Page 57 of Love Me Fierce

Though I used the conference room to spread out both Michelle’s and Marin’s case files this afternoon, it only brought up more questions. Marin had been communicating with someone in secret before she was killed. He was using a burner phone, which are notoriously difficult to crack into. And without the content of the messages she was sending, there was no way to prove he was the killer.

It's been a thorn in my side since.

And though we obtained Marin’s cell phone records, without her actual phone, the content of the text messages she exchanged with the burner was not available. Most cell phone carriers don’t log text message data for long, and retrieving it is often impossible.

We scoured Marin’s social media accounts, but there was little besides her change in relationship status a month before her murder. No pictures, no names.

Who was she talking to? Where did she meet him? Is he her killer or is he just another dead end?

What drew Marin to Thrasher’s Corner that night? She never showed up at her classes earlier that afternoon. Never showed up at the bonfire party that night. Did she go to Thrasher’s to meet up with the guy she’d been secretly dating? Or did she get lured there somehow, and her killer was ready?

The fact that our unsub doesn’t harm his victims before killing them means to me that he knows them enough to get close to them. Did Marin’s killer pick her up at her vehicle, then drive her to that overlook? There’s also no sign of restraint, meaning he doesn’t tie them up. Is that because they trusted him, or does it mean that he killed them quickly, maybe taking them by surprise?

Yet if Marin was killed on top of that boulder, why didn’t we find more evidence?

Marin could have walked to the boulder overlook. It’s barely a mile from where her truck was parked. That seems less likely, given that a snowstorm was coming in, with freezing temps.

It’s most likely that Marin got into the killer’s car. Did he kill her there, then after completing his fucked-up ritual, he carried her up the boulder, then tossed her over the edge?

We know even less about Michelle. Like Marin, her phone disappeared with her. There were dozens of phone numbers in her records with no contact details assigned to them because Michelle had been organizing that rally, and it took us a week to sort it all out. By then, we’d lost all chance of obtaining data. We were forced to abandon that lead.

According to Michelle’s friends, she hadn’t been in a relationship. The two previous guys she’d dated both had solid alibis for that weekend. She went to that rally and wasn’t seen or heard from again.

Before I left for the day, I made my list of people from our department who could have known the detail about the key-shaped pendant on Marin’s neck. Besides me and Hutch, Sheriff Olson, Zach, and our crime scene tech, Walker Feldman, are the only others.

According to Hutch, some of the search and rescue volunteers who packaged Marin into the litter used to airlift her off that boulderfield could have seen the pendant around her neck, but he says she was covered up first by his clothing, then by the body bag the coroner brought down.

But I added all their names to the list. It includes Captain Parker Greely—Ava’s dad, Linden and half of the fire department, even Dr. Boone, retired but still an active outdoorsman.

We need to start getting answers instead of just more questions.

When I turn up Lind’s driveway, a woman in a sporty coupe cruises past me heading down to the neighboring house. The place has been vacant for almost six months, but maybe it finally sold.

I climb up to the porch, my fourteen-year-old niece Greta’s laughter carrying from inside the house, followed by Linden’s hearty guffaw. I let the simple moment of family chaos sink in as I round the corner and peek inside the back doors.

Greta and Linden stand in the kitchen, both with pizza sauce on their noses. Logan’s on the other side of the counter, guzzling from a bottle of Gatorade, his eyes bright.

“Uncle Everett, tell Dad pineapple is too legit to quit,” Greta says as I walk in.

I glance at Linden for clues to what the hell she’s talking about, but he just shrugs. “Uh, pineapple’s pretty legit.”

“See?” Greta says, poking out her tongue at her dad, who attempts to grab it between his fingers. When he misses, Greta laughs again. So does Linden, and it’s so easy and full. It’s no secret being a dad has changed him for the better.

“You wanna stick around?” Linden asks. “We’ve got plenty of fixings.”

“Please?” Greta says, sliding off the stool. “I helped Logan with his geometry.”

I cock an eyebrow at my son.

“It’s true,” he says. “She’s got mad skills.”

“Then yeah, why not?”

“Yesss,” Logan says, pumping his fist in victory.

“Comesee what we did today!” Greta scrambles off her stool. Logan joins her and they race up the stairs, chattering nonstop.

The narrow stairway opens to the middle of the second floor. To the left is the loft currently taken up by a futon couch and a hanging lounge chair. One of Linden’s first tasks was ripping up the plastic-laminate flooring and refinishing the oak planks below. He did a similar job on the fir beams by stripping off layers of old paint. It was a beast of a job, but now instead of it feeling like a cave, the space feels open and full of light. To the right, with a small window over the driveway, is Greta’s bedroom. Straight ahead is the bathroom. Though there’s a giant pile of rotten wood and chipped tile in the middle of the floor, the transformation is well underway. Linden has a gift for working with what’s already in place.

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