Page 16 of Not This Night

“Go ahead and get the coroner here,” she said bluntly. “Tell them we need an initial report—on scene if possible. We need it fast—by tonight.”

“Where are we going until then?”

“The first victim’s family,” Rachel replied, tilting the brim of her hat to shield her eyes from the sun, casting the upper half of her face in shadow.

Ethan nodded, knowing the necessity of their next move. He pulled out his phone and made the call, his voice calm but urgent as he relayed the information to their superiors.

Rachel, meanwhile, took another photo of Jenna Amos’ ID. Jenna was the second body found, but she must have been the first victim.

So why hadn’t she been reported missing?

Why was no one looking for Ms. Amos?

CHAPTER SEVEN

The sun beat down on the cluster of weathered trailers, casting long shadows across the gravel. Rachel's boots crunched underneath her as she approached Jenna Amos' home, Ethan a silent shadow at her side.

She’d lived in a trailer more than once while being raised by her aunt. It had never been a particularly comfortable home, but it had been hers. This one was no different. An old Chevy truck sat in the driveway, its wheels sunk into the gravel. A ‘Beware of Dog’ sign hung on the fence, though Rachel couldn’t see any dogs.

She knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the quiet trailer park.

“You check up on her emergency contacts?” Rachel asked towards where Ethan was reading something on his phone.

“No real family to speak of,” he said, his voice holding a pained note. “She lives with her boyfriend… Speaking of…” Ethan said, pointing.

Through a grimy window, Rachel glimpsed the boyfriend—sprawled on the couch, unconscious to the world with a fortress of amber bottles guarding his slumber.

Rachel rapped sharply on the door, three times. The sound echoed, cutting through the buzz of cicadas. Inside, the man jolted awake, bleary eyes widening as he registered the intrusion. He scrambled, sending a bottle crashing to the floor, liquid splashing over stained carpet.

"Rangers," she called out, voice carrying authority and an edge of impatience.

She spotted the man as he ducked, wincing. Just as quickly, he spotted them peering through the window.

His lips flapped in a curse too faint to hear, trying to rise to his feet while simultaneously tugging on some pants. He took a couple of steps and tumbled, striking his chin against the ground. But a few seconds later, he was on his feet again.

“Go away!” he shouted. “I already paid those taxes.”

“We’re Texas Rangers, sir,” Ethan called back, always able to maintain decorum even with the most unusual suspects.

Another round of low muttering followed, then a few footsteps.

The door creaked open, revealing the boyfriend. His hair was a tousled mess, and his face was unshaven. Eyes darted from Rachel to Ethan, the smell of stale alcohol wafting from him like a noxious cloud.

"Can I help you?" he mumbled, clearly wrestling with the remnants of his inebriation.

"Ranger Blackwood. This is Ranger Morgan. We need to talk about Jenna Amos." Rachel stood firm, her gaze never wavering from his.

The boyfriend swallowed, the Adam's apple in his thin neck bobbing.

“Can this wait?”

“I’m afraid not.”

The man blinked blearily and winced at the bright daylight. “I’ve been a bit sick. Come back tomorrow.”

Rachel eyed the fallen bottles of booze and said, “We can do this here or we can do it at the station, but it’s happening now. So what’ll it be?”

Again, he looked on the verge of refusing, wincing at Rachel’s words and awkwardly pawing at his ears. "Alright," he sighed, stepping aside with reluctance written all over his haggard face.

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