He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not (29 page)

Finding the killer was just as important to her as it was to him. He didn’t think she knew when he got up in the middle of the night and went down to his study to pore over his files. But she did, mainly because she couldn’t sleep either. She was just as worried about identifying the killer as he was, for much the same reason. They both had their personal demons to slay, and solving this case might be the key to freeing them both.

With that justification egging her on, she sat at his desk. She ignored the laptop for now, pushing it out of her way. Instead, she concentrated on the stacks of files. After looking through each stack, Amanda realized that Logan was a stickler for detail and organization. Every report, every interview, was meticulously documented. No sloppy police work here. No case he handed the DA would be resulting in a mistrial because someone didn’t follow procedure.

There were twelve different cases in all. Apparently, Logan was reviewing other similar abductions and murders, including two missing persons cases, looking for a pattern. Since she wasn’t familiar with those other cases, she decided instead to focus only on the ones she was certain were connected—Carolyn O’Donnell’s and hers. There were several new interviews and reports she hadn’t seen yet. She’d read those first, see if she could find that elusive connection her computer program had failed to find.

She opened the top drawer in Logan’s desk and was unsurprised to find everything neatly organized inside: envelopes, stamps, pens, a tray that kept paperclips from scattering all over the inside of the drawer. She took out a pen and opened the second drawer. A stack of legal pads and spiral notebooks sat side-by-side. Taking one of the legal pads, she set it on the desk and closed the drawer. With her pen and paper at the ready, she dug into the files.

When she came across an older report that described the scene where Carolyn O’Donnell’s body was found, it struck her how pristine everything was. No trace evidence of any kind that could be linked back to a specific person was found. No fingerprints, not even DNA. The killer had to be smart, methodical, and hyper-aware of evidentiary techniques so he wouldn’t leave any evidence behind.

Comparing that to the description of Frank Branson’s apartment when he was arrested, she couldn’t reconcile the two. There was no way Branson could be the killer. His apartment was a goldmine of trace evidence. He would have had to transfer something to the victim, something that could be used to identify him. He was too disorganized and didn’t appear to have the intelligence to pull off the immaculate scene where O’Donnell was found.

Amanda drew a column on the legal pad and labeled it “Potential Suspects.” Frank Branson’s name went underneath the heading. She drew a line through his name, crossing it out. Beside it she listed her reasons for eliminating him as a suspect.

Flipping another page in the file, she began to methodically go through the interviews of people who’d known Carolyn.

When her back started aching she straightened and stretched, surprised to see that the sun was high in the sky. It was late afternoon. She’d been working over the files for hours. Her stomach rumbled, demanding attention.

Karen checked on her a few minutes later. They shared a quick lunch of ham sandwiches and chips on the back deck. Then Karen headed back into the mother-in-law suite she’d commandeered while Amanda went back into the study.

As she reread the list she’d compiled on her legal pad, one conclusion kept popping up in her mind. The killer was a cop, or someone who worked with cops. He had to be, or how else could he keep the crime scenes so pristine? He’d have access to stun guns, too. And how better to move around and target victims than in a police car? No one called in suspicious person reports on a cop car driving around in their neighborhood. That would explain how the killer had selected his victims without anyone noticing.

On the top of the page she wrote “cop?”. What if it wasn’t a police officer, though? Who else would have access to a police car? She wrote “mechanic?” on the page as well.

Assuming Logan was right, that the first case was the most important and told the most about the killer, she wrote “grew up in Shadow Falls or neighboring community.” She wished she could review the human resources files on each of the policemen in Shadow Falls. She could compare their vacation days to the dates and times of the other murders outside of Shadow Falls.

She tapped her fingers on the desk and glanced at Logan’s laptop. Without knowing his ID and password, there was no way she could get into the HR files. Maybe she’d ask him later about it, see if he’d already thought of that angle. She added a note about reviewing the HR files to her list and pulled the laptop in front of her. She might not be able to look up their vacation schedules, but she could go to the SFPD website and at least see if any of the officers had the same physical characteristics as the man who’d attacked her.

The light began to fade in the window. The sun was going down. If Amanda was going to keep at it, she’d have to get up and flip on a light switch. She was just getting out of her chair when the doorbell rang.

A flash of unease went through her. In all the time she’d been here, no one had ever stopped by. This house was on several acres of land, surrounded by trees. It wasn’t exactly on a traveling salesman’s route.

Karen stepped to the archway that separated the study from the foyer, and gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I already know who it is. I think you’ll be pleased.”

Pleased? Amanda closed the laptop and listened intently as Karen opened the front door. The sound of feminine laughter floated through the house. A minute later, Karen led a petite brunette into the study.

Logan’s sister. Madison. There could be no mistake. Even if Amanda hadn’t seen her picture plastered all over Logan’s family albums that she’d looked through earlier this week, she would have known this woman was related to him. She had the same blue-black hair and piercing green eyes. And when she grinned, it was the same lopsided expression Amanda had seen on Logan’s face on those rare occasions when he actually let himself relax. She was the spitting image of him, except that she was a foot shorter and a few years younger.

“You must be Amanda. Oh, my God. I love your hair. I could never grow mine that long. Goodness, it must reach all the way to your hips.” The young woman practically bounced across the hardwood floor to the desk. Amanda couldn’t help but smile at her energy.

“And you’re either the Energizer bunny or Logan’s sister, Madison,” she teased as she stood to shake hands.

Madison stopped in front of her and instead of shaking her hand she wrapped her in a surprisingly strong hug for such a tiny woman. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

Karen laughed from the doorway. “I guess I don’t need to make introductions. I’ll be in the front room, if anyone needs me.”

Madison released Amanda and stepped back. “Thanks, Karen. We’ll chat later about that hunky husband of yours.”

The policewoman’s laughter floated back to them and Madison gave Amanda a quirky grin. “Sorry. I know I can come on a little strong.”

“Just a tad.”

“Maybe we should start over. Hi. I’m Madison Richards-McKinley.” She held out her hand.

“And I’m Amanda Jones, I mean, Stockton.” Amanda shook her hand.

“So which is it? Jones or Stockton?”

“I guess it’s Stockton. I changed my last name to Jones a few years ago, but it hasn’t really stuck. Everyone around here always uses Stockton.”

“I like Stockton better. It’s more sophisticated.”

Madison grabbed Amanda’s hand—just like Logan was wont to do—and tugged her across the room. “Let’s go in the living room and chat. I like that room much better than this stuffy old study of his.”

Amanda didn’t bother to disagree or argue. Madison was like a drill sergeant, marching them both across the hall to the other room. Madison plopped into a recliner so Amanda sat on the couch.

“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here,” Madison said.

“You’re probably wondering the same thing about me.”

They both smiled. Madison curled her legs up in the chair beneath her. “Actually, I spoke to Logan on the phone the other day and he told me he had you in protective custody. I went to his apartment first, but no one answered the door. He wasn’t at the station, either, so I took a chance he might be out here.”

“Do you want a soda or something?”

“Oh no, I’m fine. Grabbed some takeout on the way through town and scarfed it down in the car.”

“You drove all the way from New York?”

Something dark passed behind Madison’s eyes but was quickly gone. “I don’t go to New York much anymore. I’ve been slumming in Louisiana for the past few months. Haven’t decided where I’ll go next. Wherever the road takes me, I guess. But I didn’t drive from Louisiana. That would take way too long, and my curiosity was killing me. I jumped on the first plane available to Pensacola, then rented a car and, well, here I am.”

Amanda studied the bubbly woman in front of her. On the surface, she seemed carefree, but Amanda sensed there was far more to her, a depth and seriousness she tried to hide that stared out from eyes that looked much older than they should. She was the opposite of Logan, who was serious most of the time and hid his carefree side.

Madison noticed the stack of albums on the side table where Amanda had left them. “You’ve been looking through the family albums?” She hopped up from the chair and grabbed the top album on the stack.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Amanda said.

Madison plopped down on the couch next to her. “Don’t be silly. I’m sure my brother doesn’t mind one bit and I sure don’t. Want to look at the pictures together? I can tell you all the family secrets, all those little details we sisters like to use to embarrass our big brothers.” She winked and flipped the album open, and started to tell Amanda all about Logan Anthony Richards.

L
ogan glanced in his rearview mirror to back out of his parking space, but a commotion outside the police garage on the other side of the parking lot caught his attention. Riley was standing on the side of the building in an obviously heated discussion with one of the mechanics. Riley, like Logan, chose to drive his personal car rather than a patrol car or one of the Crown Vics the department offered. So why would Riley go to the police garage? And why would he be upset with one of the mechanics?

Something about the mechanic seemed familiar. He was too far away for Logan to see any details, or read his name printed on the front of the tan jumpsuit he wore, but his shaggy, shoulder-length hair sparked a memory. He was the same mechanic Logan had seen hanging around the side of the police station the day of the press conference.

Logan threw his car into park and cut the engine. He got out and jogged across the parking lot. Riley looked his way, waved, and said something to the mechanic. The mechanic nodded and slipped around the corner into the garage. Riley stepped forward to meet Logan as he reached the garage entrance.

“Hey, chief. What’s up?”

“Who were you talking to?” Logan asked, peering past Riley into the garage, trying to catch a glimpse of the man he’d just seen.

Riley raised a brow. “One of the mechanics. Why?”

“Looked like you were arguing. Everything okay?”

“Oh, that. I asked him if he does work on the side. Some of the mechanics do. He wanted to charge me a fortune for an oil change. Screw it. I’ll do it myself. Hey, if you don’t need me for anything, I’m meeting one of the Feds to re-interview someone about Carolyn O’Donnell’s abduction.”

“Sounds good,” Logan said, without any real enthusiasm. None of the O’Donnell interviews had yielded any viable suspects and he didn’t hold out much hope another re-interview would yield anything better.

Riley’s silver Chevy Malibu was sitting a few feet away. The paint gleamed with a fresh coat of wax, and Logan knew from experience the inside was just as neat and clean. “Hear you had some car trouble the other night, when Branson escaped.”

Riley followed Logan’s gaze. His grin faded and the skin around his eyes tightened. “Flat tire, no big deal. But I didn’t have a spare so I called Triple-A. Took forever. I didn’t think you needed me, not with Pierce there. Was I wrong?”

Logan studied Riley’s face. He looked genuinely concerned, as if he was worried he’d let Logan down. The sincerity in the other man’s eyes had Logan feeling silly for his misgivings. Riley wasn’t the killer. He had an alibi for Carolyn’s murder. Logan knew that. So why did he feel so unsettled and suspicious? “No, no, of course not. You’d better get going. Those Feds don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Riley laughed and clapped Logan on the back. “You got that right. I’ll catch you later.”