The fixed bar prevented a break-in by lifting the sliding glass door out of its tracks.
Not wanting to disturb the door, she gestured for the deputies to return to the front of the house.
On the left, an arched doorway framed the death scene in the den. Matt checked a closet. There wasn’t another place large enough for an adult to hide. The front door opened. Her deputies came down the hall, and she sent them upstairs to clear the second floor.
Then she regripped her weapon and approached the couch. Craning her neck, she peered over the back. The body lay on its side facing a fireplace and big-screen TV. The victim’s hands were bound behind his back, and his pants were around his knees. Blinds covered a long window on the right. Light slanted through the tilted slats, forming lines on the carpet. She identified the source of the moaning. A porn movie played on the TV.
But the victim wasn’t watching it, not through the layers of plastic wrap encasing his head. Bree leaned over the back of the couch and pressed two fingers to the victim’s neck. No pulse, and Susan had been correct. He was corpse cold.
In the doorway, Matt grimaced, but Bree exhaled in relief, glad the one-in-a-million odds had been reduced to zero. The victim was definitely not Adam. Once she’d put that aside, her insides twisted as she registered multiple glaring similarities to Spencer LaForge’s murder. A Post-it note was stuck to the chest. She turned her head to read the block print aloud. “Watch your step, Sheriff.”
“A personal note from the killer is never good.”
A quick shiver rippled through Bree’s bones. “No.”
Matt turned in a circle, rifle at his hip, scanning the rooms.
“Does the body fit Mr. Northcott’s description?” Bree asked.
Matt said, “Five eleven, one eighty, brown and brown.”
Bree couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but the hair above the plastic wrapping was medium brown shot with a few strands of gray.
Bree spotted a long, curved purple mark on the back of the victim’s neck. “Is that mark on his neck an injury? Could he have been hit over the back of the head?”
Matt leaned over the body. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a bruise. Looks more like a birthmark.”
Bree pulled out her phone. She snapped a picture of the mark. “I’ll notify the ME.”
Matt started taking pictures of the scene with his phone. “I see stun gun burns.” He pointed to a pair of marks on the victim’s neck and another on his groin.
Bree pressed her phone to her ear and made the calls. “The ME will be here soon. Forensics is on the way.”
Matt snapped a photo of the room. “Unfortunately, this looks very much like Spencer’s death.” He echoed her initial impression.
“Yep.” Bree didn’t want to say the words serial killer, but that’s what her brain was screaming.
“Could be a copycat,” Matt said.
There were reasons police withheld crime details from the public. You couldn’t copy a crime if you didn’t know the specifics.
“Too many details were leaked to the press.” At that moment, Bree could have choked Nick West for giving away the plastic wrap, stun gun, and zip tie details. “I wish I knew who leaked the information.”
“Think of how many people are involved with the case from your office, forensics, the medical examiner. Deputies, techs, administrative personnel. Hell, even cleaning crews could see a file.”
“I know.” Bree rubbed her temple. “It’s still frustrating.” She dropped her hand. Sunlight glinted on something behind a fake potted plant. “What’s that?” She walked around the couch to get a better view.
A glass tank sat on the floor in the corner of the room. Its mesh lid lay half-askew. A small pile of hand-warmer packets, the disposable ones that went in your pockets, were piled on the carpet next to the lid. It took her a second to process the sight. Then the hairs on the back of her neck snapped upright like soldiers.
Movement on her right caught her attention. A sixth sense commanded her to freeze. Something rattled. Slowly, she turned her head. Her heartbeats echoed in her ears, and her breathing shifted to quiet and shallow for a reason she didn’t understand. Every fiber in her warned that she was in grave danger.
She tracked the rattling sound and spotted the snake coiled on the floor maybe four feet away. Not just a snake.
A rattlesnake.
For a few seconds, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Even though they’d suspected snakes had been stolen, the sight of it felt unreal. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second, then reopened them. The snake was still there.
“Matt?” Bree called in a soft voice.
“Yeah.” He moved toward her.
“No. Stay still.” She moved her eyeballs to glance at him.
He frowned. “What is it?” He couldn’t see the animal from where he stood.
“A rattlesnake.” She returned her attention to the reptile. She knew there wasn’t anything inherently bad about snakes. They were just as nature had designed them. But the creature just looked evil. The tip of its tail quivered, reproducing the rattling sound.
Matt froze, clearly tuning into the sound. A soft curse sounded under his breath. “Fuck.”
The rattler’s triangular head lifted, and it stared right at her. She could feel its focus. Bree wanted to scream, but self-control squeezed her throat like a strong hand, strangling her voice before it could emerge. She knew next to nothing about rattlesnakes but would treat it like any other dangerous predator. No sudden movements. No loud noises.
“Can you ease away slowly?” Matt asked, his voice barely a breath.
“I’m going to try.” She shifted her weight. A floorboard squeaked. Bree lifted one foot and painstakingly placed it a few inches behind her. As her body followed, the snake’s rattle shivered. Bree eased her hand toward her weapon as she took a second step back.
The snake hissed. The head turned a few degrees as the beady eyes followed her movement. Its tail trembled harder, rattling louder.
Slowly.
Fear rose in Bree’s throat, burning like bile. Her next breath rasped through her tight chest. The snake seemed to tense, and Bree froze for a few seconds. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. Her vision tunneled down until all she could see was the reptile. Would it perceive direct eye contact as a threat? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t look away.
The same instinct telling her not to move also warned her that the snake was alarmed. It was going to strike. She sensed the impending attack a split second before the snake shot forward in a blur of motion.
She flung her body backward. The mouth clamped onto her boot as her tailbone rang on the hard floor. She kicked at the snake. Fuck. Was that the head? The brown body fell away. She scrambled down the hall on her ass. Her hands and boots clawed at the wood, pulling herself backward like a drunken crab.
Matt got in front of her, putting his body in between her and the den. He leveled the rifle. “Where is it?”
“I don’t know, but it’s mad! Just get out!” Bree managed to get upright. Her brain scrambled as she paused to wrench her Glock from its holster. Survival instinct took over. She was an animal, trying not to be killed by another animal.