Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8), Kaylie Hunter [best motivational books txt] 📗

two years. The official filing in their divorce was irreconcilable differences, but despite a prenup, she received a two-million-dollar settlement. Which makes me think she had some spectacular dirt on him that he didn’t want made public. And by the time of his death, Mr. Parker was six months into his third marriage.” Natalie flipped another page on her notepad. “He was also investigated a few times, but nothing stuck. Mostly bribery and fraud stuff. White collar crime.”

Chambers tapped a pencil on the table as he looked at me. “If our killer was responsible for both victims, then the second guy,” he pointed to Natalie’s notepad, “would be a prime candidate for a hired hit. Without any kids, the third wife would’ve raked in millions upon his death. But the first guy—” he pointed to the papers in Abe’s hands, “was likely killed because he knew the killer. Or he knew something about the killer. Either way, that might be our best lead.”

“I can head over to the shelter. Ask around about Allen Franklin,” Gibson offered.

I shook my head. “Not yet. Let’s wait for Genie.”

As if summoned, Genie’s face popped up on my phone and it started to ring. I pushed the icon for speaker. “Hey, just a second,” I told Genie before looking over at Abe and Natalie and then the door. They both stepped out of the room, shoulders slumped. I fake scowled at Quille, not liking playing the bad cop role, before looking back at my phone. “Go ahead, Genie.”

“Do we like this guy? I’m assuming if I’m running a background, then we don’t. But I’m having these really conflicting feelings about him.”

“What did you find?”

“Grenway was born in Fort Lauderdale. No dad listed on the birth certificate. Mom was a drunk, in and out of rehab. Child services stepped in a few times, but kept sending Stewy back to her when she sobered up. One night she passed out and choked to death on her own vomit. Game over for her. By then, Stewy had suffered fourteen years of alcohol-related abuse. After she died, he bounced around in foster care for three years, but eventually ran away. Six months later he appeared at a teen outreach center. The center helped him arrange independent housing and re-enroll in school.”

“Sun…” I took the file from Abe and checked the name. “The Sunset Center?”

“Yup. That’s the one. On paper, Stewy sounds like a troubled kid who turned his life around. He joined the police department and all seems normal until about five years ago.”

“What happened five years ago?”

“I don’t know. But something smells fishy. Stewy traded in his beat-up Camry for a shiny new Corolla. Nothing flashy, but that’s when his lifestyle started to exceed his income. After applying all my magic, I didn’t find a single loan or credit card that explains how he could afford the car, let alone the three-bedroom house or the cabin cruiser purchased since then. And Uncle Sam wasn’t aware of his change in income either.”

“Five years? Are you sure?”

“Positive. I’ll send you the details. Why is that important?”

“Because I was under the impression he started killing people three years ago.”

“Oh. Stewy’s been bad…”

“You need to stop calling him Stewy. It’s creepy.”

Genie laughed while asking, “Anything else I can do?”

“Not right now, but thanks. This helped.” I ended the call but continued staring at my phone.

“Five years?” Tasha said. “Huey and I looked back seven years, but only found the two cases. We can look again.”

“What if…” Gibson started to say. “Never mind.”

“What if what?” Chambers asked. “If you have a theory, let’s hear it.”

“What if he changed his MO after the car accident. Remember? He took a knife to the park to kill Terri Weston.”

“You’re on to something,” I said, pointing to Gibson. “I like it. So, before the accident, he was a stabber or slasher. But when he tried to kill Terri, his damaged hand prevented him from killing in his usual manner. He had to improvise. Come up with a new method.”

“And now he’s improvised again, combining the stabbing with the choking,” Chambers said.

“Which is closer to his preferred method,” Ford grumbled, throwing his pen onto the table. “This makes me sick. How could a brother in blue be behind this?”

I ignored Ford and opened the door to the conference room. Abe and Natalie were waiting a few feet away. “We need to run a search on unsolved stab victims. But further back. At least a decade.”

“We’ll get started,” Natalie said, moving with Abe toward their cubicles.

I turned back into the room and walked over to Quille. Grabbing the lapels on his suit jacket, I gave them a playful tug like I was straightening them. “Did I ever tell you that you’re the best boss ever?”

“What do you want?”

“Can you call your judge friend and get me a warrant?”

“You don’t have any evidence. It’s all circumstantial.”

“Come on. We both know you have mad skills getting warrants.” I smirked at him. “Please! Pretty-please! I gotta bring Grenway in before the rumor mill gets wind of this and he realizes we’re on to him.”

“Fine!” Quille barked. “I’ll get you a warrant, but SWAT goes in first. If anyone ends up shooting this guy, it’s sure as hell not going to be you. Not with your I.A. file.”

Knowing better than to wait for Quille to change his mind, I grabbed my handbag and keys. Beast had been napping against the wall but bounced to his feet when he heard my keys jingle.

“I’ll call when the warrant is signed,” Quille said, opening the door for me. “Then I’ll get a team together to start inventorying the evidence vault.”

Chambers stood. “Gibson and I will help Abe and Natalie run down more victims. We’ll do the best we can to