Malcolm’s muscles went cold at his words. He couldn’t move.
What will he do with Rowan?
“Unless she starts performing better. She’s always so much slower than you.”
Malcolm lifted his head, anger returning. “She’s little. She’s a girl. She can’t help it,” he said.
The bearded man turned around to look at the other man for the first time. “See,” he told him. “I said he’s not ready. Close, though. I can fix that.”
I have no idea what he is talking about.
18
“Detective Bolton!”
Evan turned at the voice. He’d been crossing the parking lot, headed into the sheriff’s department’s building at the ass crack of dawn. He tensed when he saw a tall man thirty feet away but relaxed a bit as he noticed the pure-white hair under the cowboy hat and how the man lurched as he walked, favoring a hip. Something about him felt familiar.
The lanky man held out a hand, huffing slightly. “Sam Durette.”
The name rang a bell, and Evan shook his hand. “You’re a retired detective.”
“I am,” Sam said proudly. “I did twenty-five years in that building right there. I know every broken floor tile and stained ceiling square.”
“Like above the fridge—”
“In the rear break room,” Sam finished.
“Nice to meet you,” Evan said, remembering he’d heard that Sam had been well respected. Sam Durette was tall, with wide shoulders that were now a bit hunched. His icy blue gaze skewered Evan, making him feel like a target. “Were you waiting for me?”
“I was. Been sitting in my car for a good half hour. I figured you for an early bird like me. Don’t need as much sleep as I used to, and when something’s on my mind, I gotta address it before it eats away at me.”
“I know the feeling.” Evan grimaced. He’d had about four hours of sleep the night before, autopsy and skeletal remains images appearing every time he closed his eyes. The best way to get rid of them was to solve the cases.
Which was why he was at work at 5:30 a.m.
“What can I do for you?” Evan asked, itching to get in the building, but making himself give the detective the respect he deserved.
“I heard about those young women’s murders you’ve got on your desk.” Sam’s stare continued to bore through him. “Sound an awful lot like cases I had way back. Three young women. Blonde. Nude. Dumped. Strangled. Sound familiar?”
Sam now had Evan’s full attention. “How long ago? Were the cases closed?”
“It’s been about twenty-five years. We made an arrest. He’s doing time in Salem.”
Oregon State Penitentiary in Salem.
Sam scowled. “You weren’t aware of those cases? They didn’t come up in your research?”
“No,” Evan said shortly. “I didn’t look at closed cases from twenty-five years ago.” He was ready to end the conversation.
“They were found in the same general area as the woman and skeletal remains you looked at yesterday.”
Evan went still. “Your man could be responsible for the buried remains?”
“Could be.”
“Let’s move this inside.” Evan’s skin tingled, curiosity energizing his nerves.
Five minutes later each of them had a cup of scalding-hot department coffee and had taken a seat in Evan’s office.
“How’d you hear about what was found yesterday?” Evan asked. He wasn’t too surprised. Word traveled fast in law enforcement. Even reaching people who had been out of the office for ten years.
“Rowan Wolff.”
Evan’s hand tightened on his cup. “How do you know her?”
Sam’s face softened. “I’ve known Rowan since she was found in the woods. Finding the asshole who kidnapped her and her brother, Malcolm, was one of my biggest cases. I grew tight with her family. I still see them a few times a year.”
Again Rowan had appeared in Evan’s work. The link was a bit indirect this time, but Evan couldn’t ignore it. Coincidence no longer explained her ties to his cases.
What does?
“The man who murdered the young women back then was also those kids’ kidnapper. Jerry Chiavo,” said Sam. “Their babysitter was one of the murders.”
Wheels and gears spun in Evan’s brain.
But how can a man sitting in prison be related to what’s happened in the last few weeks?
“Chiavo pled not guilty to the murders of the three women,” Sam continued. “He still claims he didn’t do it but wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell us who did.”