. My name is Agent in Charge Laurel Snow, and I’m working on a murder case and need to speak with your son. I think he might have information that could help me.” She didn’t have to admit that the kid was a possible suspect. “Davie is truant from school today, so I’m having an officer escort him to my office. Could you please meet us here?”
Ms. Tate sighed. “I can’t. I’m in Seattle and I have several houses to clean today. Davie couldn’t know anything about a murder. Are you sure he’s not in school?”
“I’m certain. He’s at his place of employment right now but will be here soon. I need parental consent.”
The woman’s rate of breathing increased audibly. “I can’t be there but will ask Jason or Haylee to go with him. I trust them and give permission or consent or whatever for you to talk to Davie while they’re with him. I’m sure he’ll want to help you. What do you think he could possibly know?”
It was a fair question from a concerned and harried mother. “Davie knew Sharon Lamber, who is one of the victims in this case. He and Tommy Bearing assisted her at her greenhouse with various tasks, and I want to know if he saw or heard anything odd. I need to question him about this case in general, Ms. Tate.”
“Oh. Well, okay. I’ll call Jason now.”
“I appreciate it.” Laurel wanted to schedule a time to question Ms. Tate directly but wouldn’t make that request until she’d already spoken to Davie. “How about I call you after interviewing Davie to update you?”
Ms. Tate sighed. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll speak with you soon.” Laurel ended the call. Should she feel guilty about manipulating Davie’s mother? She was trying to catch a murderer who beat his victims to death, so her own feelings didn’t matter right now.
Her cell phone rang and she reached for it yet again. “Snow.”
“Hi. It’s Dr. Ortega, and I have a preliminary report for you on Christine Franklin. Blunt force trauma to the head as cause of death. There were signs of a sexual assault but no bodily fluids, and no DNA so far.” Papers rustled. “Same as the other victims. You thinking he tries to rape them, can’t keep it up, and then goes into a rage?”
“Yes,” she said, dropping into a leather chair.
