The First Death (Columbia River, #4)

“I don’t know,” said Evan, writing a note on his pad. “But I’m sure as hell going to dig for a connection. If I find a suspect in one murder, I’ll take a hard look at him for the others, including Ken’s.”

“I miss this sometimes,” said Sam with a wry grin. “I loved putting the puzzle pieces together. It was grueling and frustrating, but damn it felt good when I figured it out.”

“I completely get that.”

“So . . . where were we?” asked Sam. “Rowan told me a smaller skull was found with the others yesterday?”

“Yes,” said Evan. “But we don’t know the sex yet. Why wouldn’t Rowan say anything to me about those murders twenty-five years ago when she learned of the current ones? She has to see the similarities.”

Sam took a deep breath as he pondered. “Well . . . the man who tortured her is in prison. In her mind, he is gone. Out of the picture. Locked away. She feels safe. Her brain might have a wall up that keeps her from looking beyond and questioning how this is happening again.”

“She must suspect the skeletons we found yesterday could be from when he was killing back then. Especially since one could be her brother, but she didn’t say anything about that possibility.” Evan met the detective’s gaze. “The new cases could be the work of an accomplice. Maybe a copycat. Was another man under investigation back then? A friend or a relative of Jerry Chiavo?”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “We had no suspects until—” He stopped and stared out the window. “Until his neighbor reported finding the babysitter’s car on his property five years later.” His gaze swung back to Evan’s. “You’d think Chiavo would turn the tables on his neighbor or anyone else who was an accomplice. Chiavo never made that assertion.”

“I need to look at his associates from back then.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think you’ll find anything. Jerry Chiavo was prosecuted for murdering three women. If I was in his shoes, I’d be spilling my guts if I knew who really did it. His defense never suggested anyone. I always felt deep inside that Chiavo was the killer.”

Evan understood. He listened to his gut too. But always searched for the facts. He respected the logic of Sam’s assertion about associates—but Evan still had to investigate.

And talk to Rowan.

He frowned, considering how to approach her with the delicate topic. “How is Rowan when it comes to discussing her kidnapping or the murders? Does she mind talking about it?”

Sam snorted. “She hates it, but she’ll do it. She’s a smart, rational woman. But remember she saw things through the eyes of a five-year-old. Those aren’t the most accurate memories. If I were you, I’d read everything you can find about the case before approaching her. Have your facts in line first.”

Evan nodded. The detective was right. He had work to do first.

Confident clicks sounded down the hall, and Noelle Marshall appeared in his doorway, balancing two cups of coffee in a cardboard holder and a white paper bag with faint grease marks near the bottom.

Evan’s stomach growled.

“You beat me in again,” Noelle said with a grin. “One of these days I’ll be here before you.” She smiled at Sam, no recognition in her gaze. “Looks like I should have grabbed another coffee.”

Sam stood. “Thank you, but I’ve got a cup of department brew.”

“It’s garbage,” stated Noelle, raising a brow. “You’ll need an antacid.”

“True,” agreed Sam.

Evan made quick introductions, and Noelle set her load on his desk to shake Sam’s hand.

She looked from one man to the other, curiosity in her face. “Looks like you two have something to share.”

“Pull up a seat,” said Evan. “Sam has an interesting angle.”

Eagerness replaced her curiosity, and she grabbed a chair.

While Sam told Noelle his story, Evan’s mind strayed to Rowan.

Has she realized the recent women’s murders are similar to the old murders yet?





19


Thor paced back and forth in front of the slider to the backyard and growled. Rowan rinsed her hands at the kitchen sink and looked out the window, checking for something in the yard that would have upset Thor. He rarely growled.

If a rabbit or chipmunk caught his attention through the slider, he would whine, frozen in place with his gaze locked on the animal. Rowan would never open the door. She liked all fuzzy critters and didn’t want to learn what Thor would do if he caught one.

She couldn’t see anything in the yard but suspected a coyote or bobcat had wandered through. It happened occasionally.

“Thor. Come here.” She dried her hands, waiting for him to obey.

He gave her a reproachful look and took one more long gaze out the window before reluctantly coming her way, his head down.

“Can you walk any slower?” she asked with a grin.

He looked over his shoulder at the door and then at her.

out

“You already went out this morning, so I know you don’t need to go already. And there’s no way I’ll let you confront a wild animal.”

out

“Not happening.” She bent down to give the dog a kiss on the top of his head and a hug. He squirmed out of her hold. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t stare out the back door the whole time I’m gone.”

She grabbed her bag and turned on soft classical music that played throughout her home. Rowan always left music on when Thor was home alone. She didn’t know if he cared, but it made her feel better.

Take him.

She’d struggled with the decision to leave Thor home. Ken’s funeral was in half an hour. She knew there’d be other dogs, but she didn’t want to upset him by crying through the service. He was sensitive to her moods. Tears stung her eyes. Today would be emotional. She’d need every bit of her energy to hold it together.

Rowan gave Thor another kiss. “Be good,” she instructed firmly.

His head drooped the tiniest bit. Thor knew those words meant she was leaving. Rowan turned and headed to her garage before she could change her mind.



The little outdoor amphitheater was packed. Rowan stood at the top and scanned the crowd. She wasn’t surprised at the numbers. Everyone had loved Ken. A dozen dogs were interspersed throughout the huge group, and for a second she regretted not bringing Thor. She spotted familiar faces and nodded at several who lifted a hand in greeting. Rowan wasn’t ready to talk and be social; her grief was still raw. She looked for a seat where she could be alone for a bit and found Evan Bolton.

He stood about ten yards away, also keeping apart from the crowd, looking directly at her. Even through his sunglasses, Rowan felt his gaze, and roots of attraction stirred deep inside her. She liked him and wanted to know more about him. There was no denying it. But a funeral wasn’t the place for those feelings. He moved her way, and she took a deep breath, pulling herself together.

I’m glad he’s here.

But Evan wasn’t here because he had loved Ken. He was simply on the job. She shouldn’t read any more into it than that. He stopped in front of her and removed his sunglasses.

Rowan nearly broke down at the sympathy in his eyes.

“Are you here on a professional level?” For a greeting, she knew it was rather rude, but her emotions were all over the map.

His gaze softened. “No, I’m here because he was important to . . . a lot of people.”

“I’m sorry. I was rude,” she blurted, feeling even worse about her greeting. “I’m a mess.”

“Completely understandable.” He eyed the amphitheater. “Would you like to sit down?”

Rowan nodded, not trusting her voice. Evan lightly touched the small of her back and guided her down a few steps to a bench that wasn’t packed with people. She concentrated on stepping firmly with her bad leg, not wanting to lose her balance.

“Or would you rather sit with some friends?” he asked.

“This is perfect.” Rowan sat and inhaled deeply.

He took the spot next to her. “No Thor today?”

“He gets stressed when he knows I’m upset.” She gave a shaky smile. “And I knew I’d be emotional today.”

“I see Shannon Steward. Is that Ken’s dog beside her?” Evan pointed at a black Lab sitting next to a golden.

“Yes.”