Lynchburg, Virginia
IT FELT LIKE hours since Sam had watched the ambulance peel away from the Scarron house, Ellie Scarron inside, still unconscious but alive. The sun was threatening to set, plunging them all into darkness. Davidson had a crew of crime scene techs combing the premises, pushing hard to find anything they could before it got dark, looking for any clue to their attacker. Sam had her adrenal glands back under control, but they started pumping again when she thought about this faceless killer, big and brutal and merciless, and several steps ahead of her.
And steps behind. This man had been shadowing her for two days, murdering the peripheral contacts she made. It was starting to piss her off. And if she was being honest with herself, she was scared, too.
She sat on the steps, looked down on the bloody living room floor and tried to decide what to do. The professionals were on Scarron’s attempted murder, and now Savage’s murder, as well. Davidson had transformed from a sleepy, somewhat uncooperative Southern cop to a hard-as-nails detective, ordering everyone around and doing a good job of running the show. She was comfortable that he could handle things from here. She had another job to do.
Xander sat down beside her. He leaned in close and in his unerring way, said, “What do you want to do? Get out of here and go back to D.C., forget you were ever involved?”
Sam took his hand. “I wish I could forget. We’re in this now, in it deep. Our next step is to find the rest of the names in Savage’s will, and warn them. Let Davidson handle the criminal investigation. I’m going to honor Savage’s wishes and track down his people, especially his son, Henry Matcliff. He may be our killer, he may be an innocent, but either way, we need to find him.”
“I’m with you.”
“Good. First thing, my iPad’s out of juice, and we need to get to a computer.” She looked around at the scene, where there were two dozen people stomping around. “And I don’t want them on my back while I do it.”
“Leave it to me, my lady. Did you see the cameras?”
“No, where?”
He pointed up, to the corners of the room. She stared for a few moments, unseeing, then caught the very cleverly hidden cameras. There were false ceilings in the corner, angled to look like the exposed wooden beams of the rest of the room. The cameras were nestled inside their virtually invisible boxes, recording everything that happened in the house.
“They’re all over the place. The control room is downstairs, in the basement. We can use the computer there,” Xander said.
Sam whistled. “And maybe find a killer, too. Isn’t anyone from the Lynchburg Police looking at the tapes?”
“I showed the cameras to Davidson. They gathered the tapes up about twenty minutes ago. We should have the room to ourselves. Let’s go.”
They went quietly to the staircase. Xander led the way, spiraling down into the basement. It was beautifully finished, just like the rest of the house, the walls a golden stucco that reflected the setting sun through floor-to-ceiling retractable glass doors. It was a lovely indoor-outdoor space, and Sam couldn’t help stopping on the stairs and admiring the view. She’d been right. The sunsets up on this mountain were stunning. She hoped Ellie Scarron would have a chance to see one again.
The golden orb finally slipped below the horizon and the sky lit up, pinks and purples and blues spreading over the misty mountains.
“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” Xander said.
It was a private joke between them; they got to see some pretty spectacular sunsets from Xander’s cabin, too.
“Where’s Thor?”
“In the car, being a very patient young dog. We’ll have to spring him soon. It’s too hot for him to sit still much longer. He needs to drink and eat and run for a bit.”
“This won’t take long. I just want to do a Google search on these names, see if anything comes up.”
Her phone started to buzz. “It’s Fletcher. Finally.” She pressed the button.
“What’s happening there? Has the missing girl been found?”
“No, she hasn’t, but boy, do I have some news for you. You sitting down?”
She sat in the desk chair, put him on speaker. “I am now. What is it?”
“The DNA you collected off Savage’s body is a match to a cold case from seventeen years ago. Little girl named Kaylie Rousch. Do you remember the case?”
“Not off the top of my head.”
“Kaylie Rousch went missing from her bus stop, and they found a skeleton a year later, out in Ryder, Virginia. Kaylie Rousch is dead. Or so we’ve thought for the past sixteen years.”
“Jeez.”
“Yeah. The DNA was composed of tears. She was crying over him, according to Dr. Nocek.”