Dead in Her Tracks (3 page)

“We have. She was alone and Kenny went back there to interview the other motel guests. Someone besides Charlie must have seen her that first day.”

“Hey, James.” Zane appeared from his office. “Your boys come off their holiday sugar high yet?”

“That’s part of the reason I left the house. Debra can tune them out, but I can’t hear myself think. And like I was telling Stevie . . . I’m getting calls, and I don’t want my kids to hear me discuss murder on the phone. What do you want me to tell people?”

“Tell them the investigation is ongoing,” answered Zane, his face carefully blank.

“Come on, Zane. They’re making up their own stories and it’s getting out of hand. I need something with a little more meat to throw them.”

Zane folded his arms. “No comment.”

Both men looked at Stevie.

“Don’t pull me into the middle of this,” she ordered. James might be her big brother and the mayor, but police business fell firmly under Zane’s jurisdiction.

“Vanessa Phillips’s parents are going to be here any minute,” said Zane.

“They drove in during this horrible weather?” said James. “Surely you could have just talked to them on the phone?”

“They insisted,” said Stevie. Zane had notified the Phillipses’ hometown police office and asked them to inform the parents in person about the death of their daughter. Understandably they’d been devastated, but had wanted to travel to Solitude to be close to their daughter, relying on one of Vanessa’s siblings to drive them.

“Who else are you interviewing for the Phillips murder?” James asked.

“Do you have a suggestion?” Zane’s voice was cool, and Stevie knew he felt her brother was stepping over his mayoral bounds.

James realized his mistake and held up his hands. “Forget it. Do your thing and keep me updated. I’ll let you know what I hear through the city grapevine.”

“Tell people not to jump to conclusions,” said Stevie, knowing her words were pointless. Gossip and speculation were dietary proteins for small rural towns like Solitude. James rolled his eyes.

Small Town Rule #3: No one gossips about people’s virtues.

“I’ll be in my office for a while if you need me,” said James, heading toward the back door that led to the city council annex.

Stevie glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly eight p.m. “I feel like this day should have been finished twelve hours ago. I
really
wish the Phillipses had waited until tomorrow. I’d like to have more information to give them.” So far, heartache and apologies were all Solitude had to share with them.

A car door slammed outside, and Zane squared his shoulders. Her heart went out to him. For a big, tough-looking cop, he was a bit mushy on the inside, and talking to the parents wouldn’t be easy. He took the crimes that happened in his town very seriously; her father had been the same way. It was a good quality for a chief to have, but he also had to know where to draw the line between his personal life and his work life.

In the seven months she’d been dating Zane, she’d learned the police chief position fit him like a second skin. Outside of the office, he was proving to be a man she could easily spend the rest of her life with. Patsy believed Zane was the one for her daughter, but Stevie was taking it slow, afraid of making a mistake. Last summer she’d refused to move in with him, but over the last few months, 90 percent of her clothing had migrated to his closet.

Maybe it was time to give up her apartment. Zane hadn’t mentioned her moving in since July, but he’d tripled the size of his cabin’s closet and added enough shelves and drawers to make a Beverly Hills housewife happy.

Sometimes Stevie felt like Patsy and Zane knew exactly what her future held and were simply waiting for her to open her eyes.

Soon.

Maybe.

CHAPTER THREE

F
ive minutes later Stevie and Zane faced Kay and Gerhard Phillips and their son, Ryan, over a small conference room table. Zane thought the parents looked as if they’d been awake for five days. Exhaustion and sorrow lined every groove in their faces. Ryan appeared to be in his late twenties and had blond hair like his sister. Anger spewed through his gaze and words.

“How can you have no leads?” His blue eyes glared at Stevie.

Zane’s defenses mentally stood up. Ryan could funnel all the anger he wanted at Zane, but Stevie was off-limits.

Stevie leaned forward, holding Ryan’s attention. “That’s not what we said.”

Stevie’s tone was soft and understanding on the outside, but inside was a steel core that warned Ryan to watch his step. She used it when she was pissed but holding tight to her temper. Zane knew to step carefully when that tone was aimed his way. He reconsidered his defensive reaction of a few seconds ago; Stevie was perfectly capable of handling Ryan Phillips.

“It’s the first day,” she continued in the same tone. “The autopsy isn’t until tomorrow and we haven’t completed the motel interviews.”

“Then why are you just sitting here? You should be searching for my sister’s killer.” Venom laced his voice.

“Ryan!” Kay snapped at her son. “They’re doing what they can.”

“We’re taking the time to update you,” said Zane. “Rest assured we’ll do everything we can to find out who did this to Vanessa.”

“I heard another woman her age died here last week,” said Ryan in a slightly calmer voice. “Are the murders related?”

“We’re considering that,” said Zane. He paused, weighing how much to tell the family. So far Gerhard Phillips was the silent one of the family, but the pain in his eyes spoke louder than Ryan’s anger. He met Zane’s gaze, waiting and watching.

He knows I’m holding something back.

Zane plunged forward. “We had a confession yesterday in the first woman’s murder. The suspect died before we could interview him about Vanessa.”

Three pairs of confused eyes stared at him. “Died how?” Kay asked.

“He was murdered. But we’ll take a hard look to see if he was connected to your daughter’s death.”

“Did you know Vanessa was here in Solitude?” Stevie deftly seized control of the interview.

“No,” said Kay, shaking her pale-blonde curls. “She’d told us she couldn’t make it home for Christmas. I don’t know why she was here. I thought she was going to Seattle to do some research.”

“She had gifts with your names on them in her motel room,” Stevie said quietly. “She was headed home to surprise you.”

Tears rolled down Kay’s cheeks, and Zane saw the resemblance to her daughter’s driver’s license picture. Her husband tightened his grip on Kay’s hands.

“That sounds like her. She’s very impulsive,” said Kay. “She changes plans on a moment’s notice and loves to surprise people.”

“Was she seeing anyone?” Stevie asked delicately. “Was she in a relationship where they might have planned to meet here for a few days?”

Zane leaned back in his chair, letting Stevie handle the questions. The Wayward Motel wouldn’t have been his first choice for a romantic getaway, but he understood students on a budget.

The three of them shook their heads. “She hasn’t dated anyone since summer,” said Kay. “At least not that I know of. Usually she tells me when she’s seeing someone seriously.”

That didn’t rule out a romantic encounter in Zane’s book.

“Was she raped?” Ryan spit out.

“Ryan!”
Kay fanned her face. Gerhard looked ready to vomit.

“We don’t know the answer to that,” Stevie said quickly. “We’ll know more tomorrow. I’m really sorry we don’t have more answers for you right now.”

“Where’s a good place to stay for a few days?” asked Gerhard, speaking for the first time. “We don’t want to drive back tonight, and we’re hoping for some more information from you soon.”

Zane cringed. Motels were scarce. How could he send them to the Wayward?

“I made a call,” said Stevie. “Dixie’s Bed and Breakfast is usually closed this time of year, but she’s got two rooms set up and waiting for you.”

Relief flowed over Zane. At least Stevie had been thinking ahead.

She gave them directions to the B&B and a calm fell over the station as the family left.

“Good call on Dixie’s place,” said Zane. “When the father asked about a motel, I wanted to hit my head on the table. Can you imagine having to stay in the motel where your daughter was discovered?”

“My imagination works too well,” said Stevie. “That’s why I reached out to Dixie.” Her shoulders slumped. “That poor family. So much pain and anger. And they have the right to feel that way.”

“The brother has a temper,” observed Zane.

“I don’t blame him. You can’t judge anyone by how they react to the death of a family member. There’s no right reaction.”

Zane pulled her tight to him and rested his cheek against her hair. She still smelled of cinnamon and holidays.

“Come home with me,” he whispered. “I need you tonight.”

He felt her melt into him, and she nuzzled his neck. “I’m ready to put this day behind us.”

“Me too. There’s some Magic at my place.”

She laughed, as he’d hoped, and he felt her chest vibrate against his. “You mean Magic is waiting to be let out.” Stevie’s rescue dog had decided she liked Zane’s cabin. Zane didn’t mind. Magic was an enthusiastic greeter on the nights when he went home alone. He believed that, like him, the dog was biding her time, waiting for Stevie to see the light and move in with them.

He was willing to wait forever, but he wished she’d hurry up.

The next morning Zane scoured Kenny’s interview notes. Kenny had managed to interview every guest at the motel except for one. Andrew Reynolds. The property developer from out of town who hoped to buy what was left of the O’Rourke resort. All that stood on the O’Rourkes’ acreage was the burned-out shell of a lodge and a few half-finished cabins.

Zane knew Andrew Reynolds wanted to build a corporate retreat at the location. What he didn’t understand was why the businessman hadn’t gone home for Christmas. Who chose to stay at the Wayward Motel for the holidays? Kenny’s notes said Mr. Reynolds had been visibly drunk when Kenny knocked on his door. The man had cursed at him and told him to get lost. Kenny had noted the alcohol fumes and slurred speech and suggested a visit when Mr. Reynolds was capable of answering questions coherently.

That pleasurable task was on Zane’s to-do list.

The rest of the interviews had been unremarkable. Six other rooms had been occupied the night before Vanessa was found. Besides Andrew Reynolds, the occupants were long-haul truckers. None of them had seen anyone resembling Vanessa Phillips during their stays. Kenny had run some background checks and discovered one of them was a registered sex offender. Tim Sessions. Zane studied the man’s photo. He looked like an eighth-grade science teacher.

Is this our guy?

His desk phone rang and Hank’s gravelly voice greeted him. “Merry day after Christmas, Zane. I hope you don’t have any more bodies for me yet.”

“Not yet.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Are you done already?” Zane asked.

“I’ve finished Vanessa Phillips. I had a hard time getting that girl out of my mind last night. I came in early to get things moving.”

Zane grabbed a pencil and note pad. “You found something?”

Hank sighed. “The girl was raped. Several times. And it was really rough. She’s got some heavy abrasions on her wrists and ankles, so she was bound at some point.”

“Semen?”

“Nope. Nothing like that. Someone tried real hard to cover his tracks. They thought ahead enough to wear a condom and clean her up with bleach after.”

“But . . .” Zane could hear the medical examiner had found
something
.

“She was drugged too. Can’t tell you exactly what was in her system. I had to send it out to a lab, but there was enough to give readings on my machine. I’ll warn you it was weak. I think she ingested it several days ago, and I don’t know if we’ll get anything useful back from the lab.”

“What about time of death?”

“She was strangled about twenty-four hours before she was found yesterday.”

Morning of the twenty-fourth.

“Her decay was significantly progressed. She wasn’t kept anywhere cold like outdoors for those twenty-four hours. I’ll speculate she was in a place that was at a comfortable room temperature.”

Zane made a note. “Strangulation is the official cause of death?”

“Yep. And she was moved to the motel quite a while after she died. The livor mortis doesn’t match the position she was found in.”

“Got it,” said Zane, knowing he meant that the blood in Vanessa’s body had formed dark marks on her skin, indicating how her body had been positioned after death. “We were pretty certain she hadn’t died there. I’m looking over Kenny’s interviews from last night and he talked to the housekeeper again. Turns out the towels in Vanessa’s room hadn’t needed to be replaced during any of the days she was there. Her luggage and things were in the room, so the maid knew it was occupied, but I don’t think Vanessa slept in there at all. It lines up with the timing of Bob Fletcher being filmed while putting a woman in the back of his vehicle. It’s looking more and more like he took Vanessa.”

“But did he kill her and put her back in the motel?” asked Hank. “You guys didn’t lock him up until Christmas Eve, so I think he had time to do it.”

Zane eyed the photo of the trucker who was the sex offender. “You know as well as I do that I need proof Bob killed her. I can’t stop looking until I have some facts. If someone else is responsible, I don’t want to let them walk away.”

“I’m about to get started on Bob’s autopsy. Even if he did kill Vanessa, there’s no way he killed himself. You definitely have another killer walking around in Solitude.”