He’s lying.
Malcolm met his gaze, searching for the truth. But he saw no hint that the man lied. The man actually looked sorry for him now. Hate flooded Malcolm, burning through his limbs. Lowering his head brought the linoleum back in his gaze, but he felt as if he were looking through a tube. His vision narrowed, and he felt light-headed. Malcolm abruptly sat on the floor and pulled up his knees, burying his face in them.
The only positive was that Rowan didn’t expect to leave. Malcolm was thankful he hadn’t told her.
“I know the news about your parents is a shock, boy. But I’m not surprised. It’s very hard to keep searching for a missing child. It feels better to give up and move on. I heard your family is moving out of state. They don’t want to keep living in the place their children vanished, and they want a fresh start.”
He’s lying. My parents would never give up.
Or would they?
His mom had been tired all the time from taking care of the twins. His and Rowan’s absence must be causing her so much more stress.
Maybe the family needed to move on to protect his mom.
“I’ll figure out something else to do with your sister. You win most of the competitions and are much stronger and faster. You’ve told me how much you hate her, so I’ll think on it. I know you want her gone.”
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.”
“Are you suggesting someone is killing again? That you put the wrong man in prison?”
Different emotions flickered across the retired detective’s face. “He belongs in prison. He admitted to kidnapping those kids, and although he claims Malcolm died in an accident, I have my doubts. The mental and physical abuse those two kids suffered at his hands tells me he’s right where he belongs.” Anger and rage clipped his words.
“But maybe he wasn’t responsible for the young women’s deaths.”
“Solid evidence was found on his property to connect him to them. I understand you know Rowan . . . she doesn’t like to talk about her past, but I’m surprised you didn’t do some digging into her background yourself.”
Evan looked down at his coffee. “I only learned of her kidnapping three days ago. I was definitely curious and wanted to read up on it, but I decided to focus my energy on my cases. After learning that her brother had disappeared near where that cache of bones was found, their kidnapping was at the top of my list to familiarize myself with this morning.”
“She’s been searching for him for a long time,” Sam said. “Not the healthiest habit.”
A thought occurred to Evan. “If you were the detective assigned to the case, then you knew Ken Steward.”
“I did! Good man. I knew him quite well. I was crushed to hear of his murder . . . wait . . . what the fuck.” Sam’s tone lifted as an odd expression flitted across his face, and he stared at Evan. “Is it related?”
The air in the office seemed to grow heavy.
“I’m investigating his murder,” Evan stated, trying to make sense of Ken’s murder and the fact that they were discussing a case in which Ken had played an integral part.
Both men were silent for a long moment.
“I can’t connect the dots,” Sam finally said after a long pause. “There’s a thread here . . . but it’s a coincidence?”
“I don’t believe in coincidences when it comes to murder,” Evan said softly.
“I don’t either,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I heard he was shot in his sleep while camping. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“What can that have to do with the three young women that were strangled and dumped recently?”