The First Death (Columbia River, #4)(41)

“Understood. Go ahead. You have my discretion.”

“Jillian is the third woman that’s been dumped in the county in the last six weeks. All nude. Strangled. Blonde and young. One was a runaway living on the streets of Portland. The other took off after a fight with her boyfriend. The dumping locations are spread out, but I can’t ignore the commonalities.”

“You don’t have a theory; you have a serial killer.” The detective let out a string of curses. “Where is he collecting these girls?”

“I don’t know yet.” Evan grimaced, knowing the other detective was right. He didn’t like to jump to conclusions, but after hearing Jillian’s age and how she’d disappeared, these killings pointed at a possible single killer.

“Have you contacted the FBI?”

“I’ll do it right after I finish talking to you. There is a definite pattern now. Even how the girls all had left their home base and possibly needed a place to stay.”

“I need to contact the parents. Do you have images of the tattoos I can show them?”

“Yes.” Evan tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder to use his keyboard. “I’ll get them right over to you.”

“Appreciate it. It’s not going to be an easy evening in the Francis home.”

“It’s not. Good luck.”

The detective ended the call.

Evan leaned back in his chair. His victim was no longer the river woman; she was Jillian Francis.

And it appeared he had a serial killer in his county.

“Fuck!” He grabbed the phone again, pulling up Mercy Kilpatrick’s cell number. Voice mail. “Mercy, it’s Evan. I need you to call me back ASAP.” Mercy was a close friend in the FBI and the best person he could contact at this time of night to get things moving with the agency.

“Noelle to the rescue,” announced Noelle as she entered his office, two big takeout bags in her hands. “Good to see you haven’t fainted from hunger.” She set the bags on his desk and started unloading. The scent of curry made Evan salivate.

“Things happened while you were gone.” He quickly updated her on his call with the Shasta County detective.

“I’m glad we provided answers for her parents,” said Noelle. “Too bad they weren’t the answers they’d hoped for.” She sat down, slid a chair up to Evan’s desk, pulled out her phone, and scrolled as she took a bite of pad thai. She suddenly straightened and set down her fork, her eyes on her phone. “Check your email.”

Evan pulled chicken off a skewer with his teeth. “I was just in my email,” he said with his mouth full.

“This just landed. They’ve found Ken Steward’s Explorer.”

“Where?”

“Eagle’s Nest. The police chief found it abandoned near the town, ran the plates, and it pulled up our BOLO.”

“Chief Daly?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard of him but never met him. Know him?”

“Good friend. He’s married to the FBI agent I just left a voice mail for.”

“Small world on this side of the Cascades. I’ll get a forensics team en route,” said Noelle as she struggled to keep noodles on her plastic fork. “And then a tow.”

Evan glanced outside. The barest hint of daylight lingered. If he wanted a look at Ken’s vehicle tonight, he’d be doing it by flashlight.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Noelle, eyeing him. “I don’t want to wait until tomorrow either.”

Evan shoveled food in his mouth. “Eat fast and let’s go.”

“You’ll drive and I’ll eat.”

His grumbling answer was muffled by a mouthful of chicken.





22


Ahead, off the rural lane, Evan spotted the county forensics van with its bright lights shining toward a large mass of dense brush. An Eagle’s Nest SUV was parked behind the van, and he recognized Police Chief Truman Daly standing with his arms folded across his chest while he watched the forensic tech. As he drew closer, Evan saw a Ford Explorer behind the brush twenty yards off the road.

Truman’s face lit up as Evan stepped out of his vehicle. “Bolton!” He strode forward and shook his hand. Evan introduced him to Noelle.

He and Truman went back a couple of years. They’d worked on a number of cases together, and Evan found the chief of police to be honest and an overall good guy. Evan glanced at his phone. The chief’s FBI agent wife still hadn’t called him back.

“I left a voice mail for Mercy almost an hour ago,” Evan told Truman. “Do you know what she’s doing?”

“She’s at her sister’s house. She and Rose are working on some project for baby Henry’s bedroom. And I know wine is involved.” Truman glanced at his own phone. “She hasn’t returned my text either.”

“Shouldn’t you be calling him ‘toddler Henry’ by now?”

Truman snorted. “Mercy and I had the same conversation. I’m worried the name ‘baby Henry’ will stick through high school.”

Evan shook his head, his face dead serious. “You can’t let that happen. He’ll never have any friends.”

Truman turned his attention back to the Explorer. “The closest home is a couple of miles away, and this road isn’t used much except by locals. One of them called me. He was positive the vehicle wasn’t here when he drove by this morning. I saw the gas tank wasn’t empty. So unless there was an engine issue, someone deliberately dumped it today.”