“I talked to her, and then she went back home with one of my officers to get some warmer clothing. She was wearing a nightgown. They should be back any minute. She was pretty shaken.”
“Does the home have a camera security system?” Truman asked.
“No. The neighbor does, but the cameras cover the front of her home. Nothing catches the road or the back of her house.”
“Still worth a look,” Truman said. “The killer might have cut through her property.”
“Agreed,” answered Bolton.
“What do you know about the family?” Mercy asked.
“Ray and Sharla Jorgensen. Their boys are Luke and Galen. According to the neighbor they were eight and ten.”
More murdered young children. “Let’s take a look,” she said, steeling herself.
The first bedroom belonged to the boys. Twin-size beds stood against opposite walls and between them was a wide low table on a Seattle Seahawks rug. A giant Lego city with skyscrapers and a sports stadium covered the table—an impressive project. Mercy forced herself to look at the children. Someone had pulled back the covers of both boys, and they lay on their sides as if they were still sleeping. One’s head was so soaked with blood, Mercy couldn’t tell the color of his hair. The other was blond. Both boys had suffered blows to the head and mouth.
She blinked rapidly, comparing the children to the photo in the living room.
Truman’s gaze was expressionless, his emotions tucked away, but she spotted a brief flash of sorrow and sympathy as he glanced at her. The lump in her throat grew larger, and she couldn’t speak. Instead she gestured for Bolton to take them to another room.
As they walked the narrow hall, behind her she heard Truman curse under his breath.
The parents’ large bed had a cream-colored velvet headboard. Ray Jorgensen’s side of the bed had multiple blood trails going up the headboard. He’d been hit several times. Sharla was on the floor. Her pillow had spatter from her husband, and her blood had soaked into the carpet and splattered on the side of the nightstand.
“It looks like she woke up while her husband was being killed and tried to get away. The killer caught up with her,” said Bolton.
“The MO looks the same as the Hartlage family,” Mercy said. “The injuries are the same, and their attacks happened in their beds.”
“But the bodies weren’t left behind,” Bolton pointed out.
“Maybe the dogs or the neighbor scared him off before he could finish,” suggested Truman. “Or he’s abandoned that part of his plan. Moving bodies is a lot of work.”
Mercy crouched next to Sharla. The woman’s eyes were open and starting to cloud. Shock and terror were frozen on her face.
Did she know what was happening?
Her mouth was bloody, several of her front teeth broken or missing.
Why does he do that?
“I heard you’re looking at some old cases in conjunction with the remains found on March Mountain,” said Bolton, his gaze locked on Mercy.
She exchanged a glance with Truman.
“Those cases were solved. The guy is in prison,” Mercy stated as she stood up.
“Then why are you going through them?” Bolton asked. His expression stated he knew Mercy was holding back.
Mercy gestured at Sharla’s mouth. “Because the two families that were killed two decades ago had the same injuries. And he killed complete families in their beds by bludgeoning them.”
Bolton pressed his lips together as he slowly nodded. “Copycat?”
“I don’t know. Grady Baldwin, who was put away for them, claims he didn’t do the murders.”
“Of course he’d say that. Did he leave the families in their beds?”
“He did.”
“But you found a family’s bones in a culvert? That’s very different.”
“And we haven’t confirmed it’s the Hartlage family. The daughters have been identified, but not the adult remains.”
Bolton stared at her. “The parents could have left town after killing and dumping their kids?”
“Possibly. But there was blood found in all the beds in the home.”
“If I was trying to make people think I was dead, I’d leave behind some blood,” Bolton stated.
“The blood splatter at the Hartlage home was consistent with a victim in each bed.”
Bolton relaxed a fraction. “That’s hard to fake. I guess if they were really organized, they could have put an animal in each bed and beat it.”
Mercy had attended a blood spatter seminar that demonstrated exactly that. The instructor liked to use pigs.
“We don’t have lab results on the blood yet, but no animal fur was found in the beds. We have toothbrushes and hair from the bathrooms of the home, so we’ll be doing DNA analysis at some point. I still hope to find the parents’ dental records. It’s much quicker to confirm identity.”
“Good.” Bolton turned his attention back to the victims in the bed. “At least we know who the victims are here.”
Mercy glanced at Sharla again. Even under all the blood, Mercy could tell she was one of the adults in the family picture out front. The man was too. Scanning the room, Mercy noticed an open dresser drawer. The room was extremely neat, and the open drawer felt out of place. Glancing inside, she saw an open jewelry box that appeared to have been rifled through. She doubted Sharla left her jewelry so scattered. “I suspect he was looking for some valuables. Does anything else appear to have been gone through? What about wallets?”
Bolton checked the adjoining bathroom as Truman opened the master closet with a gloved hand. “His wallet is still in the pocket of the jeans on a hook,” said Truman. Bolton joined him, slipped the wallet out, and opened it. “A couple of twenties,” commented Truman. “If he was looking for fast cash, he didn’t look very hard.”
Mercy went out to the living room, where she’d noticed a purse and a bowl of keys on a small table by the door. Why didn’t he grab the purse? Looking inside, she saw cash in Sharla’s wallet too. Easy money.
Truman and Bolton joined her. “Money isn’t his motivation,” she said. “Maybe Sharla did leave her jewelry a mess.”
“Most crimes come down to money or sex.” Truman pointed out a fact Mercy knew all too well.
Sharla was fully clothed in pajamas.
“Not money or sex,” Mercy murmured. “What does that leave?”
“Revenge . . . anger . . . or just fucked up in the head,” said Truman.
“There’s always a reason,” agreed Bolton.
“What did Ray and Sharla do for work?” asked Mercy.
“I don’t know yet,” admitted Bolton.
“And why didn’t the dogs wake everyone up?” Truman asked. “They threw a fit when we got here. I can’t see someone getting in the house without them sounding the alarm, even if they are kenneled outside. I would’ve expected Ray Jorgensen would get out of bed to investigate.”
“Good point,” said Bolton.
“I hope the neighbor can help us out.” Mercy glanced at the time. It was past three in the morning.
There’d be no more rest for her tonight.
Truman stood on the front porch of the Jorgensen home, listening to the rain fall on the porch roof and breathing the clean air. He’d needed to step away from the scene.
Those boys.
All too easily he could picture the pair as they played in the yard and fought with their lightsabers. He’d done the same with his sister.