Page 3 of Into the Veins
“That’s for me to worry about.” A man like his client would do whatever it took to find the truth. No matter how much it cost. Colson intended to use it to his advantage.
She studied him from forehead to chest. She poised her pen above her notebook, the soft click of ink separating from paper loud in his ears. “Then what do you get out of this little arrangement?”
“I get to be involved in the investigation. Officially, as a consultant or whatever the hell you want to call me.” Colson interlaced his fingers across the table’s surface, cold tunneling through skin and muscle.
A humorless laugh escaped past Blair’s mouth but only thickened the tension closing in around them. “Because once I hire you to officially investigate, you can use that to show your client you’re genuinely interested in finding out what happened to his daughter. For a fee, of course.”
“See, now we’re starting to understand each other.” Admiration flooded through him. She was good. The sheriff didn’t just seem to see through him, she predicted his next moves when no one else had, and a knot of interest spiked through him. “The vipers your pathologist pulled off the remains were ruby-eyed pit vipers, which are only mildly venomous. Those snakes couldn’t have killed Rachel Faulkner. They see the world in a combination of heat and light through pit organs on the sides of their face. Judging from the fact a dead body holds onto heat for close to four hours, the vipers must’ve huddled inside or been placed inside the victim’s clothing soon after death. They’re ambush predators. They wait for their prey to come to them then strike and release, letting their meal die before consuming it. If Rachel Faulkner had been bitten by the vipers, they wouldn’t have left her there.”
“You seem to know a lot about this species of snake,” Blair said.
“You’ve already looked into me. You can tell from my background check I have a lot of interests. All of which could help you find who did this.” Colson twisted the base of his water into the table, creating a ring of condensation between the steel and glass. “Whoever dumped the victim out there knew the vipers would seek the warmth. They wanted you to find them on the body, but they couldn’t have known the vipers or any other wildlife wouldn’t feed on the remains unless they’d made sure the body wasn’t viable.” Regret solidified in his gut as he through back over the past two days. He’d been so close to finding her, but his investigation had been fated to fail the moment his client had tied one arm behind his back by limiting access to potential suspects. “Rachel ran marathons, she ate well, hardly drank, and there were no signs of drug use in her financials or medical records. She didn’t die of natural causes. Without evidence of blunt force trauma, sharp force trauma, or bullet wounds, my guess is the victim was poisoned. It’s the only way to explain why predators didn’t feed on her.”
“We won’t know for sure until Dr. Moss gets back to me with the results of the tox screen, but,”—Blair shifted in her seat—“I think you’re right. The victim’s fingers were curled into her palms and her back was slightly bowed, suggesting painful convulsions up until the moment she died, along with a blue tint to her lips. There are only a few poisons that kill victims through asphyxiation, and there’s only one I can think of off the top of my head that has these kinds of effects—”
“Strychnine.” Shit. If there was a worse way to die, Colson didn’t know of one. From what he’d read of the poison during his work with vipers, twenty minutes was all it’d taken for Rachel Faulkner to die. Violently. Slowly. Cruelly. “The neural pathways that control breathing are paralyzed until the victim can’t breathe, and they suffocate.”
“I need to know what you’ve discovered about Rachel’s life during your investigation. Anyone who might’ve had a problem with her, any incidents, addictions, or suspect relationships. I need everything. No matter how small.” Blair’s shoulders deflated as if in defeat, and she evened out her voice. “In exchange, I will bring you into the case as a consulting investigator. You’re used to running investigations of your own, but that’s not how this is going to work. You will work with me and my department. You will not handle evidence or take the lead in any interrogations. Everything we do has to be by the book so we can find who did this to her and build a solid case. Understood?”
“All right.” A lightness he hadn’t felt in years coursed through him as he faced off with the sheriff across the table. “I imagine you’ve already confirmed the fact Rachel Faulkner had almost two million followers on social media and just as many sales from her self-help books. Apart from business coaching and inspirational speeches, an entire arm of her business was dedicated to helping her followers strengthen their marriages. She and her husband ran a weekly podcast openly discussing their marriage and sex life and created a conference in which she charged over fifteen hundred dollars a ticket for couples looking to shore up their relationships.” Colson caught sight of the highlighted portions of his background check in front of her. “What you don’t know is that Rachel Faulkner was a fraud.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Rachel Faulkner’s marriage was headed toward divorce.” Colson led the way up eight stone steps toward the multi-million-dollar Tudor-style home positioned back from the shore of Lake Sammamish.
“I imagine her fans would have a hard time coming to terms with any of the advice she’d given during her relationship seminars if that’s true.” Blair rang the doorbell beside the dark wood and glass double front doors and glanced back to the front gate. The peel of the bell grated along her nerves. Security cameras had been installed near the gate and on each corner of the property. The victim’s father had kept Colson from reaching out to the husband, but not even the governor himself would stop her from interviewing their most likely suspect. No sign of paparazzi or—how had Colson put it?—eager fans in front of the house, but a case this size would hit the news sooner rather than later. Especially considering who the victim was. She pointed at the nearest camera, looking it directly in the lens. “I’ll get a warrant for surveillance footage. We might be able to pinpoint exactly when the victim went missing and who else had access to the property.”
A combination of pavers, maintained shrubbery, iron gates, and deep red brick testified to the victim’s physical success in the social media influencer world, but two million followers and an outside perspective of Rachel Faulkner’s life wouldn’t reflect the truth. Despite her fame, fortune, and following, someone had brutally poisoned the victim and left her exposed to the elements.
“Rachel’s husband, Braydon, was the last person to call her before she disappeared.” Colson shifted his weight between both feet, mountainous shoulders brushing against Blair’s arm, and her insides automatically coiled in defense. “He filed for divorce a day before her father hired me to find her. Could be he doesn’t know his wife is missing, or he’s trying to take himself out of the running as our main suspect.”
No answer from inside.
Blair tried the doorbell again.
A dark SUV pulled through the gate and maneuvered around the large, curved driveway before parking behind Blair’s patrol car. A petite blonde woman shouldered out of the vehicle and rounded the bumper, heading straight for them. Platinum hair waved down a slight build accentuated by a slim gray pantsuit, a button-down shirt, and designer heels. Removing oversize sunglasses, Special Agent January Reese bared glacier cold eyes, beautiful cheekbones, and a long thin nose. Flawless skin kissed with a touch of a tan sheened with the overhead sun as the Seattle FBI’s criminologist ascended the stairs. Agent Reese extended a perfectly manicured hand with metallic gold nail polish gleaming at the tips of her fingers. She was the epitome of a bronzed beauty that’d always sucker punched Blair’s self-confidence, but Blair trusted the agent with her life. “Sheriff Sanders, here I was starting to think you’d forgotten I existed.”
“Agent Reese, this is Colson Rutherford. He has information on the victim that could direct our investigation.” Motioning to Colson, she couldn’t help but smile at the agent responsible for late-night conversations and a few too many pounds in brownies all these years. “And I didn’t forget you existed. I just didn’t agree with that last place you picked for dinner. I’ll never look at a pigeon the same way again.”
“I thought it was a good way to expand your incredibly narrow tastes for once.” Disgust contorted the criminologist’s expression. “I was wrong. My car still smells.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m thinking you two know each other.” Colson shook January’s hand, the veins in his forearm threatening to break free of the skin.
“Criminal investigation is a small world, especially in Seattle. You get to know the people you work with through some of the most gruesome cases you’ll face in your career.” January flashed that brilliant white smile she used to disarm the unsuspecting, including the serial offenders she studied to compose crime statistics and develop behavioral deterrents to crime. “Blair and I go way back. I’m currently on loan to the field office here, but when the sheriff of King County requests your help, you drop last night’s cold pizza and high-tail it over here.” January slid her long fingers into her slacks and appreciatively studied Colson from head-to-toe. “Aren’t you a glass of cold water on a hot summer’s day.”
“Agent Reese,” Blair said.
Getting a criminologist’s insight into the investigation hadn’t been the only reason Blair had called her best friend turned adoptive sister. The charming, creative agent had a way of reading people in a career focused on cold hard facts, and Blair trusted her completely. “Colson Rutherford. I’ve heard that name whispered around the office. Private investigator, right? You’ve done good work over the past few months from what I’ve gathered.” That glacier cold gaze flickered to Blair. “The sheriff doesn’t usually hire outside help on a murder investigation. Or any case, as far as I can remember. There must be something special about you.”
Pressure built behind Blair’s sternum as her sister’s tone dipped into suggestive territory. “He’s a consulting investigator, same as you, Agent Reese, and we’re here to interview the victim’s husband.”
“I kind of blackmailed her into hiring me.” Colson’s deep laugh waned as he retracted his hand.
“That explains it,” January said. “I’ve read your initial incident report of the scene and your theory the victim was poisoned using strychnine. I asked the medical examiner to fast track the tox screen results to confirm, but statistically speaking, unwanted spouses and lovers are a high-risk group to be poisoned. Your protocol to interview the husband is a great place to start.”
Blair recounted the information she’d pulled before she and Colson had left the station. “Rachel Faulkner was married to Braydon Caddel, but never changed her name due to the fact she started her business before she was married. From what we can tell, they’ve been together for about fifteen years. Two children. There are no reports of domestic disturbances or financial trouble between them, and she still has hundreds of photos of them together posted to her social media platforms. However, according to Mr. Rutherford here—”
“It was all a front. Rachel and her husband had started out in love, but it turns out Braydon had given up a lucrative career as an executive for a large film production company in favor of running Rachel’s company as its CEO.” Colson set his hands to his hips, accentuating the lean muscle running the length of his midsection. “It’s possible he resented her for convincing him to leave his career.”