Page 13 of Before This Ends (Before)

“I did. My wife and I just moved out this way a few months ago, and I was heading into work when I came across it. I didn’t know at the time it was attached to two missing girls but stopped to have a look and make sure there was no one in the vehicle who might need help.”

I nod and follow him toward the car when he starts that way. The first thing I notice is there are multiple shoe impressions outside the vehicle in the dirt. All the shoe impressions look like standard-issued police boot prints and are most likely from the men who are all standing nearby. So, if this is a crime scene, we’ve already lost evidence.

Fuck.

“Has anyone checked the doors of the vehicle?” I ask as the other men join us.

“I did. They’re locked, and it doesn’t look like there are any keys inside,” Officer Kelly says.

I pull out my cell and take some photos of the footprints around the car. They aren’t professional, but they’re better than nothing.

When I’m done, I join Martinez as Kelly introduces the other officers, then we all turn as another vehicle approaches. Once the large white truck is parked, a man who must be close to seven-feet-tall with a wide build and gray hair gets out. Grace’s granddad, judging by the worry etched into his features.

“Mr. Taylor, I’m Detective Thatcher, and this is Detective Martinez.” I hold out my hand when he reaches us, and he takes it, his grip tight. When he lets me go, he shakes Martinez’s hand.

“There is no reason Grace would have been all the way out here,” he tells us, looking around. Normally, I might think he’s wrong. Young adults often have entire lives their families know nothing about, so I never assume anything. Except, in this situation, there isn’t much of a reason foranyoneto be out here, unless you happen to live out here. Where we’re standing, there isn’t a house in sight, and since Martinez and I arrived, not one single car has driven by, going to show just how few people travel this road.

“Did you bring the key?”

“I did.” He takes it out of his pocket, and a moment later, I hear the chirp of the locks as I put on my gloves.

Walking to the driver door, I open it up, and the first thing I notice is the seat is set all the way back. So, whoever drove the car last needed the extra legroom.

“How tall is Grace?” I ask.

“Five-four,” he says, and I lean into the car. There doesn’t seem to be anything out of place, but there is a slight smell of some kind of disinfectant. I check the cupholder for a key; it’s not there, and I scan the back seat. Two backpacks, a sweatshirt, and a couple of books are shoved to one side near the passenger-side backdoor, as if someone had been sitting in the back behind the driver. Unfolding from the car, I look to Grace’s granddad.

“Can you pop the trunk?” I could easily do it from inside, but if there are any fingerprints, I don’t want to accidentally compromise them.

I meet Martinez at the rear of the vehicle as the trunk opens, and the air around us instantly grows heavy with silence. Inside are Grace and Anna, the two girls still fully clothed, each with what appears to be gunshot wounds to the chest and head.

I look over at Mr. Taylor when I hear his strangled moan and watch him fold over before his knees hit the pavement.

“I got him. You wanna call in crime scene?” I ask Martinez, and when he lifts his chin, I go to the man who just lost his granddaughter and will now have to tell his own child that her baby is dead.

* * *

I stand backand watch as Grace’s car is carefully wrapped in tarps on the back of a tow truck, in hopes we don’t lose any evidence. It’ll be taken to Nashville by the crime scene unit. Both bodies were taken away earlier to the coroner’s office, where their autopsies will be performed along with the gathering of any evidence that might be left on them. I noticed a few things as the girls were moved. One was that both were fully dressed, and their clothes were wet, as if they had been in water at some point. And since it didn’t rain last night, I have to assume that came from another location. I also couldn’t see any evidence that they put up a fight before being shot. Their hands appeared clean, there was no bruising or scrapes, and there was also a lack of blood in the trunk, making me wonder if they weren’t placed there until after they were already dead for a period of time.

With the car now fully wrapped and the driver of the tow truck done securing it, I walk toward my SUV. Martinez is on the phone, acquiring the video footage from the Waffle House the girls were at last night, along with the security footage from the other businesses in that area.

While I wait for him to get off his call, I take out my phone and quickly read the text from Karen letting me know that she and Winter are home and hanging out, since there is no school tomorrow. I text her back and tell her I’m going to be late. Most nights, I’m lucky to be home for dinner, but tonight, I probably won’t get home until Winter is going to bed, maybe even after she’s already asleep. The first forty-eight hours of a new case are the most crucial. People’s memories are still fresh, and there are a lot of leads to untangle and follow up on.

When I get over to the driver side door, I open it and swing in behind the steering wheel, and Martinez hops in next to me. Even just looking at him, I can tell he’s as exhausted as I am. Between dealing with Grace’s granddad, the crime scene unit, and the coroner’s office, it’s been a fucking day, and it’s just beginning.

“What did Waffle House have to say?”

“They’ve got the video, and they just upgraded their system, so hopefully that will equal us having some clear footage.”

“Hopefully.” I make a U-turn. “I spoke with Gray, one of Grace and Anna’s friends, who was with the girls last night. He told me that everyone who was there is planning on meeting up at rehearsal this evening. They’ll be there until nine, so we can go over the camera footage before we head that direction.”

“Sounds good.” He pulls out his phone. “I’m gonna call my son and make sure he’s home for his sister.”

“How old are your kids?”

“Seventeen and fourteen.”

“Their mom?”

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