“You already went through the notebook found in her car, right?” asked Mercy. “Can I take a look at it now?”
“I skimmed it. It feels incomplete to me, and I suspect she used a note-taking app on her phone for her research.”
“Like something she spoke into?”
“Could be. Or something that holds photos, links, typed notes, and voice notes,” Jeff told her.
“I could use something like that for work,” Mercy admitted.
“I have hope her cell phone turns up.”
“It wasn’t in her hotel room. Deschutes County said there was just clothes and toiletries. They also checked the hotel security cameras. On the day she died, no one else visited her room. Whoever killed her apparently didn’t need anything else of hers.”
“I’ll grab her notebook from my office.” He stepped out.
Jeff was helping the best he could, but he was also being pulled in a million directions. She’d asked for the notebook three times.
He never gave me an answer about bringing in help from Portland.
She suspected that was her answer.
He reappeared, a small spiral notebook in his hand. “You talk to Eddie today?” he asked as he handed it over.
“I did. He’s hoping to be discharged tomorrow. If he had his way, he’d be sitting in my office right this minute.”
The notebook’s cover had a big circle around the words BANG HEAD HERE.
“I just might,” she muttered.
“The recent stuff is toward the back,” said Jeff. “The pages are dated. Most are notes on older stories that are already present on the Midnight Voice website.”
Mercy flipped pages and then paused as she scanned one. “Looks like notes from her calls with Shane Gamble. She’s written a brief history of the robbery and underlined the fact that the money has never turned up.”
“Something made him move fast to contact her.”
Mercy slowly nodded as she mentally reviewed the first conversation she’d had with Gamble again. What spooked him?
Jeff checked his phone at the sound of a soft ping. “Tabitha’s autopsy report. You should have it too.”
A couple of clicks opened the report on her screen. Mercy scrolled, pausing on the generic drawing of a woman’s body. The sketch was clean except for arrows and notes near the skull. No other injuries.
“Perforating gunshot wound to the head,” she read aloud. “Entrance was left temporal region with evidence of close-range firing. Dr. Lockhart cites stippling.” Mercy remembered the tiny powder bits embedded in the flesh around Tabitha’s wound. “Someone was very close when they killed her. Exit was above right ear. Direction was left to right and downward.” She glanced at the drawing again. “Someone was taller than her or else she was in a lower position . . . sitting, maybe. No projectile recovered, of course.
“Toxicology report is normal. Overall she was a healthy woman.” Except for the holes in her skull. “Lividity indicated that she was seated. It lines up with her being in the passenger seat for a period of time after death.”
“But she wasn’t shot there.”
“No. The killer must have moved her there immediately.”
Mercy took a deep breath as she imagined Tabitha Huff on Natasha Lockhart’s stainless steel table. The very alive young woman she’d met had now been sliced open and had her organs weighed and examined, the top of her skull sawed open, her brain removed, and then everything replaced and stitched neatly back together. Slices of her organs preserved in case of future need.
Purple streaks in her hair. Dr. Lockhart had noted the hair color on the report.
She’ll never experiment with another color.
This moment felt more final than when Mercy had stood at Tabitha Huff’s murder scene.
“Did evidence turn up anything from her vehicle?”
“Nothing of note.”
Who did you make nervous?
Mercy turned back to the notebook, flipping to the last page and working her way back. “She has some notes on Ellis Mull. They were written after his identification made the news . . . Looks like she dug into what the thieves were doing in the years before the robbery just like we did. Same with Trevor Whipple and Nathan May. She has the suspects numbered, with Shane Gamble being number one, of course.”
A word underlined three times caught her eye. And sent her brain spinning in a dozen directions. “Jeff, what do you think of this?”
She tapped the word. His eyes widened as the possibility sank in.
“Where would she get that idea?” he said under his breath. “From Gamble?”
For the fifth suspect, Tabitha had firmly crossed out the driver’s name, Jerry, and written female.
TWENTY-TWO
Ollie’s demons were in full force tonight.
He’d nearly driven through a red light on his way home from the sports equipment warehouse.
Just keep driving.
He thought of Shep waiting for him at home, probably curled up on Ollie’s bed with Simon right beside him. After initial hatred, the dog and cat had formed a bond. One was never far from the other. It made Ollie feel better about working so many hours away from Shep.
But the thought of getting home to his dog wasn’t enough to change his mind tonight. He pulled a quick U-turn and pressed the accelerator, his hands confidently on the wheel.
I’ll just drive by. No stopping.
Truman’s lecture from earlier in the day filled his head. “Don’t do stupid things.”
Ollie wasn’t being stupid. He was protecting his sleep. He knew he’d lie awake forever in bed if he changed his routine tonight. It’d become a habit to slowly drive by Bree Ingram’s place after work since the day Truman asked if he’d done the vandalism at her property. He cringed as he remembered how Truman had embarrassed him in the Coffee Café with the question. His face heated at the memory.
It’s dark. No one will see my truck.
Twenty minutes later, he slowed as he approached the turnoff for the long driveway that wound back to Bree’s home. The house was well lit, with strong outdoor lights that showed all aspects of the front of the house. It looked quiet. He spotted Bree’s truck in front of the house and relaxed.
Why does driving by make me feel better? I can’t see her.
But he swore he’d instinctively know if something bad were going on in her house.
Now I can go home.
Hopefully Truman wouldn’t question why he was late. Truman could always tell when Ollie was lying.
Ollie squinted, studying the road’s shoulder to spot the dirt road where he’d been parked when Truman surprised him. He would turn around there and head back to Eagle’s Nest. It appeared in his headlights, and he pulled off the narrow country road. He stopped a few feet in and threw his truck in reverse, placing a hand on the back of the seat as he twisted and looked behind him before backing up.
He froze and then turned forward again, leaning over his steering wheel to see what had caught his eye.
The headlights reflected off a small chunk of metal down the dirt road.
His heart pounded as he put the truck back in drive and slowly rolled forward. The shiny object grew larger as Ollie rounded a slight curve, and his lights illuminated the rear end of a pickup truck. The original metal he’d seen had been the edge of the bumper.