Lawman-in-Charge

Since they all looked at her, she fell into the role of leading the investigation.

“We’ll split into groups of two,” she announced. “That way we can take our time and really search for clues. I’d rather have you pick up every small clue that might be evidence than overlook something important.”

Luke stepped up. “The victim was wearing a light blue tank top and denim cutoff shorts. She had long blond hair. A hard, clay-like substance was found embedded in the heel of her right shoe.”

The group of deputies and retired deputies, mostly men except for two younger women, all nodded solemnly, filing away the bits of potential evidence, and then split up as directed.

She and Luke split up. She paired herself with one of the deputies, named Adam. They started at the shore and then fanned out in opposite directions. The work was slow. She moved at a snail’s pace for fear of rushing over some minute piece of evidence. She found a long dark hair that reminded her of Luke’s son, Sam. She bagged it for evidence and marked the spot. She also found a thread, possibly a piece of denim, and followed the same routine. There were several empty bottles of Point beer, evidence of the partying she’d heard Sam talk about. She placed her third marker there before continuing her search.

Mostly, she found a lot of nothing. But she didn’t give up. Sheer determination kept her moving forward.

Her radio crackled a few hours later and she heard a female voice. “We found something! A large area where an obvious altercation took place. A small footprint that looks like it may belong to the victim and a piece of blue thread.”

Exhilaration filled her lungs. They must have found the scene of the crime. She swiped a sweaty arm over her brow and pressed the button on her radio. “Excellent work. Where are you?”

“We’re on the north shore. The suspected crime scene is about fifty feet from a tiny log cabin. There’s a red canoe tied to the dock on the lake.”

Megan’s radio slipped from her fingers, hitting the ground at her feet with a soft thud. Tiny log cabin with a red canoe. Her house. A wave of nausea dropped her to her knees.

Liza Campbell had been murdered fifty feet from her back door.

Luke stood beside Megan, both of them watching as the deputies took several photographs and bagged the evidence from the area where they believed Liza had died.

A stone’s throw from Megan’s backyard.

He slid a glance at Megan, who stared straight ahead, as if completely lost in her thoughts. She was pale, deep circles cutting a groove beneath her eyes. With her arms crossed over her chest, she seemed to be holding herself upright. He suspected a stiff breeze would have blown her over.

“You didn’t hear anything?” Luke finally asked, breaking the heavy silence. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge in any way that she’d heard him, so he repeated the question. “Megan? You didn’t hear anything last night?”

She shook her head slowly, turning to face him. “Not really. I had a nightmare, about Katie’s murder, and in my dream, Katie cried out in pain, fought her attacker—” Her voice broke, and she drew a deep, steadying breath. “Maybe it was Liza I heard and not Katie. I wish I knew for sure.”

“Do you have a time estimate?” He hated asking, hated the need to push her to relive the horror, but he suspected she had heard Liza, and it was her subconscious that put Katie in the role of the victim.

Her sister’s death obviously still haunted her.

He understood, considering he had a few problems of his own. Although he was much better now that he’d found his way back to God. He found himself wondering if Megan had the same spiritual support.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Twelve-thirty, when I woke up and looked at the clock. But it seemed as if I heard Katie much earlier than that. Her struggle with the attacker lasted forever.”

He wasn’t so sure. Dreams had a way of seeming like hours, when in reality they were only a few minutes. Twelve-thirty was probably right on. If Sam was telling the truth, he’d left Liza about midnight. Liza must have been accosted as she headed for home.

But that didn’t explain how the killer had gotten Liza so quickly from the south shore, where the kids were partying, to the north shore, where the crime actually occurred. Or why. Why had he chosen this place, so close to Megan’s house, to kill Liza? Why hadn’t he picked something more remote? There was plenty of deserted lakeshore around.

Unless the killer hadn’t seen the house in the dark? Was he a stranger to the area? Would be a bit of a coincidence if the killer tossed the body in the water where it just happened to drift from the north shore to the south shore, right where the kids had partied around the bonfire.

Luke frowned. In his line of work, he didn’t believe in coincidences.

Had the killer watched them during the bonfire? Struck out at Liza at just the right time? He could imagine how that might have played out.

The guy hadn’t picked Liza by accident. No, he believed she’d been chosen on purpose. Either because this was personal, against her in particular, or because her long blond hair fit his profile. Especially if he was indeed a copycat killer.

He stood by Megan, silently supporting her, as his deputies finished with the crime scene.

The hour was close to dinnertime and he wanted to talk to Sam, yet hesitated to leave Megan alone. “Are you going to be all right here?”

“Sure.” The response came automatically.

“Megan.” He couldn’t leave her, not like this. He lightly touched her arm, feeling strangely concerned about her. “Is there somewhere else you can go? I don’t like you being here alone in this remote cabin fifty feet from where a murderer killed a young girl.”

She shivered beneath his touch, and he knew she was struggling to remain calm. “I’ll be fine. I don’t know anyone in the area to stay with.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to offer his place, but he knew that would be inappropriate. Besides, he still needed to talk to Sam, and he wouldn’t welcome an audience during his lousy attempt at being a father. Bad enough she’d heard him lose his temper this morning.

“How about the motel?” he suggested instead. “It’s located in the middle of town. Plenty of people will be nearby if anything happens. I can have the deputies cruise by on a regular basis.” The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. “Please? I’d feel better if you were someplace safe.”

“All right,” she finally agreed. And the flash of relief in her gaze proved she was as loath to stay in this remote cabin as he was to leave her there. “I’ll go to the motel, at least for tonight.”

“Good.” He couldn’t hide his satisfaction. “Thank you.”

“I—uh—need to pack an overnight bag.” She headed toward her front door. On the steps she paused, and then turned back to him. “Sheriff?”

“Luke,” he interjected quickly. “Call me Luke.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod, her gaze serious. “Luke. The way Liza was killed right next to my cabin—do you think it’s possible the killer has specifically targeted me?”

FOUR

The dark apprehension shadowing her green eyes made him anxious to reassure her. “Megan, if he’s a copycat killer, he would stick to the same M.O. of targeting young blonde girls,” he gently pointed out. He didn’t like how close Megan’s cabin was to the crime scene, but he also didn’t want to make more out of it than the situation warranted. “And we don’t even know for sure that he is a copycat killer. Liza recently broke up with her boyfriend. Supposedly Sean Mathews is in Kentucky, but so far, we haven’t been able to verify his whereabouts.”

She worried her lower lip, not looking convinced.

“You know as well as I do that murders are committed, more often than not, by people close to the victim rather than by random strangers.”

“Yeah, I know the statistics,” Megan said slowly. “But the braided rope really bothers me.”

Luke couldn’t deny the resemblance to the St. Patrick’s Strangler bothered him, too. “You’re right, but considering the number of boats around here, it could also mean nothing. In a crime of opportunity, the boat tie may have been the most convenient, logical choice. It was old and faded, after all, not brand-new like the ones used by Sherman. Makes me think this murder might not have been premeditated. Regardless, it would be stupid to lock ourselves into one specific theory. As far as I’m concerned, all possibilities are wide open.”

There was a long pause as Megan seemed to consider his words. Then she straightened her spine, tilted her chin and immediately looked less like a victim and more like an investigator. “Smart thinking, especially this early in the investigation.” The corner of her mouth kicked up in a small smile. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t mind waiting, the various theories swirling around in his mind. He wasn’t just reassuring her, although he wouldn’t deny it was an added benefit. He seriously planned to keep all possibilities open. Especially since they hadn’t found Sean, Liza’s boyfriend, yet.

Especially since he was the interim sheriff and everyone would be watching and waiting for him to screw things up.

When Megan came back outside, he followed her little white Sunfire all the way into town until she was safely settled into her motel room. He’d requested one in the front, right in the center of the string of rooms.

“Thanks, Luke,” Megan murmured when she slid her key into the door of room number four.

He stuck his hands into his pockets, since he was tempted to reach out and touch her. “You’re welcome. See you in the morning.” Ignoring the twinge of regret, he walked back out to his squad car. Turning around, he headed in the opposite direction from town, toward home.