Wayne caught her, gripped her shoulders, and forced her to meet his gaze. “Forget that woman. You have to hold it together right now. I know you and Franklin were close, but he doesn’t need a friend anymore. He needs you to do your job.”
Her mouth dry, she nodded. “Loretta knows a lot about the legalities of a hospital death.” Zoe looked at Paulette. “Is she a lawyer?”
“No,” the secretary replied, her voice tight. “She’s a pharmaceutical sales rep.”
Twelve
Pete watched as Special Agent Graley examined the gun that had claimed Elizabeth Landis’ life.
“Small caliber revolver,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him. “Consistent with DLK’s weapon of choice.” She looked at Pete. “You said it was found in a dumpster?”
“Behind the husband’s office building. Along with that.” Pete nodded toward two paper evidence bags.
“Not very smart.” Graley replaced the .22 in its box. “Dumping evidence of your crime near your own workplace.”
“He held onto the stuff for over two weeks before disposing of it. Waited until he thought it was safe.”
“Clearly, he thought wrong.” Graley opened the first bag and removed a black hoodie and pants.
“Forensics determined the blood spatter on the hoodie is consistent with blowback from a shot fired at close range. And it’s a match to the victim,” Pete said.
“What about other DNA or fiber evidence?”
“No. Both pieces had been washed.” Not thoroughly enough to keep the forensic techs from gathering blood evidence, but there had been no way to positively identify the clothing had ever been in Landis’ possession. Hirst had asked that it be removed from evidence. The judge denied the request.
Graley meticulously examined the hoodie before returning it to the paper bag. She moved on to the final piece. The crumpled plastic grocery bag.
“That,” Pete said, “came from the grocery store where Landis shopped. The lab lifted a print from it. Dustin Landis’ print. He claimed the real killer took it from his garbage to frame him.”
Graley replaced it into evidence. “Possible. Not likely, but possible.”
Pete checked his watch. As much as he wanted to hear what Special Agent Graley had to say about the serial killer, he needed to be with Zoe.
“What other evidence do you have?” the agent asked.
“The only fingerprints lifted from the car belonged to Elizabeth and Dustin. Nothing suggested another suspect. The bullet that killed Elizabeth came from this gun.”
“I understand you have a witness who saw a tall, athletic male dressed in black running from the scene.”
“Cheryl Vranjes. She still lives in the area if you want to interview her.”
“I do. But not today.”
Pete folded his arms. “You’ve seen our evidence. Your turn. One of the details I’ve not seen addressed is how your serial killer gets into the victims’ cars. In the Landis case, there was no sign of forced entry.”
Graley mirrored Pete’s pose. “That’s something we haven’t released to the public. We don’t know how he gets in. There are tools available to open locked cars. Tow truck drivers have them, and they’re available at most auto parts stores.”
“Doesn’t help me much. In Elizabeth Landis’ homicide, we believed the husband used his own keys to get in.”
Graley shrugged.
“Tell me something. How is it I never heard about this serial killer before?”
“The FBI sent out a bulletin to law enforcement.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
By which time, Dustin Landis had already been tried and convicted and was serving his sentence. Pete likely read the bulletin and failed to make the connection. After all, he had his killer behind bars. A jury of Landis’ peers agreed.
What if they’d known? Would the DLK have provided reasonable doubt?
Would he provide it now in a new trial?
Had DLK killed Elizabeth?
“Ethan told me you’ve been working this case along with him,” Pete said. “What’s your take?”
Graley looked at the box and bags on the table before bringing her gaze back to him. “I don’t believe you have a DLK homicide here.”
Relief lightened the load Pete had been carrying on his shoulders. But one FBI agent’s conclusion wasn’t enough. “Why not?”
“For the same two reasons I’m sure you already discussed with Ethan. First, our guy targets women in otherwise vacant parking lots. The privacy of the location is as important to him as the type of victim. The only reason we have any idea what he looks like is because he made one mistake and missed a newly installed security camera. Second, he doesn’t toss his murder weapon after one use. I want to compare the ballistics from this weapon to the bullets we already have, but I’d be shocked if we find a match.”
Pete rolled the news around in his head. “You said you haven’t found any of his murder weapons.”
“No, we haven’t.”
“So you can’t definitively say he’s never tossed one in a dumpster.”
She scowled at Pete. “You think we haven’t looked? We have. If he has thrown a gun in a dumpster, I can promise you, he didn’t do it in the same town in which one of his bodies has been found.” She pushed away from the table and reached for her coat.
Pete mulled over her words. Graley had essentially supported his arrest and the subsequent conviction of Elizabeth’s “real” killer. At least to an extent. He should be satisfied.
So why wasn’t he?
That evening in her barn, Zoe lost track of time. She’d grained all five horses—her gelding, three boarders, and one chronically lame mare who belonged to a wheelchair-bound little girl—given them hay, topped off their water buckets, and was down to what she called “puttering.” Raking through their thick winter coats with the teeth of a metal curry comb, cleaning the mud and gunk from their hoofs, picking the occasional burr from their manes and tails. Enveloped in the horsey smells, she managed to block out the day. Returning to the farmhouse, where Pete was unpacking the boxes they’d hauled there after work, would mean a return to real life. And real life sucked.
Her meeting with
