“Good,” Regan said.
“I called Chrissy to ask about Candace’s journal, but she didn’t answer. She’s pretty good about calling me back. I’ll text you if she has any information.”
“On Friday, for your next podcast episode, I think you should push the report from the witness who saw Candace leaving the library on Tuesday morning. You can even replay a clip of that, right? To remind people? That might generate other viable calls. And whoever wrote this letter—they say they don’t want to call, but there’s no reason you can’t read the letter on air. It could spur someone else to call.”
“That’s a great idea,” Lucas said, making a note.
“I’ll see what I can find out from Rachel Wagner, the advisor. Maybe convince her to be interviewed, since she knew Candace.”
“That would be great.”
“Don’t hold your breath, but it’s worth pursuing.” She glanced at her watch.
“You have to go?”
“In a minute. But I wanted to talk to you about Detective Young.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You said he wasn’t forthcoming, but you talked to the public information officer, correct?”
“Yes, got the party line. I learned more in the media reports than I did from FPD.”
“I want to talk to him. You have good information, and I want to see if he’ll share why they are so hung up on Joseph Abernathy as the killer. You also had a clip from the director of Sunrise Center. Do you think she would call in?”
“Maybe. I can reach out to her. She said to call her if I needed anything.”
“Good. You do that, I’ll talk first to Young, then Rachel Wagner, and we’ll touch base tonight. But be careful. You’re asking questions that might upset someone, and that someone killed Candace. If not Abernathy, then the murderer could still be around and listening. Watch your back, Lucas.”
Seventeen
The Flagstaff Police Department was housed on the opposite end of the same large government building as the Coconino County Sheriff’s Office. Even though she hadn’t been there since she’d left home after college nearly fourteen years ago, Regan knew the building well. It hadn’t changed much. She expected there would be plenty of new faces, but the first one she saw was familiar and friendly.
“Regan Merritt, as I live and breathe,” said the guard as she entered the building.
“Since when do you work for the PD?” she asked Raul Ramirez, who’d been a deputy who worked under her father when John was sheriff.
“Since my heart attack two years ago,” he said. “Lateral move. Flagstaff needed a desk sergeant, I qualified, no patrol. The chief and the new sheriff worked it out, and I appreciate it. I still have eighteen months before I can retire with full benefits.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Growing old isn’t fun,” he said. “Though, I’ll admit I do like the regular hours and more time to play with my grandkids. Amber had six kids, can you believe that?” Raul had one daughter, she remembered. She was a few years older than Regan.
“Six? Wow! Good for you.”
He laughed. “She barely remembers what day it is, but Josh has a good job so she’s able to stay home until the youngest starts school. Makes it tight on them financially, but we gave them the house a few years back, and my bride and I moved into a town house on the golf course. No maintenance, no stress, and a much smaller place to keep clean.”
Raul had been married for at least forty years and always called his wife his bride. It was endearing.
“How can I help you this afternoon?”
“I’m here to see Detective Steven Young. Is he in?”
“I believe so. He’ll want to know what it’s regarding.”
“The Candace Swain homicide.”
“Give me a minute.”
She nodded, walked around the lobby looking at the photos—two officers lost in the line of duty since FPD had been founded more than a hundred years ago. She knew one of them: they’d gone to the same high school, and he was a year behind her. He’d only been twenty-eight when he was killed. Risk was part of the job they signed up for, but his murder was completely senseless. She had adjusted to her dad leaving every morning with the idea that he might not come home. He’d once told her that no matter what, when you leave your family, tell them you love them.
“It doesn’t matter if you had a disagreement, a fight, if you’re still angry even after a good night’s sleep. Tell them you love them and you’ll work it out, no matter what. Because tomorrow is never guaranteed.”