Something wasn’t right.
Lacey had disappeared off his radar. Maybe his note had been too much, too soon. He’d watched her leave the police station with Harper. Assuming the two were going back to her house, he’d sped ahead and beat them there. Then continued to wait for an hour. No one came.
Never assume. His number one rule and he’d blown it.
He resolved to be strong. Trust his inner control. No more stupidity. Why did Lacey Campbell always steer him off his course? She caused him to make impulse decisions that had no place in his plan. He had to stay on track.
Why’d he write the damned note? He probably shouldn’t have sent that video clip of Richard Buck to her phone either.
He couldn’t resist communicating with her, and now he was paying the price.
Where’d they go? He’d driven downtown and checked Harper’s condo, sneaking into the security parking garage behind a minivan full of hyper kids. The harried mother at the wheel hadn’t noticed a thing. But Harper’s vehicle wasn’t there. Had he scared Lacey enough to send her into hiding? Surely she’d grab some things from home first. That was where he’d pick up her trail.
So he parked across the street from her house again and waited. And waited.
He’d nearly completed the New York Times crossword when a knock on his window made him jump and drop his pencil. An older man with a wiggly black lab on a leash motioned for him to roll down the window. He complied, his brain rapidly reviewing his cover story.
Sharp eyes under shaggy gray brows studied him. “You keeping an eye on the Campbell house?” the man barked at him.
“Yeah, you notice anyone snooping around since the disturbance last night?” He acted bored. A plainclothes cop on a dull duty. Thank goodness his black sedan looked somewhat like a standard government-issued vehicle.
The old man shook his head, loose jowls wagging. “All those police cars and sirens and shouting woke me up. Haven’t slept since and haven’t seen anyone stop by. What the hell was going on over there?”
“Apparently, Dr. Campbell had a prowler.”
The shaggy brows shot up. “And that reporter boyfriend of hers caught him? I see him around all the time. Looks like he can handle himself in a sticky situation.” The old man leaned closer in confidence, breath reeking. “She lives alone, you know. Just asking for trouble, an attractive young woman living by herself. Don’t know what her father was thinking when he let her live there.”
“You know James Campbell?” A neighbor who loved to gossip. What sort of useful information could he squeeze out of him?
“Of course. I’ve lived across the street from the Campbells for twenty years. Good neighbors, kept to themselves, kept their yard neat. I remember when his wife died.” He shook his head pityingly. “Didn’t know if James was going to ever get over her. Beautiful woman. The girl looks a lot like her.”
“She had any visitors lately that you didn’t recognize?”
“Had some other man spend the night a few nights back. Not the usual boyfriend. This one had black hair. Hadn’t seen him before. She doesn’t get much in the way of visitors.” The dog sniffed the front tire and raised a hind leg.
His fist tightened on the steering wheel, but he ignored the dog. His brain rewinding the man’s words. Black hair? Overnight? Was Lacey closer to Harper than he realized? He’d seen only one kiss. The bitch had him in her bed already? Slut.
“Also saw a police car parked in front of her house a day or two ago.”
He nodded at the old man as if that was a fact he already knew. “You’ve probably noticed a couple of visits from two detectives.” He glanced at his watch, getting a hunch the prying neighbor was nearly tapped out on gossip.
“That’s what they were? They looked like life insurance salesmen or something. The ties and jackets, you know. Cooper. Sit!” The dog promptly sat and tilted his head to study the car and driver, his wagging tail flinging snow.
He thought about another dog from long ago.
“That’s a good dog you’ve got there. Time for me to get back downtown. I don’t think you’re going to have any more disturbances around here, Mr...”
“Carson. Jefferson Carson.” The neighbor straightened his back, releasing an audible series of cracks.
“Good day, Mr. Carson. Give us a call if you notice anything unusual.”
The old man backed away.
He turned the car around in Lacey’s driveway, giving the old guy and his dog a careless wave as he left.
Nice guy. Must spend all his free time spying on his neighbors.
Hopefully, I won’t have to kill him.
Amy Smith’s father wanted to throw Michael out of his house. Michael was getting that message loud and clear. Janet Smith would touch her husband’s hand as his temper started to rise and her simple movement would calm the man down. Michael was fascinated by the interaction. The couple was like two halves of a whole that could read the other’s thoughts. Gary Smith was action and emotion. Janet was calm and analysis.
A perfect marriage.
Michael had returned to Mount Junction to interview Amy Smith’s parents and then the families of the other “accident” victims in the state. His gut told him he’d made a vital discovery when he connected the Mount Junction victims to the Corvallis murders. And the Mount Junction police agreed. They’d reopened all the questionable investigations after taking a hard look at the similarities Michael had brought to their attention during his last trip. Michael believed there had to be something out here that would point him toward a killer.
“Our lives have been uprooted and torn apart since you decided Amy was murdered.” The strained look on the father’s face blamed Michael. “Pushy reporters crawling out of the cracks, news crews, and more damned police interviews than CSI.”
“Gary, it’s not his fault the police reopened the cases. Don’t you want to know what really happened? I’ve always felt something wasn’t right. We never knew where Amy was headed to when she drove into that river. She was supposed to be shopping miles away.”
Janet Smith was the voice of level-headed reason. The small woman looked to be in her early sixties and had a relatively unlined face. Michael could still see the traces of beauty that must have driven Gary Smith wild. The husband was big, linebacker big, and couldn’t sit still. His perfectly white hair contrasted with his black brows and mustache. Somehow, this tiny woman had tamed the energetic man. Just being in the same room with him made Michael itchy.
They sat in an immaculate formal living room in the Smiths’ silent house. The house had an aura of acute emptiness—a home simply waiting for time to go by.
Janet turned sympathetic eyes on Michael and, for a brief moment, he wished his mother was like her. His career-driven mother was more like Gary.
Hate shone from Gary’s eyes. “We don’t need to talk to you and answer all your nosy questions. I don’t know what Janet was thinking by letting you into the house. If you want to know what we’ve said, get it from the police.”
“Gary, I let him come because he instigated the new investigation. I’m glad he did. I know you aren’t happy, but he’s done nothing but help.” She laid a hand on her husband’s arm.
Gary started to speak and abruptly closed his mouth.
Michael focused on Janet. “Now, I know you’ve been asked this but what can you tell me about the guys Amy was seeing around that time?” He didn’t look at Gary.
“She was dating Matt. They’d been together for at least two years. She didn’t see anyone else. They’d talked of getting married after they both finished school. We’d pretty much accepted him as a future son-in-law.”
Michael consulted his notes. “Matt Petretti?”
“Yes. He did get married about seven years ago. We get Christmas cards from him and his wife. They’ve got two little boys and a girl.”
Michael heard the painful note of wistfulness in Janet’s voice. No grandchildren for this couple. Amy had been an only child.
“So you keep in contact.”
“He was a great comfort after Amy was found. He’ll always be a sort of son to us.” This time she looked to Gary and he nodded, still silent.
“I know her apartment was broken into a few weeks before she died. The police report lists a stereo and CDs as stolen. Did you ever remember anything else?”
“Back then we never considered the two could be linked.” Gary spoke thoughtfully. “We’ve had to rehash everything we could remember about that time, but it’s been so long ago, we don’t remember much. I know they never did find her stuff.”
“She had some pictures stolen too. She didn’t list them on the police report because they didn’t have any monetary value.” Janet spoke quietly.
“Pictures. Like to hang on a wall?” Michael imagined the cheap posters that college kids frame to fill up empty wall space.
“No. Photographs. She was missing a whole album of photos.”
“New photos? Old? Were they family pictures?”
“They were new. I remember that, because she was upset, she didn’t get a chance to show them to me before they were stolen. I assumed they were pictures of friends and gymnastics, or her and Matt. She hadn’t shot any pictures at home in years.”
Photos. Why would you steal photos of people you didn’t know?
Or maybe the thief did know them.
“Did Amy ever complain about getting too much attention on campus? You know, with the whole gymnastics thing?” Michael switched topics, wanting to think privately on the whole stolen photo angle. Could be something, could be nothing.
Gary and Janet exchanged an uncomfortable look.
“Amy had a hard time getting used to being recognized everywhere she went. They do those billboards, you know.”
“Billboards? They’d put the team on billboards?”