of drugs and once for lewd conduct in the back of his truck out on the back roads. As for Jeremy, I’ve had him in here just once—for petty larceny. But I always figured it would be just a matter of time before he became more of a regular.”
“Would he have any need to lie about Mercy potentially being the killer?” DeMarco asked.
“I just don’t know. But…it makes a lot of sense, right? Girl gets fed up with her parents, kills them, and then runs away.”
Kate nodded. She recalled her own imagined scenario of Mercy approaching her unsuspecting parents and killing them both before the second one she killed was even sure of what was happening.
“How long has Jeremy been living with his brother?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know. For good, maybe a year or so. Even before that, though, he would live with his brother off and on. His brother is Randy Branch—a twenty-five-year-old permanent screw-up. Their parents divorced about ten years ago. Randy got his own place as soon as he could, that miserable old double-wide out on the edge of the woods. For a while, I think Jeremy bounced back and forth between his parents but then their mother moved in with family down in Alabama. After that, I think their father just sort of stopped caring.”
“But he lives around here?”
“Yeah, out on Waterlick Road.”
“Any idea if Jeremy ever stays with him at all?”
“Not personally. I hear rumors, though. And one of those rumors is that Randy has these pretty raunchy parties. Orgies, I guess, I don’t know. And he doesn’t let Jeremy hang around. So from what I hear, the weekends he has these parties, Jeremy stays with his old man.” He paused here and then, almost skeptically, added: “You don’t think it was Mercy?”
“You do?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want to believe it, but it’s starting to look like it. If I’m being honest, it’s a conclusion I started to consider even before you showed up.”
“Let’s hold Jeremy here for a bit longer,” Kate said. “In the meantime, do you think you could have someone trace down the address and contact information of Jeremy’s father?”
“Yeah, I’ll get Foster on it,” he said, reaching for his phone. “He’ll be glad to be able to add a little more information to his case files.”
Kate and DeMarco stepped outside of the office, walking back toward the bullpen area. Speaking under her breath, DeMarco asked: “Do you think Jeremy Branch is telling the truth?”
“I just don’t know. His story certainly adds up and connects a lot of dots. But I also know that with all the drugs I found in that house, he has every reason in the world to cover his ass and get the attention off of him.”
“I can’t help but wonder if he was in on the deaths himself,” DeMarco said. “An older guy, wanting to keep a younger girl under lock and key. If she truly hated her parents and he was crazy enough, wouldn’t he be a suspect?”
It was a promising train of thought, one that Kate had considered herself. She had not ruled it out, hoping that a visit to Jeremy’s father’s house would give them some more information.
“Agents?”
They both turned to see Barnes coming out of his office. He handed a slip of paper to Kate and nodded. “That’s the address for Floyd Branch. Fair warning, though…he can be a bit of a bastard. Badges and all that don’t really bother him.”
“It’s the middle of the day,” Kate said. “Are you even sure he’ll be home?”
“Yeah. He works on small engines and stuff like that out of his garage.” Barnes checked his watched and smiled. “It’s just about three thirty, so I bet you just about anything that he’s already started drinking. If I were you, I’d head out that way soon…before he gets hammered. Want some backup? He’s kind of a hillbilly. I don’t know how else to put that. He’s going to see two women he doesn’t know and not take you seriously.”
“Sounds lovely,” Kate said. “Sure. Come on along, Sheriff. The more, the merrier.”
She honestly didn’t believe in that little tidbit but she did know the sort of man Barnes was describing. She’d seen a lot of it in the South, especially. There were some rural areas where men had simply not caught up to the world, not only disrespecting women but unable to see them as equals…even when they were carrying a badge and a gun.
They left the station together, heading for the bureau’s rental that DeMarco had driven in from DC. Wow, that was just this morning, she thought.
It made her think of Allen and the plans he had tried making for them—a quick escape away to the mountains to drink wine, sleep in, and other things in a bed that weren’t exactly sleeping.
And while she was still rather down about missing out on such a thing, she was also willing to admit that she was just as excited right now, with a case unfolding in front of her. She still had some work to do in keeping a proper balance between her personal life and her unique bureau schedule but for now, she felt that she was exactly where she needed to be.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Floyd Branch’s property was a living embodiment of all Southern stereotypes. As DeMarco pulled the car into the lightly graveled driveway, the lyrics to about a dozen country songs all presented themselves in the form of Floyd Branch’s trailer, yard, and scattered possessions.
The grass was only slightly better than what they had previously seen at Jeremy’s place. Portions of the lawn around the trailer had at least been mown, dead spots showing through here and there. The mower itself—an old riding mower with a rusted hood, was parked directly beside a shed to the back of the house. Two junked trucks—one completely missing its back end—sat on concrete blocks next to it. Beside the shed was a weak-looking dog pen, made primarily of wooden planks, a few metal poles, and what looked like chicken wire. As DeMarco parked the car and they all got out, two pit bulls inside the pen started to make ungodly noises, something between a bark and a roar.
Kate, DeMarco, and Barnes had taken only a few steps away from the car before a middle-aged gaunt-looking man came out of the shed. He carried a broom with him, looking angrily toward the pen and cursing at the dogs. He then saw that he had visitors. His anger dropped and he tossed the broom back into the shed as if embarrassed by it.
“Hey there, Sheriff.”
“Floyd, hey yourself. How are you today?”
“Okay, I guess. Working on an old dirt bike motor for the Wells family. The bike is older’n hell. Seems like a waste to me, but he already paid, so…”
He stopped here, clearly distracted as he tried to take in the two women on either side of Barnes. He looked both shaken and slightly excited. Not because there were women on his property, but because it was something unexpected—something new and out of the ordinary.
“Floyd, these two ladies are with the FBI. They’d like to ask you some questions.”
“FBI? What the hell for? I ain’t done nothing.”
“Oh, I don’t expect you have,” Barnes said. “But tell me, Floyd: when was the last time you spoke with Jeremy?”
“Ah
