He led Bree to the second patrol car. A woman was huddled in the back seat.
A deputy stood next to the vehicle. “She was shivering. I put her in the car and turned on the heat.”
Peering into the vehicle, Bree recognized a dark sheriff’s department blanket wrapped around the woman’s shoulders.
Todd opened the rear door. “Ms. Ledger?”
The woman looked up. Tears spilled from red-rimmed eyes and streaked down her face. “You can call me Avery.” Her voice was small and trembly.
“Could you step out of the vehicle, please?” Todd asked. “The sheriff would like to speak with you.”
“Of course.” She climbed out, wobbling on her high heels. She was in her midtwenties, and she’d put effort into her appearance that night. Tight jeans, thigh-high boots, and a cute puffy jacket flattered her young figure. But crying had taken its toll. Her hair was tangled. Long strands stuck to her tear-dampened face, mascara ringed her eyes, and her lipstick was smeared. Though she was wearing a jacket, she kept the blanket around her shoulders, clutching the edges together in front of her chest.
Todd introduced Bree, then bowed out.
Bree pulled a pen and notebook from her jacket pocket. “I understand you found Mr. LaForge?”
Avery nodded and pressed a hand over her mouth. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, visibly composing herself. She opened her eyes. “Yes,” came out in a shaky whisper.
Bree gave her a few seconds to elaborate, but Avery just blinked, like a raccoon caught in the beam of a flashlight. Bree prompted, “What brought you here?”
Avery regarded the ground, her eyes unfocused, like she was seeing something other than the asphalt. “We had a date. He was going to make me dinner. He didn’t answer the door. I went around back because he’d said he was going to grill steaks. I thought he might be outside. But he was . . . He was . . .” Her voice broke. “He was dead,” she sobbed.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Bree said. Interviewing witnesses required a delicate balance between empathizing and extracting information. She felt terrible making shocked people recount their trauma, but the early hours of an investigation were critical. She wanted to catch the killer before he inflicted suffering on anyone else. She gave the woman a few seconds to compose herself, then asked, “What time did you get here?”
Avery wiped her face with two shaking hands. “Around six.”
“Where were you before that?”
“Work,” Avery said. “I left the office at five and stopped home to change before driving out here.”
“How well did you know Spencer?” Bree asked.
Avery sighed. “This was only going to be our third date, but we’ve been messaging a lot.”
“How did you meet?”
“On the dating app TechLove.com,” Avery said.
“I assume that’s a dating app for people who work in tech?”
Avery nodded. “I’m a social media content creator with Get Fit Apparel. Spencer is—was—a digital marketer, but he’s self-employed.”
“Have you met any of Spencer’s friends, family, or coworkers?”
“No.” Avery sniffed. “I’ve only known him about two weeks. On our first date, we were supposed to just meet for coffee. I don’t like to commit to anything more than that. There are too many creeps out there. But Spencer and I seemed to connect right away, so we ended up walking around town after the coffee. It was a nice day, so we got ice cream and sat on a bench at the park. We talked for hours. The next weekend, we had dinner together.” She hiccuped. “I thought I might have found The One.” She bawled out the last word. Her breath hitched, and she pressed her fingertips to her closed eyes.
After Avery lowered her hands, Bree asked, “Did he mention family nearby?”
“His parents are dead, but he has a brother here in Grey’s Hollow. His name is Jasper.” Avery pressed a knuckle to her lips. “They were really close. Jasper named his oldest boy after Spencer. He’s going to be devastated.”
Bree motioned toward the farmhouse. “Had you ever been to Spencer’s house before tonight?”
Avery shook her head. “No, and he hadn’t been to mine either.”
“When was the last time you communicated with him?”
“He called me last night to confirm our date and tell me to wear something warm. He wanted to light his firepit and watch the snow. I thought it was a really romantic idea. That’s the last time I spoke with him.” Avery swiped the back of her hand across her face.
“Thank you for your help. We may need to ask you additional questions.” With no reason to doubt her story, Bree collected Avery’s contact information and summoned a deputy. “See that she gets home safely.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the deputy said.
Bree found Todd standing behind the open trunk of his patrol vehicle, cell phone held between his chin and shoulder. As she approached, he lowered his phone and shoved it into the clip on his duty belt. “I called in four more uniforms to help search the crime scene.”
Bree brushed a snowflake from her sleeve. The flurries were thickening. “We have no time to waste.”
CHAPTER FIVE
An hour later, Matt scanned the rear of the property. A generator hummed, and portable lights blazed across the yard, brightening it like a football stadium. Spread out every ten feet or so, deputies walked in a line across the yard. At the end of that line, Matt pointed his flashlight at the ground. Flurries drifted through the cold air. Despite the falling temps, the ground had not yet frozen. The snowflakes melted as they landed, and his boots squished in a thin layer of mud.
The cold-bloodedness of the murder set off all his instincts. Matt had plenty of experience working crime scenes. He’d worked as both an investigator and a K-9 handler for the sheriff’s department until a shooting—and the previous corrupt sheriff—had ended his career as a deputy. But the details of this killing made all the hairs on the back of his neck not only stand up but wave a flag as well. Only a psychopath could wind plastic wrap around a man’s head and watch him suffocate. Matt wanted this sick bastard in a cell before anyone else appeared in his crosshairs.
He moved slowly, carefully scanning his section of the ground for evidence. In the area next to Spencer’s driveway, Matt’s beam fell on a footprint. Had the killer walked around the house? Maybe casing the place? Matt squatted and examined the print closer. The grass was too thick to see much more than vague impressions. No tread was visible, and he doubted they’d even be able to determine the size of the shoe. Still, the prints needed to be documented.
He called out to the closest deputy. “We need to block off this area.”
Another deputy jogged over with stakes and crime scene tape. They cordoned off the footstep impression.
Matt didn’t find anything else of interest. At the overhead garage door, he shined his flashlight through the high window. A pickup truck and lawn mower sat side by side.
Matt went looking for Bree. He found her on the back patio, examining the doorknob. Her duty belt and bulky sheriff’s jacket camouflaged a lean, athletic body. She was shining her flashlight on the patio door handle, no doubt looking for scratch marks or other indication that the lock had been picked or the door forcibly opened.