The three men standing with the deputy shook their heads.
Without a word, Brian reached into the inside pocket of his sports coat and handed over a lockpick set. When Sean raised an eyebrow, his brother gave an innocent shrug. “Haven’t met a reporter yet who doesn’t keep their best contacts locked away.”
He snorted. It had been a while since he’d picked a lock, but the mechanism was simple enough. Less than a minute later, the drawer clicked open. Inside sat the usual office odds and ends—pens, paper clips, sticky notes, and stationery. Toward the back, there was a small stack of mail. He pulled it free and began sorting through the envelopes, opening each one and scanning the contents.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Then he reached the last envelope, and his pulse kicked. “Hey, Brian, look at this.”
His brother leaned over his shoulder, reading the newspaper letters pasted onto the plain white printer paper. A low whistle escaped him.
For the first time all morning, something close to cautious optimism stirred in Sean’s chest. They might finally have a real lead if it wasn’t a gag.
He slipped the note and envelope into a clear evidence bag, labeled it with the date, time, location, and his initials, then rose to his feet. “Finish packing everything.”
The techs nodded.
Ignoring the barrage of shouted questions from Daly’s bosses, Sean headed for the door with Brian on his heels.
Twenty minutes later, they were bouncing down a cracked industrial driveway in the Mustang. The suspension protested every pothole, each jolt earning a grimace from Sean as the tires dipped into ruts deep enough to swallow half the wheel. Next time, they were taking Brian’s truck.
The uneven drive stretched nearly three-quarters of a mile through dense trees and overgrown brush before opening onto a wide expanse of property. The sight waiting for them turned Sean’s stomach cold—fire trucks, an ambulance, and three patrol cars.
And where the abandoned tobacco factory should have stood, there was nothing but a massive heap of blackened, smoldering rubble. The structure was gone.
Brian stared through the windshield. “Well, that’s not good.”
Sean slowed as they passed a weathered roadside sign bearing the faded name of the former cigarette company. Then something caught his eye, and his foot slammed onto the brake.
His brother jerked forward. “What is it?”
Sean pointed through the passenger-side window. Pinned to the sign was a large brown mailing envelope with “Federal and Local Pigs” spelled across it in cutout letters that were big enough to come from newspaper headlines. With every first responder focused on the fire, no one had noticed it.
Brian climbed out, already pulling his phone from his pocket to photograph the envelope in place. After snapping several shots, he slipped on the disposable gloves he kept tucked inside his coat and carefully removed both the envelope and the thumbtacks securing it.
Sean retrieved a clean evidence bag from the glove compartment and held it open while his brother dropped the tacks in. Neither expected much from them, but Sean had learned long ago that cases often turned on the smallest overlooked detail.
After getting back into the passenger seat, Brian lifted the unsealed flap and slid out a single sheet of printer paper. The cutout message across it made Sean’s jaw harden.
I took care of the reporter. Now back to the others. Someone has to rid society of them. S.S.
Brian exhaled sharply. “Well, Hansen was right. Daly got under his skin. I’m guessing S.S. stands for Seaside Strangler.”
Sean’s gaze shifted to the smoldering ruins ahead. The fire had erased whatever evidence might have been waiting inside. Still, the note told them something. The killer had wanted them to know this had been deliberate. And he wanted credit for it.
“Come on.” He stepped on the gas pedal. “Let’s talk to the fire chief.”
Unfortunately, there was nothing else for them to find. While there were sections of the huge building that hadn’t been completely burned to the ground, there were no signs of a murder scene in them. An accelerant had been used, and the fire had been burning for a while, starting in the early morning hours, before someone had reported the smell of smoke two miles away. It had taken some time before the source had been discovered, as the sunrise finally made it possible to see the black and grey smoke rising from the building.
It was an hour after they’d arrived that Brian and Sean left the scene in the hands of the Arson and Crime Scene techs to sift through the debris for any evidence that might have miraculously survived the flames. And once again, they were back to square one.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two Weeks Later…
Grace adjusted the moist heat wrap around her patient’s shoulder, making sure it sat snugly before jotting down a few progress notes in the chart balanced against her hip. Across the room, Tim moved an ultrasound wand over another patient’s knee while calmly explaining the next phase of treatment. Near the reception desk, Dana greeted a new arrival with cheerful efficiency. The quiet rhythm of the clinic filled Grace with satisfaction.
