“Who has access to the calendar?” Trent asked.
“Pretty much everyone in this office, but they’d have no reason to look.”
Unless they are a psychopathic killer looking for a place to dump a body and burn down… But she and Trent couldn’t exactly pull records or speak with everyone who worked in the county’s office. Maybe Ester could point them in someone’s direction. “Is there anyone in this office who has been a little ‘off’ maybe, or who has shown an interest in that property recently?”
Ester held up a hand, and her mouth was twitching, like she was fending off laughter. “Sorry, I know none of this is funny.” She sought out Amanda’s eyes as if to stamp home the apology. Amanda saw a woman battling with shock, and levity being her defense against it. The clerk continued. “It’s just the entire bunch here is a little ‘off,’ me excluded, of course.” She paused to insert a small chuckle. “But no one stands out and fits what you’d be after. At least not that I’ve noticed.”
Amanda nodded, disappointed, and handed Ester one of her cards. “Call if you think of anyone after we leave.”
“All right, but don’t be waiting by the phone. We might all be nuts, but I don’t think anyone here is a killer.”
Amanda wasn’t going to terrify the woman by saying that murderers were usually the person one least suspected. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Hansen.”
Ester nodded, and Amanda and Trent saw themselves out.
Back in the car, she did up her seat belt and leaned against the headrest. “Well, we can’t exactly pull backgrounds and visit everyone who works as county inspectors or has access to that database.” She was sulking, and she heard it in her voice, but she was frustrated. Fox was dead because she’d dropped the ball with the Doe murder—or at least it felt like it. Not that she’d had a lot of time to work the case.
“We just need to keep moving forward and exhaust the leads we have. It makes sense that the killer knew the house was empty, and it’s too soon for us to rule out anyone on our list.”
She looked over at him. Trent, her cheerleader. “Look at you. All right, Mr. Positive, what’s next?”
“To talk to the bank’s inspector?”
“Sure.” She pulled up the information the banker had sent them, and said, “Turns out he lives just a few blocks over.”
Trent nodded but didn’t put the car into drive.
“What are you waiting for?” She pointed out the windshield in much the same fashion Captain Picard did on Star Trek: The Next Generation, one of Kevin’s favorite television shows. Only Picard would say, “Engage.” She found herself smiling.
“The address would be helpful.” He was laughing.
“Oh, that?”
* * *
Over the next few hours, Amanda and Trent ruled out the bank’s inspector, the real estate agent, and the contractor. None of them looked good for Doe’s murder, but visiting all of them had eaten up time. It was going on eight at night, and they were headed back to Central with full stomachs. They’d stopped for something to eat at a chicken place in Woodbridge.
Otherwise, they were in need of some leads. Even her email inbox wasn’t providing anything useful. Rideout hadn’t come through with Doe’s picture, and there was zero news about the girl’s dental records scoring a hit in Missing Persons. Was it too much to hope that they could give the young woman a name after being objectified most of her life?
She looked over at Trent. “What if we’re making too much out of the killer knowing the property was empty? And really, how could we even narrow that down? Anyone passing by could have noticed.”
“Quite a chance for the killer to take, though, if he didn’t know it was going to be left alone for a certain time period.”
“Maybe not. The windows were boarded up. That sort of screams it’s uninhabited and probably will be for a while. Our killer was likely quite confident no one would be showing up in the early hours of the morning either. But I definitely think he wanted to make a statement by killing her there, or transporting her there…”
“What are you thinking? Something about the history of the home?”
“Not sure.”
“It’s interesting he returned about twenty-four hours later,” he said, “to the same street, no less. He could be drawn there geographically.”
She looked over at him. Impressed with him again.
He continued. “I picked that up when I worked with the FBI. Some serial killers can select an area for a reason, such as personal attachment. He could have lived there when he was younger.” He pulled into the lot for Central. “Then again, maybe the location doesn’t mean anything.”
“Don’t know, but I’m quite sure our killer has brass balls and an ego the size of a Mack truck.”
“Wouldn’t doubt that.”
Just what they needed—a killer with an inflated sense of self. If so, she’d happily give him a reality check.
Twenty-Three
Amanda and Trent spent a couple of hours slogging away at their desks, reading police interviews from both crime scenes, and studying photos of the crowd. Nothing was standing out. By ten thirty, her vision was starting to blur, but it probably didn’t help that she’d hardly slept last night. Still, she felt by going home she was giving up on both Doe and Fox. But sometimes calling it a day and getting a fresh start was the most productive thing to do.
“I’m heading out,” she told Trent as she stood. “You can, too, if you want. We can get an early start.”
“Works for me. I’m beat.” He hadn’t needed to say it; his cheeks were red, as they often got when he
