Chapter 11
Common sense is not so common.
—Voltaire
LOGAN
“How the fucking hell does a killer walk by us, come inside, and kill two officers, before stealing the sheriff’s son, yet no one sees a damn thing?” Donny hisses, covering his nose.
If our unsub wanted to ruin the crime scene, she did a damn good job by dumping out a tub of lye.
I’m not sure what was here before Kyle Davenport stupidly went in, and what the killer brought with her.
“You sons of bitches go see my son today, and now he’s missing!” the sheriff bellows as I try to piece together the gruesome attack.
Chad Briggs. I spoke to him earlier. Trevor Byron is—was—familiar as well.
Chad was sawed open right in front of a crowd who watched with rapt attention, assuming he was just part of the show. Trevor was stabbed then doused in lye.
“He’s now targeting anyone in the way,” Lisa says as she pulls off her glove, staring in disgust at the parts of the body of Chad Briggs we were able to retrieve. Trevor’s body can’t be touched until the hazmat suits arrive.
Chad Briggs has been hollowed out, all of his insides spilling when we had to lift him to carry him outside for proper examination. We don’t have a M.E. here, but they have their own coroner—who I don’t trust.
The sheriff has already called in a canine unit, and most of his deputies are in the woods, trying to follow the blood trail the unsub left behind.
“I think this was planned,” Leonard interjects. “Chad Briggs was an officer ten years ago. So was Trevor Byron. They were a part of what happened to Robert Evans.”
“Just a coincidence,” Lisa says dismissively.
“She could have hurt the girl with Kyle, who alerted the other two what was going on. She didn’t. So she’s in control of the kills,” Leonard argues.
“She? Now you think it’s a girl too?” Lisa groans. “We can’t do this to our profile, or what’s the point in profiling.”
“Not adjusting the profile makes it just as pointless, and you start thinking like Johnson,” I point out.
She glares at me, and I shift my attention to Elise. “Anything?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing of any use. People saw a guy in a Michael Myers mask in the ‘liar’ section, and thought Trevor Byron was part of the show. Same for Chad Briggs. Some even thought Trevor was a terrible actor, not even realizing he was dying. Others thought the ‘special effects’ with Briggs was amazing.”
“Michael Myers?” Leonard says, stepping closer.
She nods.
“How’d they know it was a guy if the unsub was masked? And what about height and weight?” I ask her.
“The guy was dressed in full-on Michael Myers gear. Mask, hair, clothes…everything. I guess they assumed it was a guy. And no one was paying attention enough to get a height estimation. I got everything from five feet to six and a half feet. Some said it was a big guy. Some said he was skinny.”
“Balls of stone is what it takes to devise a plan as brazen as this,” Leonard says quietly.
“It fucking took you long enough!” I hear the sheriff snap
ping.
I look over as the canine units arrive, and he starts directing them. If they find Kyle, it’ll be a small miracle. By now, the unsub is possibly already at play.
I glance over, studying the faces of everyone standing behind the caution tape. The girlfriend looks a little bruised, but those bruises were there before the unsub came in.
It took her longer than it should have to get help. The unsub had time to drag Kyle out of this place. She most likely used the hole cut into the floor.