Page 5 of Silent Ridge

On the far side of the room is a bay window with sheer curtains and room-darkening shades. The shades are halfway open and the sheers distort the light. A bed is to my right with a king-size mattress and an expensive-looking royal blue duvet. The carpeting is thick, cream colored. The tech in the bathroom doorway is straddling what looks like bloodstains.

The body is not on the bed or on the floor. It helps to think of her as “the body” and not Monique. I have distanced myself from her as a person.

There are faint smudges, pinkish smears, on the carpeting between the bathroom and the bed. Someone has stepped in the blood and tracked it across the room to the foot of the bed. It passes through my mind that there’s something odd about the smudges. If a shoe had smeared the blood, the edges would be defined, sharp, rounded. Instead, it looks like a hand was dragged across the carpeting.

Then I see it.

Toes and a heel.

The killer had been barefoot.

There’s no indication of a struggle in the bedroom. There was no sign of that downstairs unless it was in another room. A squat double dresser is set against the wall under the bay window. On top of this are several framed pictures. Monique and her daughter, Leanne. Another of just Leanne. Leanne with another older girl and a young boy. The boy is maybe six years old and is looking up at the girl with a smile that reaches from side to side. Leanne’s older sister is Gabrielle. The boy is Gabrielle’s son, Sebastian.

I dread notifying Gabrielle that her mother is dead. I know Sheriff Gray will offer, but I have to do it.

Five

Early Monday morning

From the boat she could see a truck with SHERIFF’S OFFICE markings arrive. She had binoculars with her but didn’t use them yet. She wanted Rylee to come. The truck had parked in the yard and an older, heavyset man got out. She focused the binoculars on his face. It was Sheriff Anthony Gray. He was approached by the old woman with the dog. The woman was pointing at the house and then holding her nose. The dog was straining against the leash. The smell of rotting meat must be intoxicating to an animal. It had been two full days since the killing. Before she’d left the house, she’d turned the thermostat all the way up.

The sheriff was telling the woman something. Probably to stay there. Then he went up the yard and inside. He came out within minutes and went to his car without speaking to the woman, who was trailing along behind him, nearly dragging the dog behind her.

It would be a while before Rylee was called. She went below deck, made a strong drink, got the camera with the zoom lens, put on a wide-brimmed beach hat and went back out. She turned her deck chair to face the shore. She was wearing a black one-piece with a cover-up and sandals. She focused the camera on Sheriff Gray and the old woman and snapped a few shots. The sheriff was writing something in a notebook and then motioned for the woman to leave. He didn’t have to insist. She tottered off, dragging the pooch on his leash.

The next to arrive was a white van with a flower shop logo on the side. Then another van, this one with two deputies. She had pictures of them, too, but didn’t have their names. Yet.

The sheriff spoke to them and they began putting white coveralls on. She ignored them. She only wanted to see Rylee. The bitch had taken everything from her. She would wait until she could see the look on Rylee’s face when the sheriff told her what had happened inside. She wished she could be inside the house when Rylee saw the body. She should have put a nanny cam in there. Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. Even if they’d found the nanny cam, she wouldn’t have cared. She could buy one at Walmart with cash and it would only add to the fun. “Next time,” she muttered.

She leaned forward and focused the binoculars on a car pulling in. It was the Taurus driven by Rylee, who was going by the name Megan Carpenter here. Her real name was Alexandra Rader, Alex Rader’s illegitimate daughter. But she would always think of her as Rylee.

She’d taken plenty of pictures of the car and Rylee in the parking lot outside the Sheriff’s Office and in front of Rylee’s place in Port Townsend. The car’s paint had oxidized. Rust spots were already blooming around the pitted wheel wells. That was how much her Sheriff Gray thought of her. She didn’t deserve a better car. In any case, she wouldn’t need it much longer.

She’d learned about Monique from Michael Rader. Michael had led her to Monique, and Monique had led her to Rylee.

The plan had gone well. She’d befriended Monique and convinced her to find Rylee in Port Townsend and warn her about Michael. Monique had asked her to help and, of course, she’d agreed. Monique would go ahead, and she would come in a few days’ time. She needed the time to locate Monique’s daughter and obtain the drug she would need to create the perfect crime scene.

She focused the binoculars again. She watched as Rylee talked to Sheriff Gray. He was old and tired looking. He should be retired. She might help him along. But not yet. There were others she had to deal with first.

She watched Rylee’s face closely and was disappointed when she didn’t go pale or cry. In fact, the bitch didn’t show any emotion. She was either a sociopath or very good at hiding her feelings.

Another deputy had shown up before Rylee. He was guarding the front door. This one was a bruiser. She’d like to meet him in a dark alley. The thought made her laugh. One of Alex’s sayings was, “You wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley.” She liked dark alleys. She’d worked in plenty of them when she was on the street. “Never again,” she said out loud.

The sheriff and Rylee spoke to the big deputy at the door and then went inside. Now she’d settle back and wait. She’d left plenty of evidence of who the victim was. Plenty to point to Rylee and identify her to the sheriff. But the bitch would probably talk her way out of it. She changed names like she was ordering off a menu. She was slick.

She hoped it wouldn’t take long. She still had to get far from here and steal a car. Monique’s had, unfortunately but necessarily, been left behind.

Six

I look at all the picture frames on the dresser. When I first met Monique, she showed me a photo taken a week before the kidnapping of her daughter Leanne. In it, Leanne was sitting on a driftwood log at Point Defiance Park in Tacoma. She was looking over her right shoulder with a wary but somewhat shy pose. Leanne and her father had moored a sailboat off the point and taken a skiff in for a picnic. This was that picture.

The sheriff said Monique had only been here a couple of weeks. Why did she bring all these photos with her? They must comfort her. I have two photos of Hayden. They don’t comfort me.

Another picture frame is lying face down. I imagine it will be a picture of Leanne too. Maybe it was too painful for Monique. I approach the crime scene tech.

“Can I look at that?”

“It hasn’t been fingerprinted yet,” he says, and turns back toward the bathroom.

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