Page 71 of See How They Hide

“Yes, thank you for meeting me,” Matt said.

“I can’t believe there are three other murders just like this and we haven’t heard about them.”

“Virginia, New Mexico, and Oregon,” Matt said. “Now Colorado.”

Thompson led him to the kitchen. “What we know is the victim, Mr. Donovan Smith, arrived at work at 7:25 this morning. He works 7:30 to 3:30 Tuesday through Saturday at a local nursery in town—plants, trees, that sort of thing. Has been there for five and a half years, solid employment record. He told his colleague when she arrived shortly before eight that he wasn’t feeling well and was taking the day off.”

He handed Matt a sealed evidence bag. “This note and flower was found in his truck.”

A red poppy. The note read9 a.m., your house.

Donovan was expecting Thalia. According to Riley Pierce, Thalia used the poppy as a calling card. So he came in thinking he was visiting a friend.

The detective went to talk to an officer who would be sitting on the place for the night, and Matt slowly walked the house trying to get a sense of the people who lived here. One thing was clear—there had been no struggle. Donovan had come in expecting to meet with Thalia, a woman he trusted, and was killed. Nothing outside of the kitchen had been disturbed. The detective indicated that they had fully printed and photographed the house and grounds, but would need the other homeowner to determine whether something was missing.

Was Thalia herself—the woman who allegedly helped these people escape the cult—killing them? While Matt couldn’t see the motive, he wasn’t ready to say no since he had no idea who the woman was. All he had was the word of a frazzled college student who had a rather bizarre and, if he was honest, unbelievable story about growing up in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, in a seemingly vibrant community—until her aunt left with her mother’s lover.

There were too many holes, too many questions. He’d agreed to let Dean Montero assist, only because the man understood cults and he might have a better plan to extract information from Riley and Andrew. But the assistant director of Quantico hadn’t been in the field in years, and Matt hoped he wouldn’t make things more complicated than they needed to be—especially since this case was complicated enough.

Matt found nothing of interest in the main bedroom. The second bedroom was small with a double bed, desk, and dresser. It couldn’t fit much else. The dresser was full of summer clothing for men. The closet, however, confirmed the men’s connection to Chris Crossman.

Two suitcases identical to those found at Crossman’s house were stacked on the top shelf.

Matt took them down and opened each of them. There were toiletries that matched the brands at Crossman’s. He searched all the pockets and found one money envelope—empty—and a second money envelope with two thousand dollars—twenty crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.

Also in the envelope was a laminated red poppy.

He put everything in an evidence bag. The items confirmed the murders were connected, but didn’t give Matt any new information.

“Agent Costa,” he heard the detective call.

Carrying the evidence bag, he returned to the living room.

Thompson said, “One of my officers found a neighbor with a security camera that may have captured the killer’s vehicle.”

Matt followed Thompson outside, stopping to secure the evidence bag in his trunk. Donovan and Andrew lived in the middle of the block. Across the street was a wooded park; they walked three doors down to where an officer waited at the corner.

“Mrs. Rachel Williams states that when she was leaving for work this morning, she saw Mr. Smith turn onto the street and pull into his driveway. There were two cars she didn’t recognize on the street, a gray Nissan Maxima that is a vehicle rented to Ms. Riley Prince.” He gestured to a car near the main park entrance. “And a dark, newer model van that was parked on the other side of the Smith-Gardner property. I noticed the security system, and she will allow us to view the feed. It’s automatically saved to her computer.”

Riley Prince. An alias? Second identity? She would need a government-issued driver’s license to rent a car. Matt sent the name and the vehicle information to Ryder to investigate, then followed Thompson to the house.

Mrs. Williams was a sixty-year-old widow who taught American history at the Fort Collins high school. She was more than happy to assist them. Her den was cramped, and Thompson said he’d wait in the living room while Mrs. Williams sat at the computer and Matt looked over her shoulder.

“My late husband set this up, taught me how to use it. My daughter keeps the software updated, but I know my way around computers. Maybe not like the younger generation, but I do just fine.”

She slipped on glasses that were hanging on a chain around her neck and clicked on an icon that brought up the security feed. “This is live,” she said. “See? You can see that nice officer standing out front.”

The system provided a clear color feed.

“It’s set up to keep three days of video from four different cameras. Any more than that and it takes too much storage. But I can download any day or segment to keep.” She pulled down a menu and clicked a few commands, then the screen changed. Four boxes appeared on the large monitor, each showing a different angle from her corner home.

“You’re definitely tech savvy, Mrs. Williams.”

She smiled. “I teach high school juniors. I have to be on my toes. I already looked at the recording because I didn’t want to tell the nice officer that I had something if I didn’t.” She fast-forwarded, then stopped. “See that van?”

He couldn’t miss it. It showed up on the north corner of her house and he could follow it to the next camera as it turned up the street toward the Smith-Gardner home.

The only problem was he couldn’t read the plates. A partial was visible, but even if they enhanced it, he doubted they would get more than two numbers.

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