A Merciful Fate

TWENTY-ONE

“It looks like Tabitha Huff stopped at every place of business in Eagle’s Nest,” Mercy groused to Jeff.

She sat at her desk, staring at the GPS notes from the victim’s rental car, as Jeff stood behind her chair and read over her shoulder. She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Am I supposed to go talk to every shop owner? What if she was following someone and she didn’t even go into these places?”

“She was in town the day after you first talked to Shane Gamble. She didn’t waste any time at all.”

“Here’s where I met her.” Mercy pointed at an entry that coincided with the location of Rose’s preschool. “It looks like she stopped by the bed-and-breakfast in Eagle’s Nest a few times,” Mercy said, studying the map. “But she stayed in a hotel.”

“The bank is right there too,” Jeff pointed out. “Makes more sense that she went in a bank. Or used the ATM. She drove to Bend too. Looks like she was in our parking lot. She didn’t come to the door as far as I know.”

“I checked with Melissa. She didn’t talk to anyone with purple streaks in her hair.”

“She also drove to a lot of places in the countryside,” said Jeff. “What’s out in these areas?”

“Mostly a lot of nothing.” Mercy tried to visualize what was on the route Tabitha had driven. “I’d have to recreate it.”

“The second-to-last coordinate is where the car was found.”

“Yes. Before we had it towed.”

“This last route is crucial. Somewhere along the line she encountered her killer.”

Frustration filled Mercy. This is impossible.

It’d sounded so helpful—a map of where their victim had gone since she’d arrived in Oregon. It’d started as a long log of coordinates, which they’d translated into a map. The routes looked as if someone had covered the map with scribbles. Almost if the woman had deliberately obscured her route.

Would she do that?

Tabitha was part of the generation who’d never known a world without the internet. Instant information. Digital footprints. “Dammit!” Mercy sat back in her chair. “Tabitha might have been smarter than I gave her credit for.”

“She had purple dye in her hair. It was hard to take her seriously.”

Mercy silently humphed. She’d liked Tabitha’s hair and briefly wondered how her own hair would look with a bit of artfully applied purple.

“You already went through the notebook found in her car, right?” asked Mercy. “Can I take a look at it now?”

“I skimmed it. It feels incomplete to me, and I suspect she used a note-taking app on her phone for her research.”

“Like something she spoke into?”

“Could be. Or something that holds photos, links, typed notes, and voice notes,” Jeff told her.

“I could use something like that for work,” Mercy admitted.

“I have hope her cell phone turns up.”

“It wasn’t in her hotel room. Deschutes County said there was just clothes and toiletries. They also checked the hotel security cameras. On the day she died, no one else visited her room. Whoever killed her apparently didn’t need anything else of hers.”

“I’ll grab her notebook from my office.” He stepped out.

Jeff was helping the best he could, but he was also being pulled in a million directions. She’d asked for the notebook three times.

He never gave me an answer about bringing in help from Portland.

She suspected that was her answer.

He reappeared, a small spiral notebook in his hand. “You talk to Eddie today?” he asked as he handed it over.

“I did. He’s hoping to be discharged tomorrow. If he had his way, he’d be sitting in my office right this minute.”

The notebook’s cover had a big circle around the words BANG HEAD HERE.

“I just might,” she muttered.

“The recent stuff is toward the back,” said Jeff. “The pages are dated. Most are notes on older stories that are already present on the Midnight Voice website.”

Mercy flipped pages and then paused as she scanned one. “Looks like notes from her calls with Shane Gamble. She’s written a brief history of the robbery and underlined the fact that the money has never turned up.”

“Something made him move fast to contact her.”

Mercy slowly nodded as she mentally reviewed the first conversation she’d had with Gamble again. What spooked him?

Jeff checked his phone at the sound of a soft ping. “Tabitha’s autopsy report. You should have it too.”

A couple of clicks opened the report on her screen. Mercy scrolled, pausing on the generic drawing of a woman’s body. The sketch was clean except for arrows and notes near the skull. No other injuries.

“Perforating gunshot wound to the head,” she read aloud. “Entrance was left temporal region with evidence of close-range firing. Dr. Lockhart cites stippling.” Mercy remembered the tiny powder bits embedded in the flesh around Tabitha’s wound. “Someone was very close when they killed her. Exit was above right ear. Direction was left to right and downward.” She glanced at the drawing again. “Someone was taller than her or else she was in a lower position . . . sitting, maybe. No projectile recovered, of course.

“Toxicology report is normal. Overall she was a healthy woman.” Except for the holes in her skull. “Lividity indicated that she was seated. It lines up with her being in the passenger seat for a period of time after death.”

“But she wasn’t shot there.”

“No. The killer must have moved her there immediately.”

Mercy took a deep breath as she imagined Tabitha Huff on Natasha Lockhart’s stainless steel table. The very alive young woman she’d met had now been sliced open and had her organs weighed and examined, the top of her skull sawed open, her brain removed, and then everything replaced and stitched neatly back together. Slices of her organs preserved in case of future need.

Purple streaks in her hair. Dr. Lockhart had noted the hair color on the report.

She’ll never experiment with another color.

This moment felt more final than when Mercy had stood at Tabitha Huff’s murder scene.

“Did evidence turn up anything from her vehicle?”

“Nothing of note.”

Who did you make nervous?

Mercy turned back to the notebook, flipping to the last page and working her way back. “She has some notes on Ellis Mull. They were written after his identification made the news . . . Looks like she dug into what the thieves were doing in the years before the robbery just like we did. Same with Trevor Whipple and Nathan May. She has the suspects numbered, with Shane Gamble being number one, of course.”

A word underlined three times caught her eye. And sent her brain spinning in a dozen directions. “Jeff, what do you think of this?”

She tapped the word. His eyes widened as the possibility sank in.

“Where would she get that idea?” he said under his breath. “From Gamble?”

For the fifth suspect, Tabitha had firmly crossed out the driver’s name, Jerry, and written female.