Down the Broken Road Read online

  He looked around, surveying the neighborhood. All of the houses were set back from the road. Ramirez’s was tucked in between rows of trees and hedges. There was a tall privacy fence that did its job limiting visibility. The only house with a good view of the scene was directly across the street.

  “Anyone home over there?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Sorry, Chad.”

  “Damn.”

  Morrison stepped out of her car and looked over at the open front door, now barricaded with red tape. “I haven’t been inside yet.”

  “Best you don’t put yourself through that,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She lowered her eyes to the ground and kicked a pebble on the rough asphalt. “She was a good woman, you know. A good cop.”

  “Damn straight, she was.”

  “We’re gonna catch the sorry shitbag that did this, aren’t we?”

  “You bet your ass we are.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “And we’re gonna start by finding out who the hell was driving that white sedan.”

  SEVENTEEN

  It was a long drive with the radio off and nothing to distract her, immersed in her thoughts. She had wanted the time to think, but it was too hard to concentrate. At least on anything productive.

  Doubts and insecurities plagued her. Darkness brought uncertainty. Every pair of headlights in the rearview was a state trooper checking her license plate, calling it in, and preparing to stop her.

  A suspected killer.

  There would be no reasoning with them. No chance to explain. She would be forced to the ground at gunpoint, handcuffed, and carried away. Perhaps she would get lucky and they would just shoot her. Maybe they would see the gun in the passenger seat and feel threatened, spare her the trouble of having to tell her story, over and over again, as some investigator searched for holes and inconsistencies.

  The way she always did.

  Rachel was on the other side now. There was no telling whether or not they were actually looking for her yet, but they would be. A dead journalist. A dead cop. The entire state would be after her.

  It didn’t matter that she had been a cop. That she’d been a special agent with the SBI. With no evidence to offer in her defense and no other suspects, she would be presumed guilty. At least by the police and the prosecutors. As for trying to convince them that some giant had busted in and knocked her out while shooting the victims with her gun … there was no chance they would take her seriously. If the Larson case had taught her anything, it was how quickly an investigator could zero in on the most likely suspect to the exclusion of any alternative theories.

  Her phone rang. She took it out and checked the screen. It was Dunn. She answered and told him everything. When she finished, he said, “My God … I don’t … I’m sorry, I’m just…”

  “Yeah, me too,” she said.

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m on the road. I’m going to stay with a friend.”

  “Okay. Will you be safe there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Okay. That’s good. Damn … I need to think about this. Can I call you back?”

  “Not at this number. I’m turning my phone off.” She gave him Danny Braddock’s number and an ETA. “Please call me back.”

  “I will,” he said. “You can count on it.”

  A half hour past Asheville, Rachel got off I-40 and picked up on the Great Smoky Mountains Expressway. The traffic thinned out and the way ahead was shrouded in black. Rachel felt like a child under heavy bedding, pushing up at the sky and aiming a light to see a few feet at a time. The road snaked through the mountains, each turn slowing her pace, but she felt safer here. Burrowing into the valleys, shielded from the world out to get her.

  She saw the sign for Dillard City and took the exit, headed to Main Street, then turned and followed the Tuckasegee River away from the center of town. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it was there, flowing right alongside her.

  A few minutes later, she turned left, coasted down a hill, and spotted the little craftsman at the end of the street. She pulled into the driveway, illuminating the front of the house. On the porch, seated on a bench by the front door, Danny Braddock was waiting. She shut the engine off and got out of the car. He stood up and met her at the bottom step.

  Neither of them said a word. She walked right to him and hugged him, pressed her face against his chest and wept. He was tall and long-limbed, and when he wrapped her up in his arms she felt like she had come home.

  * * *

  Rachel sat at Braddock’s kitchen table and held a handful of ice cubes wrapped in a dish towel against the side of her head. She was calmer now, able to explain everything with a cool detachment that made her feel like she was back in control. At least until she thought about Parker’s smiling face. That had her voice quivering again.

  Braddock sat quietly, processing. There was no suspicion in his wide eyes. He trusted her completely. It had been more than seven years since they had been partners in the Raleigh Police Department, but they had remained close. Good friends who were always there for each other, even with three hundred miles between them.

  His divorce. Her resignation after the Larson case. They had leaned on each other in difficult times. And five months ago, when Braddock had been faced with the toughest case of his career, he’d turned to Rachel for help. The Lowry County murders had impacted everyone in the area, especially Rachel and Braddock. And their relationship was forever changed.

  Still reeling from the Larson case and her decision to quit the SBI, Rachel had found comfort in working with Braddock again. Too much comfort, as it turned out, leading her to test what had felt like a growing attraction between them by seducing him in her hotel room.

  He gladly gave in, and a couple of blissful days followed, but then the killer turned his sights on a pair of deputies, ambushing them with a hail of gunfire. Their deaths shook the community to its core. The stress of that loss caused Braddock to push her away, which put a sudden stop to their burgeoning romance. In the end, they had remained friends, but there were still feelings left to resolve. Raw emotions that had yet to find words.

  Tonight wouldn’t change that.

  “Let me make sure I got this,” Braddock said. “This big giant guy kills Larson a year ago but gets away with it ’cause everyone believes it was the girlfriend. At least until you give Parker the interview, telling him you think the real killer is still out there. So Parker starts his own investigation, talking to people who knew Larson, one of whom was this guy Adam Hubbard. Then Hubbard turns up dead, what, a month ago?”

  “Something like that,” Rachel said, suddenly feeling weak.

  “But that doesn’t stop Parker. He ends up finding a witness, but before he can convince the witness to go on the record, he gets kidnapped and drugged. He survives the overdose, so the giant guy decides to step up his game.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Jesus.” He stared at her for a moment, looking like he might reach out to hold her again. “I can’t believe this is happening to you. What are you gonna do?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He stood and walked over to a cabinet next to the refrigerator. Opened it and took out a pair of Old Fashioned glasses and a bottle of bourbon. He put a few ice cubes in each glass and carried them back to the table.

  He uncapped the bottle, started to pour, and said, “I don’t know if this is a good idea or not.”

  “It is,” she said, accepting one and drinking nearly half of it in a single draw.

  “We’re gonna figure this out,” he said. “Someway, somehow. Whatever it takes.”

  “Yeah.” She finished her drink and held her glass out for another. As he filled it, she looked at him and said, “I’m sorry, Danny.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve put you in a bad spot coming here.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I imagine it won’t be long before your office gets a BOLO w
ith my name on it.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” His mouth formed a half smile. “I’m gonna look like a hero bringing you in.”

  She chuckled, had another sip, and sat quietly for a couple of minutes, willing herself to come up with a plan. Trying not to see Ramirez fall or the monster step over her. Or hear Parker’s voice, silenced by gunfire.

  * * *

  It was after midnight when Dunn called back. Rachel was still at the kitchen table with Braddock, who had forced her to switch to water after her third glass of bourbon.

  “So, this happened in Chatham County, correct?”

  Dunn’s voice was low, as if he was trying not to wake someone.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And you haven’t spoken to the local authorities? Who would that be? The sheriff’s office or the Siler City PD?”

  She didn’t know if Ramirez’s house was within the city limits. “I’m not sure. But, no, I haven’t spoken to either one of them yet.”

  “Okay.” He sighed. “Legally, you have no duty to report what you saw. Or … what you experienced, I should say. But, given the situation, it obviously doesn’t look good that you haven’t.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you thought better of it, I could contact them for you.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s up to you. For now, anyway.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Actually, if you have physical evidence the police will need as part of their investigation … I mean, if you’re really sure your gun is the murder weapon … Yeah, you and I need to meet. In person, so we can go through all of this in more detail. I need to chew on it tonight, come up with some questions once I get a chance to think it over for a while. Maybe tomorrow you can come to the office.”

  Rachel considered that. The idea scared her. She would be putting her fate entirely in Dunn’s hands as he tried to develop some legal strategy for her defense. Eventually, he would sit her down in front of an investigator. There was a good chance that might end up being Hughes. She would have to explain herself to him, explain how she had run away to the mountains while one of his fellow officers lay dead on a living room floor.

  Meanwhile, the killer would remain free, safe in the knowledge that his plan had worked. Once Rachel surrendered, there would be no way of catching him. All of her attention would be focused on defending herself from prosecution.

  Surrender.

  The thought made her sick to her stomach. Made her blood boil. She could imagine herself in a courtroom, on trial for a double homicide. The news media would be all over it, and the killer would be somewhere watching it all on TV. Laughing at her. Knowing that he had beaten her at every turn. Larson. Bailey. Ramirez. Parker. They were all his. And so was she. His fifth victim.

  “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “What?” Dunn sounded shocked, almost angry. “What are you talking about?”

  “Not yet. I’ve got to work this out on my own for a while.”

  “Rachel—”

  “I’ll call you back when I figure out what I’m going to do.” She ended the call and stood up, handed the phone to Braddock, and thought for a moment. Then, slowly, she walked to the door and opened it. “I need to get some fresh air.”

  Braddock rose from his chair, unsure of whether to follow her or stay behind. Before he could ask, she went outside, closed the door, and walked away from the house.

  Rachel should have been overwhelmed by frustration. Paralyzed by it. But there was something strangely reassuring about her decision not to give in to Dunn’s order.

  Solve the murders, she thought.

  It made sense to her, once it settled in. It was what she did. What she was best at. Find the killer. Exonerate yourself.

  It felt desperate, but she couldn’t see any other way. She was in a deep hole, half-buried by the killer’s scheme. It was up to her to dig herself out.

  Rachel crossed Main Street and followed the sound of churning water to a sandy bank. The Tuckasegee cascaded over a run of smooth boulders. Tiny whitecaps reflected the moonlight. She felt herself relax, and tension began to leave her back and her neck.

  Her hands.

  She hadn’t realized they’d been balled into fists. It seemed like the river was drawing out her anxiety. A plan started to form in her mind. She kicked it around a few minutes, considering all her options. Then she walked back to Braddock’s house.

  When she came through the door, he was on a leather chair in the living area. He rose to his feet, looking worried.

  Rachel said, “I know what I need to do.”

  That surprised him. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I need to borrow some clothes.”

  “All right.”

  “You have a notepad handy?”

  “Yeah,” he said, motioning toward the guest bedroom. “In the desk in my office.”

  “You’re going to take my statement.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. And then we’re going to call Carly. I have a crime scene for her to process.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Carly Brewer, the Lowry County Sheriff’s Office crime scene technician, made an imposing silhouette in the gray moonlight. She was five nine and muscular, with broad shoulders and long legs. Her short black hair was swept to one side, brushing her cheek as she climbed the steps to Braddock’s porch.

  Braddock opened the door and invited her inside. The light struck her face and she squinted a little, still not quite awake, though half an hour had passed since he called her.

  “All right, boss,” she said. “You got me here. Now wha—” She saw Rachel and her face lit up. She yelled, “Oh my God,” and ran up to hug her.

  Rachel recoiled and put her hands up. “Wait!”

  Carly took a step back, looking wounded. “What’s going on?”

  “My clothes,” Rachel said. “And me, actually. We’re evidence.”

  “Evidence of what?”

  Rachel explained. Carly took it in, looking astonished, then upset, and finally determined.

  “I need you to photograph me,” Rachel said. “Especially the wound on my head. And I think I might have some bruises on my side too. From where I fell.”

  “I can do that.” Carly said. “I’ll go get my camera.”

  “And a bag for my clothes. You’ll need to take them with you and search them. Look for hairs or fibers … anything that might have transferred while he was carrying me.” She glanced at Braddock, suddenly wishing she had thought of all this before she hugged him and made herself at home in his house. “You’ll need samples from Danny too. For elimination.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Braddock asked. “Once we start down this road—”

  “I’m sure.”

  Carly looked to Braddock, and he nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

  She went outside to her SUV and returned with a digital SLR camera and a light mounted to a fold-up tripod. She set up the light and took several photos of Rachel with her clothes on. Then she said, “Boss, maybe you should…”

  “Right,” he said, and stepped out to the porch.

  Rachel undressed. Carly put on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, collected the clothes, and placed them gingerly into a brown-paper evidence bag. She sealed the bag and continued taking photos. When she finished, Rachel put on a pair of baggy gym shorts and an oversized T-shirt Braddock had left for her. Then they went outside.

  Standing in front of the Camry, Carly said, “I shouldn’t process this thing here. At least not the interior. Can we use the garage?”

  The Lowry County Sheriff’s Office didn’t have a facility for housing vehicles. The few times Carly had needed to scour a car or a truck for physical evidence, they had rented a bay from the local mechanic who serviced the office’s fleet. He also had a flatbed for transporting them.

  “Yeah,” Braddock said. “Give him a call first thing in the morning and get him to come pick it up.”

  “Cool,”
Carly said. “In the meantime, I can photograph it and work on the exterior. What all do you want?”

  Rachel said, “He put me in the passenger side…” She felt a moment of disgust, imagining the monster stuffing her into the seat. “Then he drove me for about four miles. So definitely examine those doors and the seats, the areas around them. Give the back seat a once over, but I’d focus your attention up front. Swab for DNA, look for prints on all the usual surfaces … I’d love it if you found a hair.”

  Carly’s eyes were on the passenger side. She turned and gave Rachel a sympathetic look. The kind that should’ve been reserved for a patient suffering some terminal illness.

  Rachel ignored it. “There’s something else too. You might want to go ahead and get your kit.”

  “What is it?”

  “My gun. I want you to swab the whole thing for touch DNA. Especially on the edges of the slide near the muzzle.”

  Carly gave Rachel a curious look but didn’t question the request. She went to her SUV, and Braddock asked, “What can I do to help?”

  “Mind going to Raleigh tomorrow?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “I want to know how this asshole got my gun.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “I’m going to Fayetteville. I need to see Larson’s sister.”

  “What about the boy? The witness? You gonna talk to him?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to risk it. Might put him in danger. For now, I’ll just assume he told Bryce everything he knows.”

  “Probably a good call.” He thought for a moment, staring at the Camry, and said, “Wait … what are you gonna drive?”

  “I was thinking I’d borrow your Explorer?”

  “It’s all I’ve got. I won’t be able to get to Raleigh without it.”

  “What happened to the unmarked you had when I was here in March?”

  “Had to give it to the new detective we just hired.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” A little smile emerged. “I used to have this nice department-issued Tahoe, but somebody went and wrecked it.”

  “Try not to live in the past, Danny.”