Page 59 of Deeper Than the Dead

His statement filtered through the surprise still swaddling her brain. “You spent five years in the Criminal Investigation Division of the military?”

He nodded. “A lieutenant from CID had been assigned with our unit during a mission, and he was impressed with my work. He didn’t shut up until I agreed to a transfer. It came with an instant promotion. Why wouldn’t I be game once he told me that part?”

Which likely meant the promotion offer had come from above in order to achieve their goal. The government was like that. When they wanted something, they didn’t stop until they got it. This would suggest that Bent had done quite well with his military career.

The man was one surprise after another.

Vera turned around slowly and took in the other details of the space once more. The bookcases that lined the walls were actually filled with books. Were those law books? She wandered over to check, and sure enough, they were. The file cabinets sat next to those. The table, desk, whatever in the center of the space was like a big conference table made from two-by-fours and plywood—all obviously salvaged from somewhere on the property, since the patina screamed vintage. Two stools stood beneath the table.

“This is your private war room.” She turned to him then. “Do you bring your deputies here to work out cases with you?”

He shook his head. “This is just for me.” His forehead furrowed in thought. “And now you.”

She wanted to be flattered, but she decided not just yet. No letting this become personal. “Why is the other whiteboard covered?”

He waited a moment, and in those few seconds she understood there was something more he needed to tell her about the case. A detail or details that would change everything.

Oh hell.

He took the few steps required to reach the other whiteboard and methodically folded and removed the covering so as not to disturb what was underneath. She studied the items and words there. Bent had made a list of potential suspects and motives. Her throat went bone dry as she read her name, Eve’s name. Their father’s. Garth Rimmey and his friend Pete Brooks. Howard Benton—his own father. Along with various other prominent men of Fayetteville. An arrow from each name pointed to a motive. Yet another pointed to opportunity, and yet another to means.

Somehow she managed to draw in a breath. Instinctively her arms folded over her chest. Vera turned to her host. All the heat in her body felt as if it had rushed out through her feet, leaving an icy cold behind. “I see you made your suspect list a family affair. Is this seriously all you’ve been able to come up with? Surely there was more than this in the old case file on Sheree’s disappearance.”

He continued to stare at her, and her knees knocked together a little, and she struggled to steady herself. Bent moved in next to her—right next to her—which only unnerved her further. He surveyed the list and then turned to her once more, searched her face, then her eyes. That definitely didn’t help either. She dropped her shoulder bag to the floor and braced her hands on her hips.

Keep it together. No losing it in front of this man. Look at this like work—just another case being investigated by your team.

Except she didn’t have a team anymore. She didn’t have a job anymore.

The bottom dropped from her stomach.

“You have a name or two you want to add?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, attempting to sound unaffected.

“Rimmey and your father were the only suspects when Sheree disappeared,” he said. His deep voice was calm, and despite the subject matter, it still got to her somehow.

Vera worked to compose herself against the feelings he prompted. “Your killer has to be someone strong enough to hoist the bodies through those tight passages. Someone who knew enough about my family and our farm to feel no concern going to the cave to carry out this task.”

He nodded. “You’re right. Which to me suggests the killer is male.”

Vera turned her back on the boards and walked a few steps away. She knew what he was thinking. Her father was the one. Damn it! But the newly discovered remains indicated the person they were looking for had killed before Sheree and after. Could Eve’s off-the-cuff theory be right? Their father had done these things but stopped, and then the dementia prompted his old ways ... his old needs.

No. Her father was not a killer. Certainly not a serial killer. This didn’t make sense. She abandoned that line of thinking and opted to center on taking herself and her family out of this equation. The good news, it seemed, was that Bent was actively looking for other suspects.

“I believe our initial assessment that this might be a serial killer is a logical one.” The need to breathe had her inhaling deeply. “Either that, or we have more than one killer.”

From the moment she learned about the additional remains, she knew this was no coincidence. That cave had been used as a dumping ground. There was no other explanation. Absolutely there was more than one killer. She knew this with complete certainty. The problem was, she couldn’t press her certainty about that without giving a reason.

Sheree was that reason.

Vera could not go there. But she could suggest options.

“The TBI agrees with the serial killer scenario,” Bent admitted. “They want to call in the FBI.”

Of course they did. No unit or agency wanted to deal with a situation like this one unless they had no choice. The investigation could go on for years. Resources would be sucked dry. But there was something else, she realized. Bent hadn’t said he believed this was the work of a serial killer. Very likely this was a fishing expedition. He hadn’t brought her here just to show off his cool home office. This was about getting her take on the case.

She moistened her lips and asked the next logical question. “Do you have any evidence pointing to a suspect?” Surely in all this—Vera turned back to the photos—they had found some little thing. Any damned thing. No one deposited multiple victims without screwing up somehow. Well, almost no one.

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