Sam leaned back in the chair, thinking about the specimen she’d taken from Savage’s neck. “He’s sure? The composition and trajectory certainly indicated tears, but I thought they were Savage’s. Wow. That’s rather amazing.”
“It’s pretty wild, I’ll give you that. This all gets more interesting. I just pulled Kaylie Rousch’s file. She bears a strong resemblance to this little girl we’re missing today—Rachel Stevens. And the FBI agent on both cases? His name is Rob Thurber. And I’m looking right at him.”
Sam felt a zing of recognition. “Thurber, that’s one of the names in Savage’s will. Have you told him?”
“No, not yet. I thought we should touch base before I did anything.”
“Well, I have some news for you, too.” She told him about Ellie Scarron’s very close call. She could hear his mind whirling.
“Son of a bitch. Get out of there, Sam. I want you back up in D.C. where I can keep an eye on you. This is clearly bigger than just Savage’s death. We’re going to sit down with the FBI and hash this out.”
“I want to look at the rest of the heirs first. If we can find them, we need to warn them. Someone is trying to silence them. The lawyer is dead, and the wife of an heir is clinging to life. Savage knew this was coming. He knew they were going to kill him, and the rest of these people. We need to find the others and talk to them right away. Find out who is behind this.”
“Sam, that’s my job. I’m the law enforcement officer here, and I say get your sweet little ass into Whitfield’s Jeep and back here, right away. You get me?”
“Fletch—”
He cut her off, his voice cold and hard. “Don’t. I’m dead serious, Samantha. I don’t want you prancing around down there with a killer on the loose. Whitfield, can you hear me?”
Xander grabbed Sam’s hand, pulled her to her feet. “We’re already gone, Fletcher. We’ll see you in D.C. in a few hours.”
“Good. You call me every half hour until you’re back here, and come directly to my office in Homicide. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Am I clear?”
“Yes, you’re clear,” Sam said. “We’re on our way. Watch your back, all right?”
“It’s not my back I’m worried about, sunshine.”
No kidding. She ended the call.
Xander started towing her out the basement door. Sam said, “We need to let Davidson know we’re leaving.”
“No, we don’t. If he’s a part of this, we can’t take that chance.”
“Xander, come on. You saw how he worked the scene. He’s not part of this. I’m sure.”
“I’m not.” He clamped his lips together in a way she recognized. There was no more talking to be done; he’d made his decision. Arrogant caveman. She didn’t like being ordered around like this, but she wasn’t stupid. She wanted to get as far away from Lynchburg as possible.
The Jeep was parked on the side of the house. Thor let out a happy yip when he saw them. They bundled into the Jeep and Xander took off.
They didn’t see June Davidson standing on the steps to Ellie Scarron’s house, watching them drive off into the night. When the taillights disappeared down the mountain, he sent a text on his cell phone, let out a soft sigh and went back inside.
Chapter
27
Bethesda, Maryland
KEVIN STEVENS WAS crumpled on the floor in the corner of his office, weeping, when Fletcher finished his call. Jordan Blake was kneeling next to him, a hand on his shoulder, trying to console him. He had no idea what had been said, didn’t want to know. He signaled to Hart, and caught Thurber’s eye. The two men moved toward him, and he led them through the house to the back garden. Once outside, he turned to Thurber.
“Do you recall the name Kaylie Rousch?”
He nodded, clearly startled. “Yes, I do. Of course. It was my first big missing child case. Terrible, too, especially when we found her body. It was the cleanest kidnapping I’ve ever seen. There were no clues, no threads to follow. We did everything right, kept the story in the news for weeks, did ground and aerial searches. The body was buried in a really deep grave—whoever was responsible did a good job of covering their tracks.” He frowned. “That’s a closed case. Why do you bring it up?”
“Kaylie Rousch’s DNA was found on a body in Lynchburg today. On a murder victim named Timothy Savage.”
Thurber touched his forehead as if the news had brought on a headache, then straightened. His voice was stony, prepared, careful. “What kind of DNA?”
“Looks to be tears, actually.”
Thurber’s face went from wary to confused to delighted. Fletcher watched the array of emotions, recognizing the stages himself. A case solved, a case broken wide-open—either feeling was nirvana, even if the resolution brought terror and pain.
Thurber’s face fell just as quickly as it had lit up. “There’s no way that’s right. We found her body. It was identified with DNA.”