Stranger in Town

CHAPTER 29





I tried Cade on his cell phone, but he didn’t answer. Since I knew he was staying with his father until he made other living arrangements, I tried Detective McCoy’s house first. A teenage girl answered the door with a greeting of, “Yeah?”

“Is Cade here?” I said.

“Who are you?”

“Someone he works with.”

“Name?”

“Sloane,” I said.

She clenched each side of the door jamb with her hands, blocking the entrance to the house. The oversized t-shirt she was wearing barely covered her bottom. She didn’t seem to care. And with a body like hers, I could see why.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“I’m here to see Cade,” I said, again. “Is he here?”

She shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“Let’s try this another way,” I said. “Are you his daughter?”

She laughed.

“Let’s not try this at all. We’re not ‘friends,’” she said, doing air quotes with her fingers. “What do you want with my dad?”

“We’re working on a case together,” I said.

She rolled her eyes.

“I heard.”

In many ways, teenagers were scarier to me than the criminals I pursued for a living. I understood criminals, what made them tick, why they did the things they did. But hormone-driven, pimply-faced kids? I didn’t have a clue. The disrespectful ones grated on my nerves. Standing in front of Cade’s daughter, I could see she had been enabled in her life, a bit too much from the looks of it. Others may have put up with her less-than-civil attitude, but she wouldn’t get away with it—not with me.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to piss you off,” I said, “but I’m not going to stand here and go the rounds with you. Is your dad here, or isn’t he?”

She scoffed.

“My dad is not available.”

“To what—talk to me?” I said.

“To date you.”

“We work together. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“Puh-lease,” she said. “I’m not some little kid you can stand here and lie to, so don’t, okay?”

“Where did you get the idea that we were more than friends?” I said.

“He talks about you all the time. To my grandpa, to my grandma—it’s disgusting.”

“Shelby!”

Cade raced down the stairs. Upon seeing her father, Shelby suddenly learned how to smile while sucking up at the same time.

“What dad? We were just talking,” she said. “Weren’t we, Sloane?”

“Your daughter has a wild imagination,” I said.

He pointed toward some rooms down the hall and said, “Move it, now.”

She hung her head and slumped down the hall.

“I hope Shelby—”

“She didn’t,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He waved his hand for me to follow him downstairs. I did.

The lower part of Detective McCoy’s house was decorated in what I could only assume was typical Wyoming man-cave style, though I hadn’t seen enough houses in the state to assess it properly. Taxidermy was everywhere. A grizzly bear stood in the corner of the room with his mouth wide open. His razor-sharp claws angled toward me, ready to attack. On a cut-out shelf in the wall, a wolf held his head high. I waited for the howling sound effects to start, but none did. I looked around. The rest of the room contained various mounted heads, some from animals I never knew existed.

“Are you okay being down here?” Cade said.

“It’s a little different. I think I can manage.”

“No hunters in your family?”

“Well, I never had a brother, and my dad didn’t have many hobbies. Is your daughter all right?”

“Shelby’s a teenager,” he said. “I’m not sure she’s ever ‘all right.’”

“She didn’t seem too thrilled we were working together.”

He raised a brow.

“What did she say to you?”

“Not much—but I did get a ‘keep away’ vibe from her. I’m sure she’s just going through a lot right now.”

“Sounds like you’ve been talking to my dad,” he said.

“He mentioned a few things to me.”

“Him too?”

“It wasn’t much. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Cade sat down. “Don’t be sorry. My dad’s got a lot on his mind right now. Besides, it don’t matter to me if he told you. It’s not a secret. My wife left. I’ve moved on.”

“I’m not sure your daughter has.”

“She’s unhappy either way—I just do the best I can with her. She might not realize it right now, but being here around my parents is helping her deal with everything. I hope one day she’ll realize it instead of hating me for bringing her here.”

“She didn’t want to move?”

“She misses her deadbeat boyfriend, which is one more reason we needed a change in scenery.”

“Sounds like you’re a great father.”

He smiled and pointed at my hands. “What have you got there?”

I unfolded my less-than-stellar drawing. “Have you seen a tattoo like this before?”

He curled his fingers toward him. I handed the drawing over. “You draw this?”

“We all have our qualities,” I said. “Drawing isn’t one of mine.”

He winked.

“I can tell,” he said.

“Do you know what it is?”

“Do you?” he said.

I nodded.

“Then you know where guys get these?” he said.

“Yeah, in prison.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“I think so,” I said. “It’s a prison tattoo. A clock with no hands symbolizes the person is serving time, usually a lot of it, and that the time that ticks by is meaningless.”

“That’s why it doesn’t have any hands,” he said, “because time doesn’t matter when you’re serving a long sentence.”

“Sierra Johnson told me the man who took Savannah had this tattoo on his upper arm.”

Cade shook his head and smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned.”



Cade used his connections to see if he could get a list of released inmates over the past several years that had a tattoo of a clock on their upper arm. He also talked them into sending along corresponding photos. The thought of getting the actual name of the guy made me nervous, but in a good way. It felt great to finally have a solid lead. I just hoped it went somewhere.

I called Maddie and gave her the news.

“I was just about to call you,” she said.

“Did you get anywhere with the envelope?”

“Lots of places after I dealt with all the prints on the outside of it. Do you have any idea how many people have touched this thing?”

“I probably don’t want to know.”

“Trust me,” she said. “You don’t. The outside of it was a mess. Too many prints, all over the place. I’ve got prints on top of prints, smudged prints, partial prints. You get the idea.”

“So, you didn’t get anything?”

She popped a bubble into the phone. “I did.”

Maddie was biding her time, which meant she had good news.

“I lifted a perfect print from the inside, right under the place a person would lick and stick, except for whoever sealed this thing, didn’t do it very well. It was only sticky in the center, you know, the pointy part on the back. The beauty of it is, the only people to touch the inside were Mr. and Mrs. Tate and the sender of the letter.”

“Do you have a name?” I said.

“Not yet. Since I don’t know who this print belongs to, I have to run it through the database. Hopefully we’ll get a hit.”

“How long will it take?” I said.

“We’re running it now. How are things on your end?”

I filled her in on the recent developments thinking she’d have a lot to say, but when I finished, she didn’t say anything. She was quiet. Too quiet. It was almost like she was no longer on the line, but the seconds ticked by on the front of my phone. For whatever reason, she didn’t seem to be listening.

“Are you still there?” I said.

“Umm, yeah. Can you hold on a minute? One of my guys is waving me over.”

I held for a minute, and then two, until I considered hanging up and letting her call me back. But then I heard her voice in the background. It was slightly muffled, but it was Maddie’s voice all the same. She was talking to someone.

She said, “Are you sure?”

The other person responded, “One hundred percent.”

“Sloane,” she said, breathing heavily into the phone, “we’ve got a match.”