Dead End. Lisa PhillipsЧитать онлайн книгу.
this. Could he have set the fire that destroyed the evidence?
“Sorry, Wyatt.” Geoff paused for a minute. “You know, an internet search says the husband did it.”
“He died in prison.” Wyatt explained about Nina, his connection to her and how “Mr. Thomas” had shown up at her house the day before. “She needs help.”
“That much is clear.”
Wyatt didn’t like that tone. “Hey—”
“No, I know you, Wyatt. You get suckered in by a pretty face and a sob story and you’re running errands for this woman. Next thing you know, you’ll be asking me to reopen the...wait a second.”
Wyatt waited for the rest, but it never came. “What?”
“The case isn’t closed.”
Wyatt shook his head to his empty living room. “You just said the husband was convicted.”
“Hang on.” Geoff was quiet for a couple of minutes.
Wyatt sipped his coffee and tried to figure out what on earth was going on. What if Nina was telling the truth? He’d ruled out her having some kind of delusional episode brought on by the stress of being kidnapped months ago and almost having her thumb cut off. He’d seen the man in her bedroom, after all. And he’d read the text message she hadn’t wanted to explain to him. Wyatt had drawn his own conclusions on that one.
He hadn’t really thought there was more to her mother’s murder than what he assumed the Feds had discovered. There was no way they’d have garnered a conviction without it. A federal case couldn’t be based on a confession alone—they had to have had evidence.
He didn’t know what to think about “Mr. Thomas.” At the moment none of this really made sense to him, but one thing was clear. Nina needed help. And if Wyatt could help her, then he should do it. He owed as much to Parker. He’d been a good friend to Wyatt for years, and Sienna had made his life better.
Wyatt couldn’t deny that their faith had a lot to do with it as well. But the two of them had been through so much, and if Wyatt could make their happy times easier by helping their friend, then he was going to do everything he could to make that happen.
“Okay, I got something. But it makes no sense.”
Wyatt said, “What is it?”
“The file...it isn’t really open, but it’s not closed either.”
“You’re right. That makes no sense.”
Geoff huffed. “It looks like it’s been flagged. There’s an active investigation into a string of murders. They have to be similar somehow, but I’d have to look into each one to figure it out. Clarissa Holmes’s murder is possibly connected.”
“Seriously?”
“Six murders over a thirty-year period by the looks of it. There’s an open investigation into them, ongoing. Has been for a while. Probably stalled out for lack of leads. The congresswoman was number one, and number six was just three years ago.” Geoff paused. “In your neighborhood, actually.”
“In my town?”
“No, Portland.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes. Of course someone from the East Coast would think Portland and a small town hours away were the same “neighborhood.”
He stretched. “A serial killer, really?”
“Exactly.” Geoff sounded baffled. “Listen, you want a copy of these files? I can let the agent in charge of the case know you were asking.”
Wyatt bounced the idea around in his mind, but all he could think of was Nina’s beaten and bruised face. Those big blue eyes looking up at him, tear filled and asking for help.
“Send me everything.”
A serial killer.
Was it possible Nina was exactly right, that Mr. Thomas had killed her mom...and then killed five more people over the years? Dread settled over him. She’d faced down Mr. Thomas just yesterday, tangled with a serial killer and fought him off sufficiently enough that he’d left her and retreated.
But had he, really?
Wyatt had seen a lot of awful things in his time as a cop and as a marshal. There wasn’t a lot that surprised him about what people could do to each other for money, or power, or some misguided sense of love or devotion. But the idea that Nina had been alone with a killer drew a lump into his throat.
He threw on some clothes, not even bothering to check whether his tie matched the rest of it. When he trailed back out of the bedroom, his inbox had a new email from Geoff with multiple attachments.
Wyatt’s cousin had flagged the most recent file. Three years ago, a woman—twenty-nine years old—had been found beaten to death in her bedroom. Young daughter. Estranged husband, a soldier, considered a suspect until it became clear he had been deployed at the time. A couple of other suspects, but nothing concrete the investigating detectives could use to get a warrant for anyone’s arrest.
More times than he cared to remember, Wyatt had watched the prime suspect in a case walk because of lack of evidence. Despite the fact that every instinct he’d had assured him they were as guilty as a person could get, there had been nothing Wyatt could do about it. Frustrating, to say the least.
He’d have to call the lead detective, though he didn’t know what the man’s reaction would be. Everyone on the Portland police force thought Wyatt had left for greener pastures. Cops were cops until they died, and they considered it essentially betrayal that he’d transferred to the marshals’ fugitive apprehension task force. Either betrayal, or they thought he’d gone because he couldn’t handle the job.
Neither of which said much about him that was good.
If Wyatt was going to get anywhere he’d have to call his former partner, a man he hadn’t spoken with much in the years since he’d left—despite their being close as brothers. No one except Parker knew the truth of what had happened with his father and the effect it had had on his own career.
But in order to help Nina, Wyatt was going to have to face the past.
* * *
Nina’s whole body ached. She blinked away the cloud of sleep and shifted to sit up. She winced and glanced at the door to the hospital room.
Mr. Thomas stood there.
Nina screamed.
Sienna shot from the chair beside the bed and touched her shoulder. “Nina.”
Nina blinked. He was gone. “I saw...” She pointed at the door. “He was...”
“Oh, honey.” Sienna hugged her and settled on the bed. “It was a flashback.”
Nina couldn’t stop breathing hard.
“It’s completely normal. You had a traumatic experience.”
Nina heard what she didn’t say, that it had been more than one traumatic experience back-to-back. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to breathe away the panic the way her counselor had taught her, reciting prime numbers in her head.
Sienna cut in, “Twenty-four, sixty-two. Three hundred and fourteen.” A smile infected Sienna’s voice.
Nina shoved her away. “You’re making me lose count on purpose.”
Sienna chuckled. “Want some breakfast?”
“Not really.” Nina settled back on the bed. “I’m ready to get out of here.”
“Already told the doctor that.” Sienna knew how she felt about hospitals, mostly because it was the exact same way Sienna felt. In fact, did anyone seriously like being stuck in a bed getting poked and prodded? “He said you should be able to go home this morning.”
“Great.”