Page 7 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

“I’d like an explanation,” she said. “You let my suspect go and didn’t even have the courtesy to speak to me about it first.”

He arched a brow. “You’re right. I should have spoken to you first. However, I felt I owed it to Mr. O’Brien to release him immediately.” He pulled out his phone and swiped his thumb across the screen before handing it to her.

She stared at the picture, stunned. “Where did you get this?”

“I had another one of my officers, Fletcher, canvassing the people at the festival who were near the hill when the arrow was shot. When I was telling Collier to package up the evidence for the FBI lab, I called Fletcher to see how her canvassing wasgoing. She told me that one of the families she’d spoken to had been taking pictures on that hill not too far from where O’Brien was sitting. They texted her that picture you’re looking at.”

“They caught the arrow in flight, going right past O’Brien’s shoulder.”

Dawson nodded. “Unfortunately, the person who shot that arrow is in the shadows of the trees and can’t be seen. But this is proof positive that O’Brien isn’t the shooter at the festival.”

She handed him back the phone. “Agreed. He’s not today’s shooter. But that doesn’t mean he’s not the Crossbow Killer. He uses bows and arrows to hunt. And he’s a convicted murderer in a town where an anonymous tipster said I’d find my killer. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look deeper to either rule him out in my investigation, or keep him on my list.”

“You have a list of suspects?”

“Officially, no. But we have a handful of persons of interest other agents are checking out in other locations. For now, I’m only looking at Mystic Lake. And O’Brien’s my only suspect at this point. But after that festival incident, and seeing those white feathers with a red line painted down the center, it sure looks like either my killer is here, or there’s a copycat. He’s either just as deadly, or someone having fun, playing with the police.”

Dawson groaned. “I sure hope we don’t have a copycat. Someone toying with us though, that wouldn’t really surprise me. Some of the teenagers around here like to have fun adding to the town’s reputation for unusual or unexplained events. I can just see one of them doing this, not really trying to hurt anyone, but trying to cause a stir around town. I’ll start looking into the usual culprits, see what I can find out.”

“Tourism is the main industry here, isn’t it?” she asked.

“During summer and fall, yes. Leaf peepers and those wanting to boat or kayak or even camp near the larger part of the lake outside of town. But most of the people around here eithercommute to a job in Chattanooga every day or work remotely online. Why?”

“I’m wondering about your local economy. A lot of places that rely heavily on tourism have suffered from things like the pandemic and ups and downs in the economy since then. Could someone other than the teens you mentioned be trying to put the town more on the map, generate media and tourist interest by making it look like the Crossbow Killer is operating here?”

He grimaced. “I prefer the juvenile delinquent angle than to think an adult would be that reckless. But, point taken. We’ll explore every possibility, not just focusing on our problem kids around here. As for you talking more to O’Brien, I can place another call to his parole officer to have her arrange another chat. He doesn’t really have a choice, given the conditions of his parole. However, I’ve found that the more background I have on a suspect, the more prepared I am to get something worthwhile out of an interrogation. That’s another reason I let him go earlier. I wanted you to be able to read through this first.”

He finally set down the folder he’d been holding.

“What is it?” she asked as she slid her last stack of pictures into her satchel.

“Aidan O’Brien’s arrest record and background on the crime for which he was convicted. It’s a copy of the folder his parole officer gave me when O’Brien relocated here. I’m sure you can get the full investigative file if you want it. I never had a reason to dig deeper and request more information.”

After quickly flipping through the contents, she frowned. “I don’t see a trial transcript.”

“There wasn’t a trial. He pled guilty.”

“What about his sentencing hearing?”

“Like I said, I didn’t dig deeper. You’ll have to make a records request if you want a transcript of that. Collier made that folder for you. You can keep it.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She slid it into her satchel and strapped it over her shoulder. “I’ll call my office from my car, arrange for a courier to pick up your evidence. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours to get someone here.”

“We’ll be ready.” He held the conference room door open for her.

At the front door, she stopped. “One more thing. If the evidence is authenticated, if the Bureau confirms it’s consistent with the evidence we already have, be prepared for a few more agents heading this way to help with my investigation.”

“Trust me,” he said, “if there’s a serial killer in my town, I’m grateful for any help you can provide. There won’t be any jurisdictional fights or egos getting in the way. We’ll take this guy down, together, whoever he is.”

She smiled. “That’s wonderful to hear. It will make everything easier, and faster.”

He handed her a business card. “My office and mobile are on there. When you’re ready to set up another meeting with O’Brien, just shout.” He pointed toward a two-story whitewashed cottage on the other side of the lake. “That’s Stella’s Bed and Breakfast. Locals use it to house family and friends that come to visit. And once tourists start bombarding us in a few weeks, the place fills up fast. But there are probably a few vacancies right now. Stella’s main source of income is actually the restaurant downstairs. It’s open seven days a week and is the best place in town for a hot meal. I highly recommend it.”

She smiled her thanks. “I’ll head there now and see if you’re right about vacancies. I’d assumed I’d have to stay in Chattanooga and drive in each day that I’m here. Stella’s would be much more convenient.”

After shaking his hand, she headed down the brick sidewalk toward the parking lot at the end of Main Street. Although theonly parking she saw on the other side of the lake was parallel street parking, she couldn’t imagine the B and B and its large, attached restaurant not having parking for the customers. There must be a lot behind it or maybe farther down the street on that side of the lake. She figured she’d head over there and find out. If she was wrong, she’d just park back at the large lot at the end of Main Street and walk around the lake to Stella’s.

As she’d hoped, there was indeed a good-sized lot behind the B and B. She just had to go a block down and loop back behind the row of shops to get to it. The bumpy gravel and incline that led up to Stella’s lot had her grateful she’d insisted on a four-wheel drive vehicle when she’d rented the SUV. It would be handy when she checked out the marina and campground she’d researched, too. Both were about a mile out of town where the lake widened and deepened and attracted boaters and fisherman. There were even some class two and three rapids where the river flowed down from the mountains and fed the lake.

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