“I’ll get the warrant,” Todd said.
“Where is the access to Farah’s dating app profiles?” Bree asked.
“I’ll check on that status as well.” Todd made a note. “Also, we found a receipt near the aquarium that we believe was used to transport the snake to the victim’s house.”
“A receipt?” Interest warmed Bree’s veins.
“Yes.” Todd nodded. “It’s a credit card receipt.”
“Oooo.” Bree liked receipts. “Maybe it’s traceable.”
“Juarez is working on it.” Todd smiled. “Some of the ink ran from the snake’s water bowl, so we can’t read the name of the store. The transaction number is legible, and the amount and date. I’m optimistic.”
Bree held up crossed fingers. “I need to talk to the press.” She stood. “I’d like you both to come with me. We need to show we have all resources on this case.”
Todd rose. “Will you mention the idea of forming a task force?”
Bree shook her head. “Not until I talk to BCI.” The process wasn’t as simple as making a declaration. Other agencies had to agree to dedicate manpower to her case. Also, she had mixed feelings about her last experience with an investigator from the New York State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation. He’d tried to pin a murder on her. In the end, he’d come around to her side, but Bree had lost some faith. “We all need to be on the same page before I wave them in front of the press.”
Marge appeared in the doorway. “What is that smell?”
Bree sniffed her arm. “I believe that’s us.” Their clothes had absorbed odors at the death scene, but they’d been inside long enough to become scent-blind to their own stink. “What’s up?”
Marge grimaced. “Brace yourself.”
Bree did. “What?”
Marge sighed. “Madeline Jager is in the lobby.”
Fuck.
Matt rolled his eyes to the ceiling in a give me a break expression. “Fuck.”
Bree tapped her forehead on the table. This was not the first time the county administrator had barged into the station. “I really don’t want to talk to her, but I will not give her the satisfaction of running me off my turf. I assume she was in front of the press when she demanded to see me.”
“You know it. She would never pass up the chance for PR.” Marge paused. “I could tell her you’re not here,” she offered. Her lips curled in a sly grin. “Or have one of the deputies toss her out on her ass.”
“I’d pay money to see that,” Matt said.
Bree imagined the scene, and it was glorious.
Madeline had been a dagger between Bree’s shoulder blades since the county supervisor had been elevated to administrator. Madeline was a politician to her core. She and Bree were orange juice and toothpaste. Jager was one of the few people who could make Bree lose her temper. She pushed Bree’s buttons like a six-year-old in an elevator. Marge had once said that Jager would eat her own young for good PR, and she was so right.
“I have to play nice,” Bree grumbled. Reality was a bitch.
Marge sobered. “Do you want me to take her to your office?”
“No.” Bree glanced at the murder board and all its full-color horror. She knew from experience that the crime scene photos would throw off Jager, and Bree was not above using whatever means necessary to discourage future surprise visits. “Bring her in here. I’m sure she wants information about the case, and it’s all right here.”
Marge glanced at the murder board. “That’s mean.” But the corner of her mouth tilted up.
“She should have called first.” Bree shrugged.
Marge returned a couple of minutes later with the politician in tow. Madeline Jager fought aging hard—too hard. Her hair was freshly dyed in a shade of red that had never been natural on anyone, and she looked like she’d been stung on the lips by a bee. Filler, maybe. Definitely. She hesitated on her way through the door. Her nose wrinkled, but being a politician, she didn’t ask who smelled. She saw the murder board, then quickly averted her eyes.
“Ms. Jager.” Bree gestured toward Matt. “You remember Investigator Flynn and my chief deputy, Todd Harvey.” Bree motioned toward a chair. “Please have a seat.”
Jager barely acknowledged Matt and Todd with a single nod. She kept her focus on Bree. Instead of sitting, she leaned forward and pressed her hands flat on the table. “Reporters are talking about a serial killer in Grey’s Hollow. What are you doing about that?”
Bree ignored the attempt to loom over her and invade her space. The normal reaction would be to shift backward and reestablish her boundaries. But Bree did neither. She sat completely still, refusing to allow her body posture to shift even a millimeter—as if Jager’s belligerence had zero effect. “About the murders or about the reporters?”
“Both,” Jager snapped. “We can’t have this here.” She stabbed the table with a forefinger. “This is a nice, wholesome small town. We didn’t have killers here before you took over.”
“Well, actually, you did.” Bree had come back to her hometown to solve her sister’s murder.
Jager’s face flushed. “What are you doing about the murders?”
Bree motioned to the murder board, then the table covered with files, reports, and photos. “We’re investigating. We’ve had two murders in two days. We’re still processing evidence.”
“You need to solve this case!” Jager demanded, rapping her knuckles on the table once.
Bree reached for the murder book and shoved it toward Jager. It slid across the tabletop, stopping in front of Jager. “There’s the evidence we have so far. Do you want to take a crack at it?”
Jager straightened and looked at the binder as if it were a scorpion. “That’s your job, not mine.”
“This is true,” Bree said. “And I’d like to get back to it.”
Jager’s temper flared in her eyes. “The board of supervisors would like an update on the investigation.” The words came out clipped and precisely enunciated, as if it were taking all Jager’s self-control not to scream at Bree. “Do you have a suspect?”
Bree considered Farah Rock. “We have a person of interest.”
“Who?” Jager jutted one hip and propped a fist on it.
Bree shook her head. “We’re waiting on a couple of key pieces of evidence. Once those are in, if they confirm our hypothesis, then we’ll apply for a search and/or arrest warrant. We have rules and procedures we must follow. You know that. Every suspect is innocent until we prove them guilty. If we skip any legal hoops, we risk losing in court and potentially having a killer go free.”
“But you’re close?” Jager shifted her weight to the other leg. “You think you know who it is?”
“We have a strong suspicion.” Bree weighed her words carefully. “Much will depend on those key pieces of evidence. Thoughts, feelings, and gut instinct don’t mean anything to a judge. I won’t jeopardize this case with speculation.”
Jager digested Bree’s words, then nodded. “The board would like regular updates.”