Page 48 of Fire Harbor

“Why not? It makes sense, doesn’t it? This time, we think she’s only been dead for less than a month. But this victim was probably from out of town because don’t have any other missing women who match her description. Everybody’s on edge. The Chief is ramping up the investigation into Gabby. We’re looking into possible connections between the victims, trying to piece together where our killer could’ve crossed paths with his victims.”

Linus clenched his jaw, worry flashing in his eyes. “This guy’s staking out that bridge. I’m sure of it. But he’s not gonna stop any time soon, is he?”

“No way. Not until we catch him. Don’t tell anyone what I told you, not even Lake. I’m sure by this afternoon, the media will be all over the story. But until then, you go back to work like nothing’s wrong. Keep your mouth shut. You understand? We’re doing everything we can to help the sheriff’s department find this loser,” Eastlyn replied, her voice firm. “We want to catch this guy before he strikes again.”

“I get it. All the victims are technically in their jurisdiction. Pelican Pointe PD is only involved because Gabby was from here.”

“Exactly. The Chief took flak because he took over the dig on Sunday. But no one else was doing anything. Once we uncovered that dump site, the sheriff’s department jumped in and took over. No one from the county believes our department can add anything of value. We’re determined to show them different.”

“Any leads?”

“You know that’s one thing I can’t discuss with you.”

As she turned to get into the cruiser, Linus touched her arm. “Be careful out there, Eastlyn.”

She offered him a small smile before getting behind the wheel. “Always am. You make sure that also applies to Lake. This last victim might’ve been pushing thirty-five. I don’t think our killer is choosy when it comes to targeting a lone female.”

Watching the patrol car drive off, Linus felt a weight settle in his chest. Their quiet town was now overshadowed by fear and uncertainty.

He crawled back into his truck, determined to do something about it.

By the time her workday ended, Lake had heard every possible theory into who the killer could be. Gossip practically bounced off the bookshelves. Everybody had their own suspect. From the reclusive next-door neighbor who rarely showed his face to the eccentric glass artist who lived down the street, Lake had heard them all. Speculation about the murderer had reached a fever pitch.

As she walked to her VW Bug, the thought of a neighbor being a killer gave her goosebumps.

She couldn’t picture Mr. Prentiss two doors down or Mr. Tufts across the street as a serial killer. But one theory held more weight than the others. After lunch, Abby Anderson had taken her aside to relate an incident that had happened two weeks earlier.

The marine biologist had confided in Lake about a chilling encounter with Derrick Kingsley, a carpenter by trade, who lived in her neighborhood and was renovating his mid-century home. She described how she had caught him digging a large hole in his backyard under the cover of darkness, muttering to himself in a weird voice. The memory had given Abby nightmares, especially since Sunday when she’d learned about the serial killer.

Lake had urged Abby to go to the police, something Abby did not want to do for fear she might be overreacting.

As Lake sat in her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel, she wondered what to do. Deep down, she knew she needed to tell someone. Without wasting another minute, she decided to report the incident. But as she was about to turn down Main Street to the police station, it clicked in her brain. What was she thinking? She could share this with Linus at home and get his take. She smiled at the idea of that—Linus Canfield, the hunky paramedic—waited for her at home. How had he not been her first thought?

“Our guy is into stalking women near that bridge,” Linus pointed out over fish tacos, chips, and guacamole. Surrounded by dogs, they ate dinner, hoping to catch up on the day’s events. While Jack and Scout lounged under the table at Lake’s feet, Farley stayed glued to Linus, hoping to gobble up whatever crumbs fell on the floor.

Lake had been detailing Abby’s story but was surprised to learn that Linus felt like digging a hole in the backyard was far from definitive proof of anything sinister. “Burying a body in the backyard isn’t exactly our serial killer’s MO. I actually know Derrick. He works with Troy and his crew over at Tradewinds Construction. Seems to be a good worker, reliable, shows up on time, and knows how to use a drill. Maybe before we take this to Brent, I should talk with Derrick, like tonight.”

“You’re not going over there alone. I’m going with you.”

“But if he is our killer, I don’t want him anywhere near you.”

“And if he is the killer, what makes you think he won’t murder you on the spot? So, you’re just gonna walk up to the door and say, what? ‘Are you the guy who’s been dumping bodies under the bridge for the last decade? How old is Derrick?”

“Thirty-five or so. Why?”

“Does he have a girlfriend? A wife?”

“I don’t know. Last I heard, he was living off and on with Fiona Fowler, a dispatcher working for the county.”

“Would that imply that Derrick could keep tabs on law enforcement through Fiona?”

“He could if he bombarded her with questions or had a police scanner.”

“What harm would it do to mention this incident to Eastlyn? We have no experience investigating homicides.”

“That’s why you should stay here.”

“I’m not staying here, Linus. That’s final. I’m the one Abby told. Let’s just take this down a notch, shall we? Let’s think rationally. What would be a legitimate reason for Derrick to dig a hole in his backyard?”

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