Now he was trying to connect Ken with someone who’d murdered women twenty-five years ago. Evan opened his bag on the seat next to him and pulled out the yellow pad. He’d taken no notes while talking with Jerry.
He wrote Ken’s name in the center of the page and circled it. Then he drew a line from there and wrote Jerry Chiavo’s name at the end, making a note that the connection was that Ken had visited Jerry in prison. Then he drew a line from Ken to a circle containing the names of the three recently murdered women. He thought hard, trying to remember the elements of that connection. Sam Durette had come to Evan about the current murders and had been the investigator on the old murders and Rowan’s kidnapping . . . and so Sam knew Ken. It wasn’t a straight line from Ken to the women. It was choppy, with small offshoots, including Sam’s name.
He hesitated and then added Rowan’s name, connecting her to Ken. And to Jerry . . . and to Sam. And she’d found one of the recent victims . . . and one of the old murder cases had been her babysitter.
“Shit.”
On paper it was uglier and more stark than his earlier thoughts about how she was connected with several of his cases.
She grew up here. It’s not a huge community. It makes sense that her path would cross many people’s . . .
He was making excuses. Rowan was in the thick of everything for some reason. The folded newspaper from Ken’s SUV popped into his memory—also Rowan. And it couldn’t have been put there by Ken. Most likely it had been placed by his killer or their accomplice.
Evan closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his seat. His brain hurt. It resisted seeing Rowan’s involvement. He liked the woman. A lot. And it was messing with his analytical skills.
She hasn’t done anything. None of her connections are suspicious.
But they were numerous.
He worried he had a blind spot where Rowan was concerned.
She’s just a friend that I find attractive.
Then why was she constantly on his mind?
Should I be removed from these investigations?
His supervisor would never agree. They didn’t have the extra manpower, and he and Rowan didn’t have a relationship. His reasons were weak, and he was invested in the cases. He didn’t want to give them up; he wanted to solve them.
Evan opened his eyes as he sat up straight and turned on his vehicle. He needed Noelle’s point of view. She’d help him look at things differently.
But what will she say when she sees Rowan’s connection to everything?
“And finds out that I want a relationship with Rowan?” Saying it out loud brought a wave of relief. He’d been pushing the feelings aside, trying to concentrate on work. “Still not appropriate.”
As he pulled away from the prison, he wondered if he’d be arguing with himself for hours during the drive to Bend.
Probably.
26
Malcolm, twenty-two years ago
Three winters had passed since Rowan died in the woods, and Malcolm’s days, months, and years had blended together. Sometimes he spent time in the box. Sometimes in the shed. He dug holes. He moved rocks. He stacked wood. He did what he was told. Occasionally one of them woke him in the middle of the night and made him run laps, or one took away his clothes for a week, or they sprayed him with a hose, saying he needed a shower. The men usually took turns telling him what to do, but sometimes they did it together.
Malcolm didn’t care what they did to him anymore.
He was long past caring.
He wanted to die.
The bearded man had lied about a second boy the day Rowan died and they’d brought Malcolm back from the woods. He had simply wanted Malcolm to stress about having to fight. He’d been in the box for three days before they’d told him it was a joke. They’d thought it was hilarious.
But now another boy had been there for four days.
And they’d told Malcolm they’d only keep the best boy.
They made Malcolm and the boy fight and run races in competitions. The new boy was taller and stronger than Malcolm, so he often won. The boys were kept apart. If one was in the box, the other was in the shed.
Malcolm no longer wore a blindfold. And the men hadn’t worn masks since the day they first brought Malcolm into their home. But the new boy was blindfolded, and Malcolm studied him closely, soaking in the sight of the first new person he’d seen in years. The boy had blond, curly hair and long legs.
The boys weren’t allowed to talk, but they had a few brief moments when they exchanged whispered words when the two men were caught up in discussions.
The boy was ten like Malcolm, and his name was Elijah.
Malcolm ached to talk with him more, he craved conversation, but had been told he didn’t deserve friends because Malcolm never moved fast enough or acted grateful enough.
He’d been told many times he was a bad boy.
Malcolm missed Rowan and dreamed of her often. Sometimes the dreams were of happy times in the past, but other times he saw her killed by animals. He’d wake shuddering and sweating, terrified.
One time several days went by with no competitions while Malcolm slept in the box, and the two men were bad tempered each time they brought him food. Malcolm had been jealous that Elijah had been in the shed for so long and had many bitter thoughts about the other boy. Clearly Elijah was ahead in the competition to be the best boy and was being favored.
After four days in the box, the thinner man hauled him out. “We’ve got some work to do.”
Malcolm nodded. There was always work to do. He looked around for Elijah, but apparently only Malcolm was on duty today.
Maybe he doesn’t have to work anymore.
Maybe he won.
What will they do with me?
The man took him deep into the woods and then ordered Malcolm to dig a hole. He heard water, so he knew they were near a river or creek. But the ground was too hard, so the man had to help Malcolm dig, and it made him angry. He wanted six feet deep, but they barely managed two. It was exhausting, slow work. The man wouldn’t tell Malcolm what it was for, but Malcolm saw it was long enough for a body.
It’s for me.
Elijah was the best boy.
I’m digging my own grave.
27
Noelle had agreed to join Evan when he met with Dr. Peres to review her findings on the skeletal remains near the river.
The two detectives stopped at the open lab door in the medical examiner’s building where Dr. Peres had set up her investigation.
Investigations. Plural.
No other remains had been found in the area after the third skull, but Evan had requested that ground-penetrating radar be used in the area. He pitied the techs who had to get the machinery to the remote location.
“Come in,” Dr. Peres said from the far end of the large room. “I don’t bite.”
Her assistant snorted and shot a grin at her boss. “You like it when people think you do.”
“Only the idiots. I have no patience for stupid people.”
The detectives entered. The doctor had set up three tables, each with a partial skeleton laid out along with several clear bins holding more bones. Bones had been labeled in pencil with codes assigned by the forensic anthropologist. Evan immediately zeroed in on the table with the smallest remains, where Dr. Peres stood.
“What can you tell us, Doctor?” he asked.
“First I can admit I was wrong out in the field. This is a male.”
Evan caught his breath as he stared at the empty dark hollows where a little boy’s eyes should be.
Rowan’s brother?
“You didn’t say for certain it was female,” said Noelle. “You made it clear to us that you weren’t sure.”
“Thank you for that,” said Dr. Peres. “Frankly, I shouldn’t have speculated out loud.”
“We pressured you,” said Evan. He could tell the incorrect guess was bothering the doctor. She was a perfectionist. “But go on.”
“Male,” she repeated. “Age eight to twelve. We also found short, dark hair where the skull should have been in relation to the rest of his remains. Like I had said, somehow the skull was moved a short way. Most likely an animal.”
Evan didn’t rule out Malcolm because the age range skewed high. Malcolm was seven when kidnapped, but he could have died later.