“Any links at all in the families of the women?” Kate asked.
“The only thing similar between them is that they both came from families of divorce. But we’ve spoken to all of the immediate family and everything seems to check out in terms of alibis. You, of course, are welcome to retread where we’ve already stepped.”
“Thank you,” DeMarco said. “Do you mind taking us out to the location where the second victim was found?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
Gates slipped on a jacket and exited the office ahead of them. Kate noticed how DeMarco seemed to carry herself differently now. It was a very slight difference, and not anything Kate could actually name, but it was there. She was more confident, more self-assured. It was present in the way she had interacted with the sheriff, even in that brief amount of time. It was also in the way she followed him but also led Kate.
She’s still so young, Kate thought. She’s going to end up being an exceptional agent.
It warmed her heart and made her incredibly glad to be back by DeMarco’s side. More than anything though, it made her happy to be on this case, even though she was now quite sure it would be one of her last.
***
On the way to the latest murder scene, they passed through most of Harper Hills. There were four stoplights in the town and the most recognizable businesses were a Burger King and a Subway, both situated along the very short and mostly non-eventful Main Street. Near the end of Main Street, Gates turned his patrol car onto a back road, and DeMarco followed closely behind in the bureau sedan.
The back road turned into another and that one into yet another. It was a peculiar area, though. Kate had seen many backwoods towns set up in a similar way, but Harper Hills was almost like a rural subdivision without all the fringe, tucked away in the wooded flatlands of North Carolina. The neighborhood Gates led them into was not so much a neighborhood as a collection of wooded lots separated by thick groves of trees.
Kate leaned forward in her seat as Gates turned into a gravel driveway. DeMarco followed, both agents noticing that there was one other car in the driveway. She parked behind Gates and the three of them met one another at the start of the sidewalk.
“This is the Peterson residence,” Gates said. “The mother, Sandra, is currently staying with an old family friend out near Cape Fear. She just couldn’t stand to be around here. I get that, I suppose. She was torn up about it all. Catatonic.”
He then handed DeMarco a manila envelope. DeMarco took it, opened it, and looked inside. Kate peered over her shoulder and saw that it was the case files. They had received most of those files digitally in DC, but not all of them. She always made a point to look at the physical files even when she had the digital ones. Something about seeing the information in print—especially crime scene photos—made the case seem more pressing.
“Were you the first on the scene?” DeMarco asked.
“No, that was Smith. But I was right behind him.”
“Can you walk me through what you saw?”
Kate liked this approach. Rather than instantly looking though the offered files. DeMarco wanted to make sure she was seeing the scene as it had played out on the morning the body had been found. Photographs and notes were excellent tools, but rarely as good as hearing the events told from the mouths of those first on the scene.
“According to the mother, Kayla Peterson was home for a friend’s wedding. She went out with some friends two nights ago and the next morning, she wasn’t in her room. But her car was right there in the driveway. When the mother opened the door to check the car, she found Kayla dead on the porch. She’d gotten so far as putting her front door key into the lock before the killer attacked; they were still hanging from the knob when Smith and I got here. From the moment I saw the body, it was quite apparent she had been strangled.”
“Was she fully clothed?” Kate asked.
“She was. The medical examiner said there was no indication that she had been raped or otherwise sexually assaulted. Seems like murder was the only thing the killer was interested in. Same goes for the first victim.”
“Did the ME have any hints at what was used to strangle her?” DeMarco asked.
“He thinks some sort of cord, likely made of plastic. And the force with which he did it was a lot. The ME thinks the killer must be rather strong.”
“Is that Kayla’s car down there?” DeMarco asked, nodding to the only other car in the driveway.
“It is.” He fished around in his pocket and took out a key fob that had been marked with an evidence tag. He handed it over to DeMarco and said, “Help yourself.”
The three of them trotted back down the porch stairs to the driveway. Kayla had driven a 2017 Kia Optima. It looked exactly what Kate would expect a college girl’s car to look like: fairly clean, the console littered with Chapstick, a half-empty plastic bottle of water, and a phone charger. Other than that, there was nothing of note in the car—certainly nothing that would help them determine who had been following her that night.
Following the car, Gates unlocked the front door. He explained to them that when Sandra Peterson had left town, she’d given Gates the keys to her home to help with the investigation.
“Any chance she’d be a suspect?” Kate asked.
“Even if I had the slightest inkling that she was—and I don’t—it would not explain the first victim.”
“That was three days before Kayla, right?” DeMarco asked.
“That’s exactly right. While there is certainly no way to rule her out for certain, I interviewed every single person that was at the bowling alley when it closed up. Not a single person reported seeing Sandra Peterson. One woman knew exactly who I was talking about and thought it was outrageous that I was even asking. Besides…I go back to what the ME said. Whoever strangled Kayla Peterson was incredibly strong. And if you ever end up meeting Sandra Peterson, you’d have a hard time lining that up. She’d quite waifish. Lost a ton of weight when her husband left. And not by going to the gym. She looks almost malnourished. Sickly, at times.”
Kate and DeMarco looked around the room Kayla had been staying in. It showed signs of the girl she once was, the residue of Hannah Montana stickers on the side of a dresser, faintly faded squares on the walls where posters once hung. They found two packed bags sitting at the foot of the bed. One had clearly been designated as the bag for all things related to the wedding celebration. It was filled with nicer clothes, makeup, and what looked like notes for a toast. The other bag was much less formal, with several outfits tossed in along with a paperback book and some toiletries. But there was nothing at all to help them with the case.
“Have you talked to any of the friends she was out with the night she was killed?” DeMarco asked.
“All but one of them. From what I gathered, there were four of them in all, including Kayla.”
“I’d like to speak with all of them,” DeMarco said. She then looked back to Kate, as if seeking approval. Kate only gave a quick nod of the head, appreciating the gesture of having DeMarco seek her opinion.
“Well, it’s Monday afternoon, and they’re all working. I could make some calls and see what I can do to get them all together. Maybe at the station.”