Beneath the Ashes by Dea Poirier

Author:Dea Poirier [Poirier, Dea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542092784
Published: 2019-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

With an extra-large coffee clutched in my hand, I head inside Camden PD. When I open the door, the scent of doughnuts is heavy in the air, the tang and the sugar coating my mouth. I take a sip of my coffee, breathing in the aroma, hoping to drown it out. It only works for a few seconds.

It’s Monday morning, and after Vera’s stunt yesterday, Munroe is off the suspect list. The investigation has hit a roadblock. And I’m not sure where else to go. We’ve got no evidence from the scene that wasn’t tainted by ashes and nothing on the victims that points us in any direction, and I don’t even know where they’re meeting up with this killer before going to a motel. Though I’ve been searching, reviewing the interviews Zane and Blake did with Jessica’s family, I can’t find anything solid that ties these victims together outside of the hospital.

Melanie and Jessica were both outdoorsy and liked to spend time in Bald Mountain Preserve on their ATVs. But thus far, Asha didn’t seem to have that kind of lifestyle. These girls weren’t friends that I can tell, not even on social media. They didn’t spend time together at school. Their parents never saw them together. The only things binding them are death and time in that hospital. But there are too many people in that hospital who interacted with each of these girls. Two of the junior officers have been working to see if any current employees have a criminal record, but no one has been flagged.

Inside the station, I walk by a receptionist’s desk and weave through the bull pen. I nod at Austin as I pass her desk, then Zane, Blake, Sasha, and Clint. My temporary station is at the far corner of the room, close to Sergeant Pelletier’s office. As I set down my coffee and take off my jacket, his voice cuts across the pen.

“Calderwood, in here, please,” he yells in a way that reminds me vaguely of a principal. I haven’t done anything wrong, but for some reason, my stomach shifts with unease.

I stride toward his office, gripping my coffee tighter than I need to. Sergeant Pelletier is hunched behind his desk, a blue button-up clashing with a split pea–colored tie. It makes me wonder if he got dressed in a rush. His face is flushed, stained by a spiderweb of red; it even manages to color the fleshy little ball at the end of his nose. He’s got a strange look on his face, one I haven’t seen before. He glances down at the desk in front of him, where his breakfast is laid out.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I step inside and take a seat.

“Wrong?” he asks, then glances at his breakfast again. “They put too many jalapeños in my burrito. It’s kicking me in the face like I’m eating a damn firecracker.”

“Oh” is all I can manage to say.

“In about twenty minutes, Tegan Hartley is going to drop in to see you,” he says as he glances at his watch.

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