Rory was tall and thin. Bree estimated him to be close to thirty years old, but at first glance he could have passed for much younger. He needed a shave, but the patches of stubble on his chin were as sparse as an adolescent’s.
Bree gestured to Matt. “This is my criminal investigator, Matt Flynn. Dr. Jones said you had some information about the knots used in the Oscar case.” Bree pointed to a table where the ropes were laid out on white sheets.
Rory swallowed as if nervous. “I was going to call you today.”
“We were in the building,” Bree explained. “About those knots . . .”
“Yes.” Rory cleared his throat and stepped away from the computer. “The binds were tied off with what’s called a ground-line hitch. It’s not an uncommon knot, but it does require specialized knowledge. The hitches used are all nearly identical, which tells me the individual who tied them had practice.”
“Who would use that knot?” Bree asked.
“Boaters, climbers, campers, scouts,” Rory said.
Matt stroked his beard. “So, the killer is likely to be someone who participates in outdoor activities.”
“Probably, yes.” Rory rubbed his hands together. “I can also tell the person who tied them was right-handed due to the way the ropes pass over each other. We are also testing the ropes and hitches for DNA. The rope itself is one-eighth-inch black nylon paracord. You can buy it almost anywhere: Amazon, Walmart, Home Depot, marine stores . . . This rope looks new.”
“So maybe our killer bought it for this purpose,” Bree said. “But then again, maybe not.”
Tracking the sale through local retailers would be a lot of legwork, but they could check suspects’ credit card records for recent purchases. You never knew what piece of evidence would lead to the killer, and all evidence added up when it came time to go to trial.
“We also found three dried flower petals caught under the leg of the chair Oscar was tied to.” Rory indicated another table, where three small flower petals were lined up on a piece of brown paper. The edges of the petals were stained with dried blood. “We’re consulting a botanist to find out what plant these flowers originated from, but we found no matching flowers anywhere on the property.”
“Did you find anything interesting on Camilla’s or Oscar’s cell phones?” Bree asked.
“Camilla didn’t use her phone much. Her recent calls and texts were mostly to her son, the church, and some local businesses.” Rory paused. “But Oscar had quite a few calls to numbers that were only active for a short time.”
Matt frowned. “Burners.”
“Yep,” Rory agreed. “All calls. No texts.”
“So content is unknown,” Bree said.
“Um.” Rory blushed bright red. “Sheriff, I have something else to show you.” He moved back to the laptop he’d been examining when they’d walked into the room. “We found some pictures on Oscar’s laptop.”
Curious, Bree bent closer. “What kind of pictures? Anything like the one I received last night?”
“No, ma’am,” Rory said. “These are different.”
Oscar couldn’t have sent that one anyway, thought Bree. He’d already been killed.
Matt stood behind her, looking over her shoulder.
Rory tapped the keyboard, waking up the laptop. The screen brightened to show a grid of photos. They were all pictures of a naked woman—with Bree’s face on them.
Shock snapped Bree to full attention. “What are those?”
“It’s not you,” Rory blurted out. “I could tell the images had been edited immediately. Someone combined pornography with publicly available photos of you.”
“I know it’s not me.” Bree fell back a step, as if trying to put distance between herself and the images on the computer screen. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? People will believe that it is.” She paused. “I receive so many nasty messages. I thought I’d seen it all.” But nothing could have prepared Bree for seeing her face on another woman’s nude body.
“Have you received anything like this before?” Matt asked. “The dick pic was bad enough, but this . . .”
“Not exactly.” Bree waved a hand toward the screen. “I’ve received pictures of me with my face X-ed out. Others have insults written on the images. Some are just words. They range in mood from God will strike you down to you’re a whore. Did you find any of those previous images on Oscar’s computer?”