He stuck to the edge of the woods, following it to Sam’s backyard. The doghouse that Sam had built for Lucy was at the very edge of the woods, under a stand of pine trees.
It wasn’t hard to figure out where they’d buried something. Kevin got on his hands and knees and carefully scraped away the dirt from under the northwest corner of the doghouse like an archaeologist uncovering a precious artifact. But it wasn’t an artifact. It was a bloody glove. Presumably one of the gloves that Dupont’s killer had worn.
Kevin put on his own gloves to transfer the bloody one into an evidence bag. He didn’t want any of his DNA on there. Then he filled the hole, covering it to make sure that no one could tell the ground had been disturbed.
As he drove back home, he passed the new Thorne construction site at the top of the hill. The view was astounding, rolling mountains that gave way to the clear blue lake. It had been a farm once, and now Thorne was turning it into a hotel.
A construction site was the perfect place to hide the glove. Thorne thought he was so clever, planting it to frame Sam. Now Kevin was going to turn the tables. He would sneak back late at night and bury it at the construction site, then at the right moment, when they were about to close in on Thorne, he’d tell Sam and Jo where to find it.
It was a good plan but risky. He’d have to time it perfectly. That glove could not be discovered until the very last minute, when they were about to lock Thorne away. Because Thorne would know who’d planted it, and once it came in as evidence, Kevin’s life would be in danger unless Thorne wasn’t in a position to order retaliation.
Chapter Eleven
Sam wasn’t surprised that no one was home at Scott Elliott’s. Judging by the newspapers piled on the cement steps of the modest split-level ranch, it looked like no one had been there for almost a week. Since Dupont’s murder.
“Nothing to see out back,” Jo said as she trotted around from the back of the house, Lucy on her heels. “I looked in the windows. There’s no sign of struggle.”
Sam flipped up the top of the mailbox attached to the side of the house. Empty. “If Elliott hasn’t been here, where’s his mail?” Sam pointed to the pile of papers on the stoop. “The newspapers have piled up, but no mail.”
Jo came to stand beside him and looked over his shoulder into the mailbox. “You think someone took it?”
“No idea.”
“You suppose he could’ve planned to go away, knowing he would be involved in Dupont’s murder?”
“I don’t think so. The meeting with Dupont wasn’t planned. At least not that I know of. Dupont set the time and date, and that was only a few hours before we met.” Sam turned to look at Jo. “How could Elliott have known in advance?”
“I remember last time I went on vacation, it took at least a week to stop the mail. I guess he really could be on vacation.”
“You mean he might not even be involved. I suppose that’s possible.” Sam turned and looked over the suburban neighborhood. It had been developed about forty years ago, and the houses were spaced far apart with thick, mature landscaping between them.
It wasn’t an upscale neighborhood. It was more the kind of neighborhood with elderly residents just hanging on to the homes they’d lived in all their lives. Maybe some of those neighbors were nosey. Sam made a mental note to canvass the neighborhood and ask the neighbors if they’d seen anything, even though he doubted they would have. With no signs of struggle and the fact that Jesse said that Scott never did business from home, he figured there would be little information to glean from the neighbors. Hell, Elliott really could just be on vacation.
Jo chewed her bottom lip as they walked down the steps together. “I don’t know. This is all getting kind of weird. I’m nervous about Rita mentioning that SUV. I’m sure it was Mick’s.”
Sam nodded. He was sure it was Mick’s too. “But Rita doesn’t see very well, and she probably doesn’t know what make or model she saw. How many SUVs do you think there are? Hopefully, she won’t remember more about it.” He took his phone from his pocket and texted Mick. “I’m giving Mick a heads-up. Plus, we need him to step up that investigation into the grandson. Now that we know that fingerprint links Tyler’s and Dupont’s cases, we need to continue to pursue that angle hard.” He looked up at Jo. “I’m gonna meet him at Holy Spirits tonight. You in?”
“Definitely.”
“Too bad Elliott’s prints weren’t in the database. He could be the killer, and he could know about Tyler’s murder. We need to find him.” Sam watched Lucy. She was honed in on a trash can, her nose working overtime.
“Maybe we could get a warrant and see if we can lift any fingerprints from inside the house,” Jo suggested. “That would tell us if Elliott left the fingerprints.”
“Might be hard to convince a judge that we have probable cause, but we can try.” Sam headed to Lucy and lifted the lid on the trash barrel. The stench of sour milk and rotten vegetables stung his nose. He made a face and slammed the lid quickly. “Maybe we’ll include the trash on the warrant. You never know what Scott Elliott might have thrown away. Lucy seems to have a keen nose.”
“Right. I agree. Maybe Wyatt can look through the trash.” Jo stepped back from the trash, her fingers pinching her nose.
“Yeah, and we don’t want to have to keep lying to the sheriff.” Sam slid a glance at her, and Jo grimaced. Sam had been surprised when she’d come up with the lie about the pigeons masking the noise of the SUV. He’d never known she was such a good liar. Made him wonder if she lied about anything else.
“I know. Sorry. I panicked. Tell the truth, even I was surprised that I could come up with a lie so quickly. It wasn’t really a lie, though. I mean, those pigeons were loud, and anyway, it won’t affect the outcome of the case because we know Mick didn’t kill Dupont. In fact, my lie probably helped us. Having Mick as a suspect would only muddy the waters. It would take from resources looking for the actual killer.” Jo glanced up at Sam from under her lashes, her gray eyes turning serious. “I wouldn’t ever lie about anything big.”
Something passed between them. Sam wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Trust. Friendship. Something more? Sam nodded. “I know. I trust you. You did the right thing.”
A look of relief spread across Jo’s face, and Sam’s gaze drifted to Lucy, now sitting by the truck. “Come on. We’d better get back to the station and get this warrant in process. I don’t know if Judge Firth will grant it. We don’t really have any evidence except Jessie telling us that Scott Elliott was his drug contact, and I’d kind of like to keep Jesse out of it. Plus, we don’t want to tip our hand to Firth that we suspect Thorne in case he’s in his pocket.”
“It’s worth a try. What else can we do?” Jo asked.
Sam opened the door to the truck and glanced back at the house. “I don’t have a good feeling. If Elliott is involved, he would have information on Thorne. But where is Elliott? His disappearance is setting off alarm bells for me. He could be in danger. We need to bring him in alive so we can find out what he knows about Thorne.”
Chapter Twelve
Jo went straight to her desk when they got back to the station. Sam had gone into his office with a stack of mail after instructing Reese on how to fill out the request for the warrant they needed to gain access to Scott Elliott’s place. Jo didn’t envy him the job of sorting through the mail. Judging by the way it was piling up on the corner of his desk, she knew that Sam didn’t like the job any more than she did. He could have delegated it to one of them, but that was just like Sam to do the crap jobs himself instead of making someone else suffer.