Though small in population, River Remez was spread out, bleeding into hundreds of miles of flat earth, mountains, and riverbank. Streets were stuck in between the natural features, which made the town beautiful but not terribly efficient. Roads stopped and started, and housing developments meant three homes on one street and ten on another. Some had river views, some were perched atop the ridges, and some were right outside the plaza, which wasn’t much more than a square block of green space surrounded by tourist shops and the Hyatt Hotel. The real town shopping was on Sierra Road, an ugly strip of asphalt that had whatever people needed: Walmart, Lowe’s, Albertsons, Gap, Starbucks, Trader Joe’s, strip malls, and movie theaters.
Like Santa Fe, River Remez’s saving grace was the architecture. Almost everything was low rise and adobe style, which gave the town a uniform appearance. Even the police station was fashioned from the same brown stucco. It sat alone, a one-story office building across the street from a Rite Aid drugstore.
The parking lot of RRPD was half empty and so was the bike rack. Ben was so frazzled when he arrived that he hopped off his bike and just laid it on the sidewalk. Then he went back and locked the wheel to the rack.
Even small towns have theft problems.
As usual, Maria was behind the desk. In her midthirties, she was short and stocky with bobbed dark hair and brown eyes. Her uniform was always perfectly pressed. “Hey, Vicks.”
“Detective Shanks is expecting me.” Ben took off his backpack and handed it to her for inspection. “He just sent me a text.”
Maria gave the insides of the rucksack a nominal glance and handed it back. “Go ahead.”
Inside the door, Ben was in the sprawl of the River Remez PD. It was a small police station in a small town that was an offshoot of a slightly larger town. Since there was only one building, uniforms and plainclothes detectives shared a common space. Shanks was the senior detective and had his own office in the back.
As Ben passed desk after desk, he was greeted by name.
“Hi, Vicks.”
“Hey, Vicks.”
“What’s cooking, Vicks?”
“Hey, Vicks.”
Everyone avoided eye contact. Not good.
Ben knocked on Shanks’s door and then went in. Sam was on the phone but he motioned to take a seat. He also refused to make eye contact.
Shit. Really not good.
Sam hadn’t aged all that much in three years, but every year there was added strain on his face. White temples that had once been black, bags under the gray eyes, more creases every time they talked—most of the wrinkles put on his face by Ellen’s murder, the only homicide in the district within the last ten years. Shanks was a big man and his shirts always seemed to strain across his chest. His usual dress was a white shirt, a tie—blue, black, or red—dark slacks, and scuffed oxford shoes.
He got off the phone and spun his chair. When he didn’t talk right away, Ben said, “It’s not the Demon.”
“Vicks—”
“It is the Demon?” When Shanks paused, Ben said, “It’s not him. I know it’s not him. Just tell me, for God’s sake.”
“It’s not the Demon aka Billy Ray Barnes.” Shanks could barely contain his emotions—a mixture of disappointment, sadness, and fury. “I’m sorry.” Ben didn’t speak. “His DNA didn’t match . . .” An awkward pause. “What we found on your sister. Now it could be that he was working with someone else with your sister—”
“Her name is Ellen, and that’s ridiculous.”
“Sorry. Of course her name is Ellen. And don’t dismiss it so out of hand. We haven’t even begun to scratch the surface with Billy Ray Barnes. It’s still a possibility.”
“He didn’t kill Ellen,” Ben told him. “What about Katie Doogan?”
Shanks groaned out loud. “What about her?”
“Did her name come up with the Albuquerque PD?”
“Of course her name came up.”
“So, Albuquerque thinks that Billy Ray shithead murdered Katie Doogan?”
“Possibly, but without a body, we can’t make any assumptions.”
“I’ll make an assumption. He didn’t kill her either.”
“Ben—”
“He didn’t kill Katie and he didn’t kill Ellen. But the same person who murdered Ellen also murdered Katie. I’m going on record, telling you this right now, right here, and I don’t care what the Albuquerque PD or the FBI or the CIA or VICON or any other initialed suit has to say.”
Shanks said, “I know that you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset. I’m just mad that I got sucked into believing what I knew wasn’t true.”
“There are differences,” Shanks said. “Maybe I should have seen it coming. Ellen’s case happened way farther north of where Barnes worked. So it makes sense that he didn’t murd—”
“That’s not what you said at the time, Sam.”
“Ben—”
“You sat right there and I sat right here, where we are right now. And when the whole Demon/Billy Ray Barnes story broke, you told me that you and everyone else were ninety-nine percent sure that the Demon murdered Ellen, and I said to you, ‘No, you’re wrong,’ and then you said to me, ‘Ben, it looks like it’s over.’ And I said to you, ‘I hope it’s over, but I don’t think it’s over.’ And then you said to me, ‘Ben, there’s no sense in prolonging this whole thing if it’s over,’ a statement that I found very offensive—”
“I apologize—”
“And then I told you I have no stake in being right or wrong. Just that I know what makes sense and what doesn’t make sense. And this didn’t make sense!”
“You know, Ben, I almost didn’t tell you because I knew this was going to happen.”
“What was going to happen?”
“That you would say ‘I told you so,’ and frankly I didn’t want to hear it because now I still have a three-year-old open murder case that I’m absolutely sick about. So I apologize to you if I don’t have time for your gloating.”
“I’m not gloating! I wish to God I was wrong. But I knew I wasn’t.”
“Fine, Vicks. Go to the academy and I’ll be the first one to recommend you for homicide detail. You’re plainly smarter than anyone else on the force or in the state police.”
“I’m gonna go home now.”
“Sit.” Shanks put his hand on the kid’s arm. His eyes were wet. “I’m sorry, Ben. I’m sorry I can’t do better. And I’m sorry I didn’t do better. I meant it when I said you’re smarter than me and everyone else. That’s just a plain fact. No disrespect meant.”
Ben looked away. “He didn’t do Katie Doogan either.”
“Let’s look at it logically,” Shanks said. “Unlike Ellen, Katie lived in Albuquerque. That was Barnes territory. APD has him on four murders down south.”
“I don’t care what other murders he did. He didn’t kill Katie Doogan. And when they find the body, you’ll see that I’m right.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because Barnes’s other victims were older women—”