NOT EDITED

Friday: January 31, 2014

Rick had still been awake when Bo texted him just after midnight, asking if he was available to give him a ride back to the station. When he arrived at Carol’s house, he found Bo seated on the front steps, head tilted back against the railing, a cigarette held between his fingers. Bo had been a bit too young to be smoking when Rick had been in Los Angeles, but everything else about the scene was familiar, even the way Bo’s knees were pulled up just enough for him to rest his arms on.

Rick climbed out of the cruiser and made his way up to the house. With a clear of his throat, he sat down on the step beneath Bo’s chosen seat. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Only sometimes.” Bo blew a curl of smoke out the corner of his mouth. “The blood on the counter was male.”

Rick’s brow furrowed. “But it’s…? You said the type was O-something, right? Not like the one at the school?”

“Right.”

“So there’s…? Jesus fucking Christ.”

Bo brought his cigarette to his mouth and drew in a breath, turning his head to blow the smoke as far away from Rick as possible. “Miss Young probably headbutted the guy at the school. Maybe kicked him. She got him in the nose, more than likely, no matter which way she did it. Miss Jameson stabbed the guy here at her house. When it came back male, I searched the knives. The whole drawer. The whole knife block. It was in the block. The steak knife.” Bo cleared his throat, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “He washed it, but there’s blood on it. His, hers… I don’t know yet. But blood. And then he put it back in the fucking knife block, hoping we wouldn’t find it.”

Rick buried a hand in his hair. Think. What the fuck was he supposed to say? What the fuck was he supposed to do? “But there are… are definitely two of them?”

“I’m absolutely certain of it.”

Well. There was no harm in asking. “What the fuck are we gonna do, Bo?”

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll find them. Both of them. I just… need a moment.” Bo laughed, though the sound held nothing resembling humor. “I didn’t think you’d be awake. I thought I’d have more time to sit on the cold concrete and… think.”

“Sorry about that. I haven’t really been sleeping lately, you know?”

“Yeah,” Bo whispered.

“What do you need more time to think about? Something specific? Something general?”

“California.”

“What’s… going on in California?”

Bo shook his head. “Not about what’s currently going on. What already went on.” Finally, he opened his eyes and turned to look at the deputy. “The Decapitor case.”

“So it’s not just me, huh?”

“No.”

Rick cleared his throat. “Do we have a clear link?”

“As far as the law is concerned? No.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t necessarily want to tell you.”

“Why? Because you’re scared I’ll be an ass about it?”

Bo shook his head, brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Because you can’t do anything productive with the information.”

“Neither can you, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, then two of us might as well shoulder the non-productive information, don’t you think? Share the burden?”

Bo sighed, but that seemed to get through to him. “Jamal has an… underground DNA system that no one is supposed to know about, but I built the software it runs on. So I… ran it through it, and I got a hit on the one in the basement at the school. It… it’s related to the DNA that we pulled from the suspect in the Decapitor case. It’s a paternal link.”

“The father of the killer in California?”

“Yes.”

“I-I don’t understand. Why is it not a link we have in the ‘eyes of the law’? What do you mean?”

Bo cleared his throat. “It can’t be entered in CODIS because he was never charged with a crime. He died before we could even legally collect his DNA, either through his consent or through a warrant. There are gaps in the system that allow people to fall through, and that’s one of them. His DNA was never found at any of the crime scenes, so it’s not in the Forensic Unknowns. It simply doesn’t exist. S-so as far as the law is concerned, as far as the investigation is concerned… We don’t know anything other than that we have two separate, unrelated males involved in two separate crimes. One involved in the kidnapping of Miss Young, and one involved in the murder of Miss Jameson.”

Rick stayed silent for what felt like far too long, but he was truly at a loss for words. “What are we even supposed to do with this information?”

“I told you I didn’t want to tell you.”

Rick shook his head. “I’m not mad at you for telling me. But now you and I have this incredibly important piece of information, and we can’t do shit with it.”

“From a legal standpoint, yes. We know what we’re working toward, though. You and I, we know that we need to find a way to make a connection to the Decapitor case. We know it for certain. We just have to find something else to make the link, something that isn’t DNA.”

“Please tell me you’ve got some kind of lead on that.”

“I have an idea of where to begin, but it’s going to involve a lot of reading before I even begin to have what you’d consider a ‘lead’.” Bo shook his head, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I’m going to start with the vidence once I get to the station. The external examination of the body, the autopsy, the evidence. And then I’ll get into the reading part of things.”

“Well, we should get you to your hotel room for a nap first.”

“No. Come on, Rick. Do you really think I’ve grown to start sleeping better during investigations the longer I’ve done them?”

Rick snorted. “Yeah, I guess not.” With a slap of his thighs, he pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s get you to the station, then.”

***

Bo’s ‘office’ at the station was a corner of the file room in the basement, where Bridget and Jeff had moved boxes and pushed shelves out of the way for his equipment to be set up. Bo wasn’t picky where he worked, not really, and he actually sort of liked the… closed in feeling of the room. He was sure it was trigger some claustrophobic feelings for some people, but for him, it was a little bit comforting. Cozy. In school, during free periods, he had tucked himself into corners or spaces between bookcases. If one could squeeze himself into a tight enough space, it was like a hug, one where you didn’t have to worry about the other person getting tired of your wants or needs.

After filing the evidence from the Jameson house away, Rick had taken him to the hospital for the autopsy of her body. Feeling as though he were on a bit more of a time crunch than usual, Bo had simply set up a voice recorder for his notes during the autopsy. Later, if she was okay with it, Bridget could write out a pretty good transcript of the recording while he further examined the evidence. At the very least, it would give one investigator something to do until they had an actual, legal lead they could follow.

Back at the station, Bo had started with the evidence from the school, beginning the actual ‘accepted’ testing required to get the important information down on paper. If he had simply allowed Jamal to patent the technology in his name and lobby for its official use, he wouldn’t have to waste the extra time now. They had already had to waste so much time — waiting for him and Bridget to arrive from Los Angeles, waiting for Bo to be done at the lake so he could move to the house, waiting, waiting, and waiting. And now they’d have to wait some more while a psychopathic killer’s father hunted down more civilians in Ellepath.

Before he could think himself into a migraine or something worse, Bo pushed himself to his feet, snagged his empty coffee mug from the table, and headed upstairs. He was surprised to see Bridget in the small break room, and a quick check of his watch confirmed it was only seven. “Good morning.”

Bridget turned to smile at him. “Morning. Did you sleep?”

Bo shook his head. “I can’t.” He cleared his throat, reaching for the coffee pot. “Did you climb your tree?”

“I sure did.”

He snorted. “Was it… a good climb?”

“Oh, the best, B. Mm. The best.”

He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Yeah, not too bad, for the most part.” She crossed her arms over the counter. “You don’t have to drink that shitty cheap stuff, unless you’re, like… into that. Jeff’s getting us the good stuff from the little cafe here in town.”

“Excellent. I will hold off, then.” Bo slid the half-full pot back into place and turned to face Bridget, one elbow resting on the counter. “Did he seem all right last night? Tree-climbing aside?”

Bridget offered a little shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I think he’s handling it better than I did when I saw my first, umm… beheaded corpse, you know? But it’s definitely eating away at him. They used to, like, work cases of missing Christmas decorations at this time a year.”

“I hope they can get back to that soon.”

“Me too. That’s what I told him.” She shook her head. “I hope he doesn’t have to learn to compartmentalize all of it. I hope this is it for him and this town. I-I hope they never see anything like this again.”

Bo blew out a breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

Bridget pushed away from the counter as Jeff walked into the breakroom, a small cardboard drink carrier in one hand. “Hey. Get everything all right?”

“Mmhmm. Bo, this one’s for you. Decker said you’d like their iced maple caramel thing.”

“I would indeed, thank you,” Bo said as he grabbed the cup.

“You’re welcome. And thank you for letting her go early last night.”

Bo nodded. “No problem. I hope she didn’t out-drink you too much.”

Jeff chuckled. “Nah, nothin’ I couldn’t handle.”

“Good.” Bo patted him on the back. “I’ll be in the basement.”

“I’ll be down in a few, B,” Bridget said. Bo offered a thumbs-up before walking out of the room. “Which one’s mine, handsome?” she asked, blue eyes lifting back to Jeff’s face.

“They put a little wreath sticker on the lid of yours.”

“Oh, perfect. Thank you.” Bridget grabbed the cup, an eyebrow raised. “Yours smells delicious. What’d you get?”

“Oh, I just get the boring stuff, and then I add hazelnut creamer and a dash of cinnamon.”

“Ugh. I tried that once for the supposed health benefits, and it was nasty. You drink it for fun?” Bridget asked.

Jeff chuckled, shaking his head. “No, babe, you got the cheap stuff. You gotta get the ‘true’ stuff, the ceylon. It’s sweeter and more… delicate.”

“Wow, my playboy sex fiend also knows about spices?” Bridget asked. “Count me in.”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Try it. The coffee, not the sex fiend.”

“Well, I already tried the sex fiend, and I was a big fan.”

“Just try the fucking coffee,” Jeff said through a laugh.

Bridget winked at him before grabbing his cup and taking a sip. “Oo, that is more delicate. Maybe I’ll buy myself some of the real stuff.”

“You should. I don’t even care about the health shit. Just the taste. My mom drank it like that basically my whole childhood.”

“And you talk to your mom? Wow, Biggs, you just check all kinds a boxes,” Bridget said as she grabbed the drink carrier from him and set it on the counter.

“Yeah? What kinda boxes are those?”

“The hot ones.” Bridget leaned up and kissed him.

Jeff let out a surprised, “Mm,” as he moved a hand up to her arm. “Wow,” he whispered. “Mary woulda killed me if I ever kissed her in public.”

“Do you mind if I do? The kissing, not the killing.”

“No,” Jeff said with a shake of his head, his voice still hardly above a whisper. “No, I… I liked that. A lot, actually. Maybe a little too much. Watch yourself.”

Bridget only smiled. “I’ll do no such thing.” She leaned up to press another quick kiss to his lips, adjusting his tie as she fell flat-footed again. “I’m gonna go check on Bo. You go see how Rick’s doing?”

“Yeah. See you in a bit, Decker.”

“Oh, you better believe it, Biggs.” She smacked his ass as she walked past him, straightening out his posture.

Jesus Christ. California sure as hell cooked their ladies up a hell of a lot differently than Ellepath did. Or, at the very least, differently than Ellepath had cooked up Mary.

Jeff grabbed the last cup of coffee from the drink holder and made his way through the station to Rick’s desk. He was hunched over his desk, face buried in his crossed arms. The slow rise and fall of his shoulders indicated he was alive and sleeping. At any rate, Jeff considered both of those to be good things. He grabbed Rick’s empty cup and replaced it with the fresh one before quietly making his way back to the breakroom. After setting Rick’s cup in the sink, he headed down to the basement.

“That’s impossible,” Bridget said.

Jeff stopped just short of the door. It was pretty likely they were either talking about him or the case. If it was the case, he’d go in. If it was him, he’d go back upstairs and let the friends gossip.

“I wish it were, believe me. I ran it three separate times. There are two killers. Or, one kidnapper and one killer,” Bo said.

Jeff eased the door open the rest of the way. “What do you mean two?”

Bo’s tired eyes lifted to Jeff’s face. “The blood found at Carol Jameson’s house belongs to a male. And I examined Miss Jameson’s body myself. She’s a woman, and she was born that way. The blood is not hers.”

“Goddammit,” Jeff whispered. “Goddammit. Does Rick know?”

Bo nodded. “He picked me up from the crime scene early this morning. I already knew by then.”

“How’d he take it?”

“About as well as one can, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Jeff whispered again. “Do you… know anything about either of them?”

“If the blood at the school is from a nosebleed, he must’ve been standing, or standing the majority of the way. Based on that assumption, he’s approximately between five-foot-nine and six-foot. If he is the same one who left footprints near Bonnie’s car, and again at the doorway to the commons, I believe you called it?”

Jeff nodded. “The commons.”

“If he’s the same one who left those prints, he wears an ASICS size eleven. The one at Miss Jameson’s house, I… I don’t know. The heel that dragged through the blood was hers, not his. The blood on the counter was his, and so were two of the drops in the kitchen, but the rest were hers. If she got his arm with the knife, I put him between five-foot-five and five-foot-eleven. I can’t guarantee the position his arm was in when the blood fell, or even which section of his arm it fell from. The greater estimation gap allows for the placement of his arm to change without putting him too far out of said estimation.”

“And no footprints in the driveway or out back?” Jeff asked.

Bo shook his head. “The driveway was shoveled out when I arrived. Was it when you arrived?”

Jeff looked over at Bridget, and after a nod of confirmation from her, he nodded. “Yeah, I kinda remember it being cleaned off.”

“It probably wouldn’t hurt to see if her neighbors know who shovels her driveway. She was killed sometime around six-thirty yesterday morning. With her retirement, I find it hard to believe she was the one who had the snow cleared off by that point,” Bo said.

“School’s back in session today, far as I know. But we can either stop there today or head out to their houses after school lets out.”

“If you to decide to question them at the school, you should see if the school has any sort of records for the blood type of the teachers or student body. I highly doubt they do, but it’s still worth a shot to simply… ask.”

“Noted.”

Bo seemed hesitant for a moment. “If I’m overstepping, please just let me know.”

“Overstepping… what?” Jeff asked.

“The single-word answer and the tone of your voice makes him worry you’re irritated with him,” Bridget explained.

Jeff shook his head. “Not even a little, Bo. You’re awesome. We’re so incredibly lucky to have you here. It’s the case and… the dead woman and the kidnapped kid and the two killers thing. It’s not you. You’re not overstepping shit, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Bo cleared his throat. “I haven’t yet been to Miss Young’s house. Would you be able to stop there and collect a hairbrush for me?”

“Of course.”

“And… a couple of fingerprints from her room? If you felt so inclined.”

Jeff nodded. “We can do that.”

“Perfect, thank you. Once you return, I’ll be able to compare her hair to the strands found at the school. If any of them are hers, I can conclusively place her in that basement. In the meantime, I still have some evidence to sort through and log.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Bridget said. “If you come up with something before we get back, or if you just need me for something, I’ve got my phone. Okay?”

A little smile tugged at one corner of the short man’s mouth. “Okay, Bridge. We’ll touch base soon.”

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NOT EDITED

Rick was not proud of himself for needing to leave the scene, and he was even less impressed with himself for being unable to make it into the cruiser before his knees gave out on him.

After he had collected himself enough to drive home, he had taken as long of a route as he could, prolonging the inevitable. Now he sat in his driveway, hands still wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, his forehead resting against the top of it. It felt like he barely had time to even breathe before a knock at the window forced him to lift his head. He turned to find Heidi’s worried eyes staring at him.

With a clear of his throat, he reached out and rolled the window down. “I’ll be inside in a few.”

“You’ve been sittin’ out here for almost half an hour,” Heidi said, her voice soft as she crossed her arms over the opening of the vacant space the window had left behind.

“Jesus. I have?”

She nodded, reaching out to comb her fingers through his hair. “You can take as long as you need, baby. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” She rested her hand on his cheek, brow furrowed with concern. “How bad is it, Rick?”

“Bad,” he whispered.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“He killed Carol Jameson.”

“The art teacher?”

Rick nodded. “Left her headless, handless body on the lake for us. And when we finally went inside her house, he had… displayed her head for us on her bed. Up on the pillows.”

“Oh, my God.”

“I don’t know if I can do this, Heidi. Los Angeles came rushing back the moment Georgia told me there was a headless body on the lake. I can’t do this again.”

“I know it’s bad, baby, but this isn’t Los Angeles. This case isn’t that case. It’s not going to be like that case.”

“Headless on the lake, Heidi. Th-that’s, like, intentional.”

“Did you ask Bo what he thought? You guys worked on that case together, didn’t you?”

“I-I didn’t ask. At the lake, it felt like I was just being paranoid, and after I saw her head at the house, I just… I didn’t have the strength left to ask any more questions. I barely made it back outside.”

“You saw a beheaded corpse today, Rick. I think it’s reasonably for that to bother you or leave you shaken. So for right now, let’s focus on that and that alone. Not California. Not the case in California. None of it. Can we do that?” Heidi asked.

“I can… I can try,” Rick said.

“That’s all I can ask, baby.” She leaned in through the open window to kiss him. “You’ll talk to Bo tomorrow and see what he thinks about the similarity. But until then, thinking about it isn’t good for you. Focusing on it isn’t good for you. For tonight, you can try to just focus on the right now. Okay?”

“I can try. I’ll do my best.”

“Okay, baby.” She offered a smile. “You ready to come in?”

“I think I need a few more minutes.”

“That’s all right. If I don’t see you in ten, I’ll come back out. Okay?”

Rick nodded. Before she could pull away entirely, he grabbed her hand. “Thank you, Heidi.”

“I didn’t just agree to marry all the good stuff, Rick. This is just me sticking with you and our vows.”

“Still.”

“You’re welcome, baby.” She gave his hand a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you in there when you’re ready.”

***

After Bo had been entirely satisfied with the documentation of Carol Jameson’s head, he had helped the coroner — which was code for ‘the only doctor in town’ — properly package it for transport to the hospital — which was code for ‘very small clinic’. But unlike the sheriff’s department, the ‘hospital’ had a morgue, no matter how small, and for the purposes of a homicide investigation, that was a necessity.

With the body taken care of, Bo worked to take his pictures and measurements of just about everything he possibly could at the scene, whether or not it appeared ‘important’ enough to be documented. Bo would always prefer to waste his time documenting too much than save time documenting a half-assed scene.

“Didn’t you work a case in LA kinda like this? Bodies being displayed on the lake without their heads? Heads found later on at their houses or other… secondary locations?” Bridget asked.

Bo looked at her over his shoulder. Her back was to him as she dragged gloved fingers over the spines of the mystery books on the shelf. “In a way, yes. The victims were younger than Miss Jameson, and… and younger than Miss Young.” He cleared his throat. “But it’s LA. The lake wasn’t frozen. They were displayed on makeshift rafts in the lake.”

“Still. Kinda weird, right? Little bit of deja vu?”

“A little,” Bo admitted. He had allowed himself to think about the case a time or too as well, but Bridget picking up on the similarities of it too bothered him. Just Bo making a connection meant he was overthinking it. That it was him overthinking it. But a second person making note of it without any prompting or encouragement? That meant there could actually be something to it, and he wasn’t exactly a fan of that.

“I imagine the decapitation and display is a large part of why Rick is struggling with this case. It’s the last case he worked in Los Angeles.”

“Oh, my God. Rick was the cop that…? Jesus.” Bridget crossed her arms over her chest, brow furrowed. “You caught the killer, didn’t you?”

Bo weighed his answer for a moment before lifting one shoulder. “In a way, I suppose. Rick shot and killed the… primary suspect. There wasn’t, you know, a trial or anything of the sort.”

“Do you think it was the killer?”

“Yes, for the most part. But I was never certain if it was one person or two. Before he was killed, two girls were taken at the same time, and the getaway was very quick, as though there may have been a second driver. After the shooting, Rick was taken off the case, and because I was there, so was I. I don’t know if that potential was ever further looked into or not.”

“If there was a second person, do you think it’s possible this is their handiwork?”

“The kidnapping of Miss Young doesn’t necessarily fit their MO. Yes, they kidnapped victims, but they didn’t take on a second until the first was dead. Their age range was entirely young children, between eight and eleven, if I remember correctly. Carol Jameson aside, even Miss Young is essentially a decade past their preferred victim.” Bo cleared his throat. “Not to mention that the switch from a city like Los Angeles to a town like Ellepath is a little strange.”

“A little,” Bridget agreed. “Jeff’s worried about him working this case. He said he doesn’t know what Rick’s last case really was, just little bits and pieces he’s picked up here and there, and what he does know makes him worried about him.”

“I can see if Rick would like to discuss anything about it tomorrow.”

“I think Jeff would appreciate that. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s not the only thing he’d appreciate, hmm?”

Bridget smiled. “You think so?”

“Oh, that man absolutely wants to sleep with you, Bridge.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Bo snorted rather than responding. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”

“He’s very handsome.”

“And so tall.”

“Bridge, you’re five-foot-nothing. Everyone’s tall. I’m tall.”

“I know. I’m still gonna climb that man like a tree, though.”

Bo laughed. “I don’t know if an Ellepath boy is prepared for your level of freak. You better ease him into the tree climbing.”

“Oh, I will. I’ve got time.” Bridget looked down, pulling off a glove to grab her phone from her pocket.

“Is that your tree?”

She snorted. “It is.”

“Do… you guys have plans?”

“If things wrap up here soon enough. If not, it’s not like tonight’s the only night I’m gonna be in town.”

“I don’t mind if he picks you up early, Bridge.”

“If you’re on the clock, I’m on the clock. That’s the whole point of me being here, B.”

“The point is for you to, you know… be my translator. To help prevent any misunderstandings between the deputies and myself. The deputies have gone home, and for the rest of the night, it’s just going to be me sitting here taking pictures, collecting evidence, marking where I found the evidence, and labeling the bags. It’s going to be boring, and you don’t have to be here for it unless you absolutely want to be. I have no problem with you going out and having fun, and I’m sure Deputy Biggs would benefit greatly from your presence tonight as well. I know your presence has helped me through more than one rough case.”

“You’re absolutely certain?”

“Positively.”

“Okay,” Bridget finally decided. “If you change your mind or if something comes up and you need me back here, I want you to call me. No hesitation, no nothing. You call. Okay?”

“Of course,” Bo said, his voice soft. “I will. But in the meantime? You go climb that tree.”

***

Jeff rolled off of Bridget, dropping to his back beside her. He draped an arm over his eyes, blocking out the dimmed overhead light. “I’m sorry.”

Though he wasn’t looking at her, Bridget raised a brow, turning her head just enough to look at him. “So you either always apologize for actually satisfying a woman, or I’m the first and you’re not sure what to do about it. I’m gonna guess the first, because you were… perfect.”

Jeff snorted, shaking his head. “I don’t… usually have sex on the first date. I’m not really a playboy. At least not that much of one. I usually believe in a little more winin’ and dinin’ and a little less beer and foosball.”

“Oh, I always do. And foosball is my number one method of foreplay. Don’t let it go to your head, Biggs.”

He laughed, dropping his arm as he turned toward her. Her face was flushed, her wavy blonde hair an absolutely gorgeous mess, her blue eyes sparkling with humor. “Thanks for that.”

“Mm.” Bridget rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand and laying the other on his chest. “The sex, or the joke?”

“Both.” He shook his head. “I don’t usually thank my dates for sex, either. But today was just…”

“I know,” Bridget said, her voice soft. She pressed a kiss to his lips, lifting her hand up to his face instead. “Cases like this suck. There’s no way around that. You gotta do what you gotta do to… survive it. Make your way through all the suck. Sometimes that’s boose, foosball, and sex.”

“Yeah,” Jeff said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever had to use sex as anything but, you know, sex.” He laughed, shaking his head again. “I mean, before this, during this time of year? We worked ‘cases’ of the missing Christmas decorations. The stolen animatronic reindeer. The deflated Santa lawn monstrosity. The occasional ‘so and so fell off the ladder while taking down the lights’. But this? Never this. Not in a million fuckin’ years, Bridget. Never this.”

“I know,” she repeated. “It gets… easier. But for your sake, I hope it never has to. I hope this is the last one Ellepath ever sees like this, and you boys can go on back to finding out who stole Santa Claus.”

“Me too,” Jeff whispered. He reached up and tucked her hair back behind her ear. “I don’t know how the hell you do it, Bridget. Working cases like this left and right in LA. I don’t know how the hell you do it.”

“You learn to compartmentalize eventually. It’s one of the hardest things to figure out in the beginning. After that, it’s just… internally distancing yourself from it and shoving it all into one part of your brain while you try to use the rest of it to live your life and not drown in all the shit you see.” Her eyes looked faraway for a moment as her thumb moved back and forth over the arch of his cheek. Jeff let her hold the silence for as long as she needed. “But I truly do hope you never have to learn that skill.”

“Me too.” Jeff cleared his throat. “You, uh, wanna join me for a shower?”

“You’re not gonna send me back to the crime scene after, are you?”

“God, no. Unless you want me to? I’m happy hugging those beautiful curves of yours the rest of the night, if you’ll let me.”

A little smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “I’d like that, Biggs.” She climbed over him and off the bed. “Still, though, don’t let it go to your head. I’m told your ego doesn’t need any more fluffing, and I promised I wouldn’t contribute to it.”

Jeff chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Decker.”

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NOT EDITED

Carol Jameson’s front door was closed, and the doorknob wasn’t busted. That was the extent of Rick, Jeff, and Bridget’s examination of the palace before they started questioning the neighbors. If Bo wanted the house untouched, they’d leave it for him, even if it meant overfilling the blonde’s plate. If it was what the expert wanted, who the hell were they to question him?

Rick stepped up onto Gerry Schutt’s porch and rapped two knuckles against the door. Gerry was directly across the street from Carol, and since he worked at the school and would have had the day off, it seemed like a damn good place to start.

It took a few minutes for Gerry to come to the door, and when he did, he was wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “Rick, Jeff.” His gaze drifted over to Bridget, brow furrowing slightly. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Officer Decker. I’m… shadowing from a different department.”

“Officer Decker,” Gerry echoed. “What’s going on? Is this about whatever the school was closed for today?”

“Not quite,” Rick said after a moment. “We got a call about Miss Jameson across the street. Her daughter hasn’t heard from her today, she was concerned, and we stopped in for a wellness check. Any chance you’ve seen her today?”

“I’m sorry, no, I don’t remember seeing her. I normally do on Saturdays, and on weekdays if I come home for lunch. She’s usually coming out as I’m leaving to grab her mail. If she came out today, I didn’t see her, but… I also wasn’t getting into the car and leaving again, so I could’ve just completely missed her. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. Did you hear anything strange today? Or something different than usual?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Some shouting, I guess?”

“What kind of shouting?” Jeff asked.

“I don’t know. It was kind of… muffled? Like it was far away. I couldn’t really make out anything, and it didn’t last long. There wasn’t anything that sounded like stuff being broken or thrown around. I didn’t see anyone outside doing anything weird or suspicious. It was just… noise. Figured it was probably some kids, since they were all out today.”

Unfortunately, that was definitely a possibility. “All right. Well, thanks, Gerry. If you happen to think of anything else, give the station a call, okay?”

“Will do, Rick.”

***

Three of Carol Jameson’s neighbors worked at the school. Gerry Schutt, the bus driver; Owen Murphy, the all grades music teacher; and Phillip Warren, one of the high school and middle school science teachers. Of the three, Owen had been the only one who claimed not to be home most of the day, claiming he had used the day off to run some errands. Phillip had reported hearing the same sounds Gerry had — muffled shouting, like it was off in the distance. Like Gerry, he hadn’t hear anything break, no doors slamming, no car tires peeling away from any of the houses. Just some muffled, unidentifiable shouting. Phillip had technically described it as ‘more like a scream, I guess,’ but that didn’t necessarily help push things one way or another. It was just… words. Words that didn’t really help Carol or Bonnie.

Back from a smoke break, Jeff slid back into the passenger seat of the cruiser and pulled the door shut. He held his hands out in front of the vents, occasionally rubbing at a particularly cold or stiff knuckle. “What now?”

“We could hang around the street for a bit, see if we hear any of those muffled screams or shouts for ourselves,” Bridget said from the back seat.

“Not a bad idea. Whatcha think, Rick?” Jeff asked.

After a moment, Rick nodded. “Until Bo checks out Carol’s house or gets a good hit on the DNA, that’s about all we can do. So… might as well.”

***

It was nearing eight PM by the time Bo had finished at the lake, called Rick back to the scene for a ride, catalogued the evidence, and made it to Carol’s house. “None of you have to stick around, if you don’t want to. You can clock out and get home,” Bo said as he stepped up on Carol’s small porch. “I’m sure your family would do well to have you home, Rick. And I’m sure you’d benefit from it, as well.”

“Yeah,” Rick said, his voice quiet. He gestured toward the door with his chin. “I want to know what it’s like in there first.”

“Sure. We can do that.” With a gloved hand, Bo opened the door to Carol’s house and, after shining his light over the entryway, stepped inside. “In a town like this… what’s the chance of people locking their doors?” he asked.

“Very, very low,” Rick said.

“I figured as much.” Bo stepped a little further into the house, his flashlight drifting over the walls. He stopped at a particular spot behind the door, head tilting to the side. He grabbed the door and gently opened the rest of the way before moving it back a couple inches again. “There’s a hole in the drywall here behind the door.”

“Like from the doorknob?” Jeff asked.

Bo asked. “It’s the right shape and size, and it lines up perfectly. The radiating cracks through the wall indicate it was a pretty good swing of the door that caused it.”

“Like if someone threw it open.”

“Yes.”

“Like… if Carol tried to close the door on them and they busted in anyway?” Jeff asked.

“It’s… a possibility, yes.”

“He agrees with you,” Bridget whispered, leaning over toward Jeff.

“In your possibility thing, does it possibly mean she knew the killer?” Jeff asked.

Bo glanced up at the ceiling before lifting his shoulders. Surely if the deputies were directly asking him for opinions, his assumptions, they couldn’t bitch him out for giving them. Right? “Generally speaking, in cases where the victim knows the killer, he or she will let them in without question or issue, and after the door is quietly and safely closed, that’s when the killer strikes. There are obviously exceptions to that, like a violent or abusive ex, an estrangled family member… etcetera. But her door has a peephole, and in most cases, if you have someone you’re scared of, someone you’re worried about violently turning up on your doorstep, you lock your door, and you check the peephole before you open it.”

When Jeff didn’t tell him to shut the hell up or criticize him for thinking his thoughts were worth anything to an actual cop, Bo turned to look up at the man. “There are obviously always exceptions to just about everything, that theory or possibility included. We can make our best guesses based on the condition of the door, the crime scene, and the body, but they’re always just guesses.”

“What would your best guess be based on those conditions?”

“I haven’t done a full examination or autopsy on Miss Jameson. But with that said, the initial examination didn’t show any signs of hesitation on her neck or wrists, where her hands were removed. Frequently, when someone is killed by a person they know, there will be hesitation marks in cases of dismembering. Starting and stopping. Not cutting deeply enough the first time around. I didn’t see any indications of that. So… if it was someone she knew, my initial assumption would be that she didn’t know them well. Or that they didn’t know her well. Not well enough to feel guilty or uncertain about it.”

“That’s… so incredibly fucked up,” Jeff whispered.

Bo pulled his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment, nodding. “It’s an unfortunate reality of this type of…” He cleared his throat, eyes shifting to Bridget’s face.

Bridget gave Jeff’s upper arm a squeeze. “It’s a lot to take in. You already saw the crime scene at the lake, and that was horrific. You don’t have to throw yourself into a second crime scene today, Jeff.”

Jeff searched her face for something, his green eyes eventually lifting to Rick’s face instead. “Rick?”

“You don’t have to be here, Jeff. No blame, no guilt trip… If I had the chance to go back to my first homicide and ease into it in any sense, I would. Take the night, come in fresh tomorrow morning. Okay?”

“And you’ll… be outta here and headin’ home soon too?” Jeff asked.

“I will. I promise.”

Rather than responding, Jeff simply clapped Rick on the shoulder as he walked past him and headed for the door.

“I’m gonna walk him out,” Bridget said, giving Bo’s arm a quick pat before walking after the deputy.

Rick cleared his throat. “So, the door was probably thrown open by her killer. But you think she opened it for him first?”

“Well, either she did or the killer did. Either way, she likely tried to close it, and the killer threw it back open to knock her off balance and get inside. It couldn’t have been kicked in, though. The strike plate, the lock, the knob, the hinges, the frame… Everything’s solid. Everything’s in good condition. Nothing’s busted. It was thrown open with force, sure, but it wasn’t because they kicked in it, and if she was nowhere near the door when it was opened, throwing it open and making a lot of noise is just, well, idiotic. It would have given her a better chance of being aware, of getting away.”

“Yeah. And he wouldn’t have wanted that.” Rick shook his head. “Town this size, someone gets away and gets your description to the police, you get found a hell of a lot quicker than in a large city.”

“Generally speaking, yes,” Bo agreed.

Rick drew in a deep breath, shoulders falling heavily as he let it back out. “I want to see where she… I need to see where he killed her.”

Bo nodded toward the kitchen. “I can see what appears to be blood on the counter closest to the edge of the sink. That would be our starting point.”

Rick held out an arm. “Lead the way.”

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NOT EDITED

Bo climbed out of the cruiser practically the second Rick had put it into park and headed up toward the school. Not necessarily in a hurry, but definitely on a mission. Bridget followed, and after a moment, so did Rick, jogging lightly to catch up to the woman. “How long have you known Bo?”

“Oh, gosh, uh… quite a while. If he hadn’t been a boy genius, we would’ve been in the same grade in school. Though I guess he wouldn’t have moved to California at the right time to be friends if he hadn’t been, well, Bo,” she said with a soft laugh. “I’ve known him about a decade now. He was friends with one of my classmates, who introduced us. I joined the LAPD after college and was finally able to actually work with him. He’s damn good at what he does.”

“Oh, I have no doubts about that,” Rick said as he pulled open the office door, gesturing for Bridget to walk inside. “I only worked a case or two with him, but he was great. I can only imagine he’s progressed with time.”

He looked down both ends of the hall before catching sight of Bo and Jeff at the other office exit, where the receptionist had seen Bonnie leaving from. Bo had already donned a pair of gloves. Squatted down in the doorway, his fingers slowly dragged up and down either side of the doorframe. “How does he work best?” Rick asked. “Is he better off if Jeff and I aren’t here at all? If we’re in the building but not, y’know, right on top of him? What does he prefer?”

Bridget offered a shrug. “He’s… versatile. The people at the station have kind of forced him to be, not usually in good ways. But he can work in just about any condition. And as long as you guys aren’t assholes to him, I won’t have to tackle you down.” She looked back at him over her shoulder, a little smile on her face. “I’m not allowed to tackle my superiors at my station, but I think I could totally get away with it here.”

Rick laughed, patting her on the back. “I think we’ll be okay, no tackling necessary. But I appreciate that, and I’m sure he does too.”

“Oh, God, no. If you told him I was defending him, he’d beg me not to. So, y’know, lips zipped or I’ll kick your ass.”

He snorted. “Deal.”

In the doorway, Bo continued his search of the doorframe, once with his eyes open and once with them closed, hoping his fingers would pick up on an abnormality his eyes had missed. Unfortunately, neither tactic revealed anything. He sat back on his heels, a frown set deeply on his face. “When you spoke to the receptionist, did she mention seeing anyone else near this doorway?”

“No. She watched Bonnie head toward the parking lot and then received another phone call,” Jeff said.

“The mother?”

“No, Tina called as Bonnie was walking through the door. The second call was around the time Bonnie hit the grassy patch there right before the parking lot.”

Bo rose to his feet. “Which parking lot?”

Jeff pointed to his left. “The one in the back here. The one out front is for teachers and parents. This one is for students.”

Bo headed for the grassy patch in question, his steps slow and his eyes glued to the ground. “Do they have designated parking spots?”

“The seniors do. They’re usually decorated around homecoming and then stay that way for the rest of the school year.”

“So… Miss Young’s should have her name on it?” Bo asked.

“It should.”

“If not, I’ve got a rough idea of where it is,” Rick said from behind him. “It’s next to Pete’s.”

“Excellent.” Bo squatted down in the grass, clearing his throat. “How’s Peter doing, Mister Downs?”

“Rick’s fine. And… some minutes of the day are easier than others,” Rick said.

Bo nodded. “I can imagine so. And your daughter?”

“Jen? She’s, uh… I don’t know. They were both staying home today regardless of if Jamal got the building shut down for the day or not.”

“Mister Pitman asked me to tell you that if you or the children need any counseling, to let him know, and he’ll have it taken care of.”

“What’s he want in return for that?”

Bo lifted his head, turning to look up at Rick. “For you to be okay.”

“Yeah,” Rick whispered with a small shake of his head. “Old man always was a softie.”

“Of course. How else would I have been employed as a boy genius, hmm?”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Of course you heard me.”

He flashed a smile. “Always do.” He turned back toward the grass. It was that yellowish-brown color of winter, and a thin layer of snow covered the base of the grass blades. “Do you know when it snowed yesterday?”

“Uh… I don’t know. Afternoon sometime?” Rick suggested.

“Three-thirty. More like… Three-thirty… seven,” Jeff said.

Rick raised a brow at his partner. “Since when did you start memorizing the exact time of snow fall?”

Jeff cleared his throat, using the bill of his ball cap to scratch his head. “Mary might’ve, y’know, sent me an, uh, important text when it started snowing.”

“She sexted you.”

“Hey, you said it, not me.”

Bridget snorted. “Damn, you Ellepath boys have way more game than the LA officers.”

“Damn, girl, reel it in. I’m a taken man,” Jeff said, a hand on his chest. “Mostly. On and off. I’m free a lot.”

“You do not want Jeff,” Rick assured, a hand on Briget’s shoulder.

“Rude.”

Bo cleared his throat. “Would your recollection of the sexting happen to tell you when the snow stopped?” he asked.

Jeff glanced up before pulling his phone from his pocket. After scrolling through his texts for a moment, he nodded. “Around four. Maybe five after.”

“So not too long before Bonnie left the school.”

“Right.”

“There are two sets of prints here. One set is smaller than the other. The larger set is slightly dusted with snow, and the smaller set is not, which means the person with the smaller feet came outside after the snow had stopped, and the person with the larger set came out soon after the snow started. I’ll measure them to be certain, but the smaller set appears to be a seven and a half—”

“Bonnie is a seven and a half,” Rick interrupted. Jeff raised an eyebrow in his direction. Rick offered a shrug. “Jen is too. They loan each other shoes for gym sometimes.”

“He’s not going to say those prints belong to Bonnie because it’s technically an assumption, but he did hear you,” Bridget said.

Bo nodded his thanks. “The larger prints are approximately a size twelve or thirteen. Again, I’ll measure for confirmation.”

“Are you able to estimate a height based on that?” Jeff asked.

“Not… necessarily. Shoe size generally increases with height, but it isn’t a precise calculation by any means, and there are always outliers on either end of the spectrum following any attempt at calculation. But, I will be able to take a casting of both sets, give you an exact size, and more than likely be able to get you a brand name based on the treads of each set.” Bo rose to his feet, turning to look at Bridget. “The suitcase in the trunk of Rick’s car has my casting supplies, if you could… please grab it for me?”

“Absolutely. You go ahead and check out the parking space, and I’ll have your stuff set up right here when you’re done.”

Bo offered a smile. “Thank you.” As Bridget headed back into the school, Bo continued toward the student parking lot, the Ellepath deputies in tow. Bonnie’s parking spot was painted red with her name in white at the bottom. Bo recognized the dark-haired man with the red hoodie as the main ‘corpse’ from the movie Warm Bodies.

“She and Pete loved that movie,” Rick said, his voice quiet.

“They’ll get to love it again,” Jeff said.

Bo hoped that was true, but he was still doing his best not to make too many promises. There were never any guarantees, especially with kidnappers and potential killers. When you were kidnapping teenage girls, you weren’t exactly in your right mind, and people not in their right mind were… unpredictable.

“What d’ya see, lab geek?” Jeff asked.

“There’s no blood on the ground here. The footprints don’t show a scuffle. Both sets continue over here. The smaller set go to one point, and the larger prints go to two, only a couple feet apart.”

“Like he went into the backseat and then the front,” Rick said.

“If I were to make an assumption on the matter… The footprints are approximately as far apart as the doors would be, yes.”

“The bastard was waiting for her in the backseat.”

“That is… an unfortunate possibility,” Bo agreed. He followed the tire tracks from Bonnie’s parking space out of the parking lot and around the school to three sets of doors. He looked back at Rick and Jeff, one eyebrow raised. “What do these lead to?”

“Uh… those two lead into the commons, and that one leads into the kitchen,” Rick said.

“And what would the commons be in this… situation?”

“The hallway that the senior lockers is in.”

“Mm.” Bo’s eyes shifted back to the ground. “The overhang here kept the snow off the sidewalk, but up to that point, the tire tracks and footsteps indicate one set of footsteps and a set of… drag marks headed toward the commons.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rick whispered.

“The drag marks, uh, look pretty small, right?” Jeff asked.

Bo nodded. “Correct. It’s indicative of two feet dragging rather than a whole body or buttocks. So if we assume — I’m sorry. Uh, in your theory that the small set would be Bonnie’s footprints, the drag marks would indicate she was unconscious or unable to fight back when the kidnapper pulled up here and took her out of the car. More than likely, their hands or arms were under her armpits as they dragged her toward the building here, and the heels of her shoes are likely what would have been making contact with the ground.”

“Why wait for her to come out of the school and then take her back inside?” Jeff asked. “What’s the point?”

“I… wish I had an answer to that,” Bo said. “It looks like Miss Young’s car eventually turned around and headed out the exit there. After that, it would be hard to track on the tire tracks alone. We only luck out here because Jamal shut down the school before any students arrived.”

“Good thing we didn’t wait any longer to call, huh?” Jeff asked.

Bo nodded. “A very good thing.” He pulled open one of the doors to the ‘commons’ and walked inside. Rick and Jeff followed, and Bridget caught up shortly after.

“I’ve got all your stuff set out by those prints, B.”

“Thank you.”

“Mmhmm.”

Bo gestured to the stairs. “That leads to…?”

“The gymnasium,” Rick said.

“And the little grate thing next to it. What’s that?”

“Wheelchair elevator. It leads up to the gym. And the little half door goes into the band room.”

“Hmm.” Bo dragged his gaze along the ceiling and down the walls at both end of the hall. “No cameras?”

“It’s a small town,” Rick said quietly. “There are cameras in the main hall. The one that leads past the office and to the lunch room.”

“So the hallway past that doorway at the end of the hall?”

“Yeah.”

“What about in the gym?”

“Just one, but yeah.”

“Well… if we assume the kidnapper knows that, this little crawlspace door into the band room makes the most sense. Is it usually unlocked?” Bo asked.

“I think it always is. A lot of the seniors go in that way to avoid the traffic from the other kids in the halls,” Rick said.

“Hmm.” Bo pulled his fingerprinting powder out of his satchel and squatted down in front of the small door. It was incredibly unlikely he’d find any prints that didn’t belong to a student or faculty member. The likelihood that someone within one of those categories was the kidnapped was slightly higher, but it still wasn’t a guarantee. Regardless, he had every intention of documenting all prints on the front, sides, and back side of the door. Just in case. A ‘just in case’ collection of information had solved a case more than a time or two.

“Were you able to speak with anyone before Jamal shut the school down?” Bo asked as he dusted the door.

“The receptionist, an English teacher, and the superintendent were here. The receptionist was the only one with any helpful information about Bonnie,” Jeff said.

“She’s the one who watched Bonnie leave yesterday?” Bo asked.

“Yeah, and answered the phone.”

“Did she tell you anything about the phone call?”

“She said no one was on the other end. Either a butt dial or a weird prank call.”

“Or your kidnapper needed to make sure she wasn’t watching Bonnie,” Bridget said.

“That was sort of my thought,” Rick admitted. “But it seemed a little too… pre-planned for a place like this.”

“As in… because the town is small?” Bo asked.

“Yeah.” Rick raised a brow. “Is there… another reason?”

“He just wants to make sure you’re on the same page. Confusion breeds conflict, and that brain is a conflict magnet,” Bridget said.

Bo whispered his thanks, and she gave his shoulder a tight, reassuring squeeze. “It can be hard to imagine a criminal walking amongst us, especially in a small town. It’s that tight-knit, everyone-knows-everyone thing, I believe, that causes a sort of disconnect in our minds. But knowing someone doesn’t stop them from committing a crime, much as we wish it did. Small town or not, people are still people, and people are capable of truly horrendous things.”

“People in this town are going to lose their everloving minds when they discover that,” Rick said.

“For what it’s worth, it doesn’t mean the kidnapper is from here. It doesn’t mean they live here, currently or otherwise. Itoesn’t exactly change the crime or anything, but it being comitted by some traveling shitbag instead of someone you’ve lived across the street from for years is, you know, an improvement,” Bridget said.

“Do you deal with that a lot?” Jeff asked. “Traveling, uh… shitbags?”

“Not as frequently as local shitbags, but we’ve definitely had a few.”

Though Bo was able to tune out most of the small talk and idle chitchat as he fingerprinted the small door, Rick’s general lack of contribution to sat chitchat stuck out like a sore thumb. Bridget and Jeff didn’t seem to notice, at least not out loud, but Bo couldn’thelp but glance up at the man in between every print he stuck on his printing card.

“How’re you doing, Rick?” Bo asked, his voice quiet.

Rick squatted down beside him, arms crossed over his thighs. “Not great,” he whispered.

Bo nodded. “I was… picking up on that.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t like to make sweeping promises, but I… We’re going to do everything we possible can to find this person. To find Bonnie.” He pulled off his glove before reaching out to give Rick’s shoulder a tentative squeeze. “This isn’t California, and that means a lot of things, good and bad. But one of the good ones is that you don’t have a million cases piling up on your desk, demanding you split your attention between all of them because if you don’t, they go cold and the detectives get pulled off them. It means that finding Bonnie and this asshole is our only job, and we’re sure as hell going to do it.”

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