“I think he has a daughter. I don’t remember her name.”
“Pearl told me yesterday that a Teresa Cooley had a problem with Jennifer Sanders in the weeks before she was murdered.”
“What kind of problem?” Truman asked.
“Pearl described it as mean-girl stuff. Boyfriend jealousy or something like that.” Mercy drew a breath, still trying to calm her nerves from Levi’s words. “I don’t believe it’s a woman who’s done all this.”
“Based on what?” Jeff asked. “I don’t want to hear gut feelings; I need facts.”
It was a man who attacked me back then.
“It’s a gut feeling,” she admitted. I can’t tell them what happened back then without turning my life, Levi’s, and Rose’s upside down. Guilt cramped her stomach. Am I slowing down the investigation by not admitting what I know?
Between the shock from Levi and the guilt, she wanted to go crawl in bed.
Telling them a man attacked me offers no insight on the murders of today. He’s dead. His partner might be alive, but I know nothing helpful about him.
Truman’s stare seemed to penetrate her brain and read her thoughts.
She focused on the rock mountain behind him.
“I’ll walk out with you,” he said. “I’d like to come when you talk to Jennifer Sanders’s parents. I checked and they now live in Bend.”
Mercy nodded, wanting desperately to be alone, but her spongy brain couldn’t come up with a reasonable refusal.
“Let’s go.”
TWENTY-SIX
Mercy had promised to meet him at the Eagle’s Nest police station at six.
Truman glanced at the clock on the wall for the tenth time. He still had ten minutes, so he shuffled the papers on his desk again, prioritizing what he’d tackle in the morning. He’d sent Lucas on an errand a minute ago and hoped he’d be back before Mercy appeared.
When they’d left the lookout an hour ago, she’d refused Truman’s offer of a bite to eat together, stating she needed to make some phone calls and do some computer work before they interviewed Jennifer Sanders’s parents.
She’d barely looked him in the eye.
The entire walk back to the Owlie Lake parking lot had been silent. The companionable atmosphere from earlier in the day had vanished. She seemed preoccupied and tired and couldn’t keep her focus on the path. She kept scanning the woods and slopes as if expecting the cave man to appear. Truman had wanted to make a joke about it, but she didn’t seem to be in a joking mood, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead he got a number for Jennifer’s parents and set up a meeting.
Mercy had been ecstatic after she found the rifles, and she’d still been energized when law enforcement had joined them on the lookout. Her attitude had deflated after she talked to her brother.
Was Levi angry with her? Had they fought?
He knew she was estranged from her family and had been mildly surprised when she offered to call her brother, but it appeared the call hadn’t gone well.
It was on his mental to-do list: find out what the hell had happened between Mercy and the rest of the Kilpatricks.
It shouldn’t be on any list of mine.
He should be concerned solely with finding out who’d killed his uncle. If he learned that, he’d also know who’d killed the other preppers. Guilt poked at him for putting his uncle first, but he wasn’t neglecting the other deaths. Jefferson Biggs’s death occupied a huge part of his heart; it made him work harder on every case.
Speaking of which . . .
He called Ben Cooley, hoping his older officer had returned from his vacation. He was on the schedule for Monday morning.
“Hello, Truman!” Ben’s voice boomed through the line. He didn’t yell in person, but he’d somehow gotten it in his head that he needed to yell when he talked on his cell phone. Truman was thankful he didn’t yell on the office phone at the police department.
“Are you back in town, Ben?” He fought the urge to yell back.
“Just got in around noon. You need some help? I’d be happy to let Sharon handle the unpacking if you need me to come in for something.” The hopefulness in his voice made Truman smile.
“No. You give your wife a hand. I just have some questions about a case that occurred before my time.”
“Which one?” Ben hollered.
“Gwen Vargas.”
The line was silent for a moment. “What do you want to know about that girl?” His volume dropped. “I can tell you right now, that case has stuck with me for a long time. Not many pretty young things end up murdered in Eagle’s Nest, thank the Lord.”
“I reviewed the file, since it’s never been solved,” hedged Truman. “Were there really no other suspects?”
“Well, we looked at the boyfriend first. His alibi was backed up by a half-dozen people, and I’m telling you, he was an absolute wreck. He’d been planning to propose as soon as he saved up enough money for a ring. I thought his interview was honest. Parents checked out clean too.”