Killing Dreams: A Sam Mason Mystery Book 5 Page 6

  Marnie paused from her monologue on how she’d come to settle in White Rock as the waitress deposited a basket of bread on the table and refilled their tall thin tumblers with water.

  “So what about you? How did you end up here?” Marnie asked after the waitress departed.

  “Born here.” Sam sipped his water and scanned the restaurant with a cop’s eye, looking for potential trouble. Not that he expected any, it was just habit. Years of training had wired him to always be vigilant.

  The restaurant was one of those upscale rustic places. It was in an old mill, some walls with original brick, the others covered in old barn board right up to the twenty-foot-high ceilings, which had exposed ductwork and plumbing painted black so it all blended.

  The booths were large and comfortable, faux leather and blue, green and brown patterned fabric. Sam supposed the fabric was trendy, but to him the colors didn’t match. His tastes ran more to plain brown and green. The tables were all draped in white linen, silverware gleamed, and crystal wine glasses sparkled.

  It was mid-afternoon, so the restaurant was nearly empty. One couple sat a few tables away, speaking in hushed tones. Five men were seated at a round table in the corner, several drinks in front of them. The conversation was boisterous. Sam figured them for salesmen having a long lunch, possibly celebrating a big sale.

  “That’s nice. I imagine being a local is a big advantage for the chief of police,” Marnie said.

  Sam’s gaze drifted back to Marnie. He supposed she was pretty, but not in an obvious way. Her nose was a little too big, her face a little too round, and her eyes a little too green. She had her shoulder-length honey-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail that was a little too casual.

  He liked that she dressed in jeans and T-shirts. It made her seem less stuffy. Then again, she was running for mayor. The casual hair and outfits might be strategic to appeal to the common man. She seemed nice enough, though, and Sam might have fostered the dull spark he felt in her presence if she’d been anyone else but a candidate for mayor.

  “I suppose it is an advantage. I do know a lot of folks.” Sam had never thought about it as an advantage. He loved White Rock and had always wanted to be chief so he could help the town.

  Knowing a large percentage of the population meant he could give them personal attention. They were nice folks. Except for the person who had put those girls in the graves. Was that person still in town? It didn’t matter. Sam would find him no matter where he was and bring him in.

  In fact, he should be back at the station right now figuring out just how to do that. He glanced down at the phone he’d put on the seat of the booth beside him. No text from Wyatt yet. He supposed he could suffer here a few more minutes, at least until he finished his lunch.

  The waitress came and slid their meals onto the table. A burger for him; some salad concoction for Marnie. Rabbit food. Sam lifted the top of the brioche bun and cut into the burger. Medium rare, just the way he liked it. The smell of charred beef wafted up and his stomach grumbled. He had to admit, the overpriced burger did smell good.

  “This looks delicious.” Marnie picked through her salad with a fork like an old lady picking through a box of chocolates for her favorites.

  “Sure does.” Well, at least the burger did. Sam frowned at the side of coleslaw he’d ordered because the restaurant didn’t serve french fries.

  Marnie nibbled a piece of lettuce. “I’m sure Harry told you that even though I’m not originally from town I am dedicated to helping White Rock and its people. Especially the seniors.”

  “Yeah, Harry is excited about the senior citizen programs that you support.” Sam took a bite of the burger. It was juicy, and the horseradish sauce provided a perfect tangy complement to the cheese. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

  “Not just seniors. I want to help everyone in town.” Marnie speared a grape tomato and popped it in her mouth.

  Sam cut to the chase. There were only a few things he was interested in when it came to the town, and she might as well know what they were right away. “What about the construction that’s going on in town? Do you plan to do anything about that?”

  “You mean Thorne Enterprises and Mervale?” Marnie asked.

  “You must have seen new hotels and strip malls sprouting up. This is a small town. It should retain the small-town charm.”

  “I agree.” She focused on her salad. Afraid to look him in the eye or just picking out the good stuff?

  “So, if you were mayor you’d make sure that permits for new construction were issued with more restraint?”

  “Well, some new construction is good for the town. It provides jobs. And hotels will bring in more tourists, and that helps local business.”

  “It’s becoming overdeveloped. Not only that, but their tactics are underhanded. They wait for the old folks who owned the farms to die off and then try to steal the land right out from under their heirs, often offering way below market price.”

  Marnie frowned. “I don’t condone underhanded tactics. I’m sure Beryl would not approve of that. Are you sure that’s what Thorne is doing?”

  “Beryl? Oh, you mean Thorne’s wife?”

  Marnie nodded. “She’s a lovely woman.”

  Sam doubted anyone married to Thorne would be lovely. Hadn’t Harry said that Thorne’s wife wore the pants in the family? Now that he recalled, it was the wife who had all the money. Her family wealth had funded Thorne’s construction business. “Surely his wife must know about his nasty tactics. I heard his business is funded by her family money. She must know what’s going on.”

  “Not necessarily. It’s true Beryl’s family is loaded with old money. They were real estate developers for generations. When she met Lucas, they brought him into the business, and when they married they helped him go out on his own. But that doesn’t mean she knows everything that’s going on. She actually works for her family business still, not with her husband.” Marnie chuckled. “You know how it is; sometimes working together and being married just doesn’t work out. Anyway, she’s much too interested in her environmental causes to keep such a close eye on her husband.”

  “Environmental causes?”

  “Yes. She’s taken quite an interest in those Great Bearded Owls.”

  “No kidding.” Earlier that summer, a species of owls previously believed to be extinct had been discovered in White Rock. Their nesting place was adjacent to a new hotel that Thorne was building.

  Experts had worried that the construction would disturb the owls. They’d tried to get the project shut down, but somehow Thorne had finagled things to continue.

  Marnie nibbled more lettuce. “While I do approve of some new construction in the name of progress, I am dedicated to keeping the town as pristine as possible.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. Political doublespeak. Marnie was only telling him what he wanted to hear. “That’s not the only problem the town has with Thorne. I’m sure you are aware of the drug problem.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. She knew. Anyone running for mayor would be up on that.

  Sam continued, “It’s a big concern of mine. And I’d be likely to throw my support behind the candidate who was going to help put the leader of the drug ring away and not hinder our investigations by blocking search warrants.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t hinder that. What mayor would?”

  Sam snorted. “You’d be surprised.”

  Marnie looked at him curiously, then leaned across the table. Sam got a whiff of flowery perfume. His nose twitched, and he suppressed a sneeze. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Convale project.”

  Was she changing the subject? Of course he’d heard of it. Convale was a big power company out of Canada trying to make inroads to supply power to the upper states. The only problem with that was they had to go through New Hampshire with their gigantic unsightly power lines to get there. Sam had heard that White Rock was in the proposed path. That wasn’t something Sam would ever get on board
with, but the project was still in its infancy. Everything was hush-hush, with very little information available.

  “I have. They want to litter the White Rock scenery with power lines.” Sam took another bite of burger. He glanced down at his phone again. No text. He would have to make an excuse to leave. The investigation was much more important than listening to Marnie Wilson’s rhetoric. And if she was trying to persuade him to get on board with the Convale project, their friendship was about to come to an abrupt end.

  “No, it’s not like that. It would only be in remote sections that no one could even see, deep in the forest. It would bring a lot of money to the town. And there may be other ways than having tall towers.”

  “So you’re not opposed to it?” She wouldn’t get his support, then. But who did that leave? Jamison, the acting mayor? Henley Jamison probably wasn’t opposed to it either.

  Marnie sat back in her seat. “Well, I am opposed to ruining the pristine landscape.”

  “That we can agree on.” Sam took the last of his burger. There was something to be said for fancy beef. It was probably the best burger he’d ever had.

  As he chewed, Marnie picked at her salad and babbled about how she had formed this committee and that committee in her efforts to preserve wildlife and land.

  Sam’s thoughts drifted back to the case. He didn’t really care what Marnie had done. He was more interested in what she was going to do and what she stood for. Judging by this conversation, he was doubtful as to whether they aligned with the things he stood for.

  “… I couldn’t help but notice the photos in the police station. And Frank Buckner was downtown talking about some bone his dog found. I saw the state police and county sheriff driving out toward his place. I assume a big case is in the works.”

  When had the conversation turned to that? Sam wanted to contain the details of the case as long as possible, but in a small town like White Rock word got around fast. “Sadly, some remains were found in the woods.”

  “Some?”

  Sam nodded grimly. She’d already seen the photos, and he was sure word was out about more than one grave, especially with the amount of manpower they’d had out searching. “Unfortunately, more than one. It looks like I’m going to have my work cut out for me, which is why—”

  Ding!

  Sam’s eyes jerked to his phone. Wyatt had located the bog area in a small town an hour away.

  He pushed up from the table, pulled out his wallet, and threw some cash down. “Sorry. I hate to cut things short, but we have a break in the case and I need to get back to the station.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I see the Tahoe parked up ahead.”

  Sam lurched sideways as Bev hit another pothole on the barely navigable path that passed for a dirt road. He was starting to regret agreeing to let her pick him up so Wyatt and Jo could head out ahead in the Tahoe. Bev was about the worst driver he’d ever ridden with.

  He peered through the bug splatter on the windshield, barely making out the back end of the Tahoe through the thick foliage ahead.

  The Tahoe was pulled to the side as much as possible. To the east was a swampy area. Lucy, Wyatt, and Jo were outside, inspecting the vegetation. Sam recognized several swamp-loving plant varieties, including the bog birch.

  This had to be where the killer had claimed his victims.

  Lucy trotted over as Sam got out of the SUV. Somewhere a frog croaked, providing the perfect accompaniment to the rank smell of the swamp and the staccato buzz of the insects. Out here, the foliage was dense, and the woods had a yellowish-green cast as the afternoon sun struggled to filter through a dense canopy.

  “You think this is the place?” Bev asked.

  “This is the only known area with this species of bog birch within driving distance of where we found the bodies,” Wyatt said.

  “Has to be it.” Sam said. “The kill site would have to be within driving distance of White Rock. The killer would want to be able to transport the bodies easily and quickly.”

  “Why even bother? This place is remote enough. He could just bury them here.” Bev gestured toward the wetlands a few feet beyond the parked Tahoe. “Or throw them in the swamp. No one would come digging around here.”

  “But why here? I mean it is remote, but is there some special association for the killer? We need to figure out who owns this.” Sam pulled his phone out and zipped off a text instructing Reese to look up the property records.

  “I think I might know why.” Jo pointed to a break in the tall grasses that surrounded them. A trail? It was so narrow it could have been a deer trail, or maybe it had once been wider and had grown in because it hadn’t been used in a long time. Lucy started up the trail, and the rest of them followed. As they got further into the woods the trail widened. Definitely bigger than a deer trail.

  They walked silently, accompanied by the sucking sounds of the mud trying to pull off their boots and the incessant buzzing of insects. Lucy trotted ahead, leaving paw prints in the thick mud.

  After about five minutes, Bev slowed, her gray eyes zeroing in on something. “Hold up.” She squinted ahead. “What’s that through the trees?”

  The woods were dense, but Sam made out a square shape through the trunks and leaves. A small cabin. Sam’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, and he pulled out his gun.

  “We need to approach cautiously.”

  They walked slowly, careful not to step on any twigs, their guns out and ready. As they got closer, Sam noted the dilapidated cabin sat on top of a small knoll about twenty feet from a marsh. The brown siding was falling off near the back. A mattress and other debris littered the outside near a rusty propane cylinder. The yard was overgrown with grass and shrubs. A trumpet vine wound its way around the chimney, thick with green leaves and orange flowers. The screens on the porch were all ripped. If anyone was living in there, they sure weren’t living the high life.

  “You think anyone’s in there?” Bev asked.

  “I hope not.” Wyatt eyed the cabin cautiously.

  As they approached, Sam tensed, ready to spring should anyone rush out at them.

  Lucy kept her distance. Did she sense someone inside? Sam’s eyes darted from one window to the other, looking for any movement that would indicate someone was inside.

  The screen door hung open, half off one hinge. It squeaked eerily as a slight breeze moved it, but that was the only movement or sound that came from the cabin.

  Wyatt was the first to reach the porch steps. He looked at them over his shoulder as he raised his gun straight in front of him. “Cover me.”

  The first step squeaked, and everyone tensed, but no one came rushing out. Wyatt made it up onto the porch without incident, and they all relaxed.

  “You guys gotta see this.” Wyatt was on the porch looking in through one of the windows. Sam stepped up beside him, peering through a layer of dirt.

  The interior of the cabin was a wreck. Stained mattresses littered the floor. Junk food wrappers battled dirty pieces of clothing for floor space. Wallpaper hung from water-stained walls. In one room—the living room, Sam guessed—the ceiling had collapsed into the room. In the corner a vine grew down into the room. Thick dust covered every surface.

  Sam relaxed. It was obvious that no one was inside.

  Jo’s hand was on the door knob. “It’s open.”

  “Let’s go in.” Sam holstered his gun and pulled out some latex gloves. “But be careful about touching or moving anything. If this cabin belonged to the killer, this could be a crime scene.”

  The cabin smelled musty, and there was a sour ammonia-like tang in the air. Urine? Sam glanced over his shoulder. Lucy stood in the doorway, her nose twitching.

  “You stay out there, Lucy.” She backed up and sat, her head swiveling between the yard and them.

  Wyatt started taking photos. Sam scanned the mess for evidence that the killings had taken place there. Hard to tell with all the debris.

  “I don’t see any blood or obvious
signs of murder, but we don’t know how the victims died. He could have strangled them. Or killed them outside. Or maybe this isn’t even where they were killed,” Bev said.

  “This clothing, maybe some of it belonged to them. There wasn’t much in those graves,” Sam said. “Let’s make sure we get photos that family members might be able to identify.”

  “I don’t see any signs of this place being recently inhabited,” Wyatt said.

  “Who could live like this?” Jo asked as she made her way into the hallway.

  “A serial killer?” Bev suggested.

  “If he was here, he’s long gone.” Wyatt said.

  “Maybe not just a serial killer…” Jo stood just down the hallway, in the doorway to another room, her back to them as she spoke.

  Sam walked over and looked into the room over her shoulder. The kitchen hadn’t been used much for cooking… at least not for cooking food.

  The counters were strewn with rubber hosing. Empty rolls of duct tape lay on the floor. Glass containers sat on the rusted-out stove. Dozens of empty foil pill packets were piled in the corner.

  Sam’s gaze met Jo’s. “An abandoned meth lab?”

  Jo eyed the debris in the kitchen. It clearly hadn’t been used in years but had all the markings of the remains of a meth lab. The beakers, chemicals and funnels were gone, but what had been left behind were the scraps of what one would find. The old Sudafed containers in the corner were a dead giveaway. And that explained the slight smell of ammonia she’d noticed when they’d entered.

  She looked at Sam. “Why do you think it was abandoned?”

  “Hard telling. They didn’t get busted, that’s for sure. Everything would have been taken for evidence. Maybe they went out of business or just picked up stakes and moved on.”