“I didn’t find any more than you had.”
“Damn it.” He finished wolfing down the sandwich and wadded up the wrapper in one fist. Dane Starkey’s alibi had been unshakeable. He’d been in a poker game with three other people in Westerville, a half hour from Columbus. Even if Mark had been able to poke holes in any of the three men’s stories, footage from traffic cameras had solidified Starkey’s claim. He’d been nowhere near Saxon Falls the night Whitney DeVries had been taken.
But his large extended family had even more reason to hate Brian DeVries than Dane did. They were still running down the alibis of each of them, including Shelley’s husband. So far, nothing was panning out. And if no one in the family owned any property outside of their family homes, where would they have taken Whitney DeVries if one of them had snatched her?
“Aw.” Sloane made a faux purr of sympathy. “I recognize that expression. Your prime suspect isn’t looking especially shiny anymore. Don’t get discouraged. I still have to check out all their alibis for October 30.”
“I’m not ready to pull the other investigators off him yet.” But she was right. He’d taken the man apart, figuratively at least. Starkey might have the motive for kidnapping Whitney, but given his alibi, he would have needed help. The man’s bank records showed that he hadn’t shared any of the money DeVries had paid him. And while making DeVries suffer by kidnapping his daughter might have appealed to him, it also would have interfered with the man’s willingness to pay the final installment of the blackmail. Starkey should have immediately come to mind once Whitney went missing. But Brian hadn’t given his name to BCI. Mark considered that omission damning.
“Have you faced DeVries with all this yet?”
He shook his head, picking up the files and crossing to the table to pull out a seat next to hers. “I wanted to see where the Starkey thing went first. I’m betting he was the first one DeVries suspected, too. He’d have to. What kind of father doesn’t share that kind of detail with the cops when his kid goes missing?”
“One with something to hide. We have to wonder if he ever outgrew his taste for teenage or near-teen girls.”
He exchanged a look with her. They were often on the same wavelength. On the last case they’d worked together, he’d thought that quality made them good teammates. Which showed how far off base his impressions could be.
“Today I found out he omitted something else.” Briefly, he told her about the man’s connection to the church. “We need to discover what year he was doing the mowing and if it was anywhere around where the camp was held.” He held up the papers. “These might tell us.” He spread the pages out on the table in front of him.
“Did you get anything else from the pastor about the girls? He knew Kelsey Willard, too, right?” Mark had to give Sloane credit; she’d caught up on the case remarkably fast since her arrival.
“He knew her but provided no details that weren’t in the report. But our meeting did take a turn for weird before I left.” Briefly he told her about his final conversation with the pastor. She didn’t appear as shocked as he’d been by it.
“Sounds like one of the radical religious types who blames natural disasters on any social agenda they happen to disagree with. Believe me, they’re far more common than you might think.”
“Laura Mikkelsen said Brian DeVries had helped out ten or eleven years ago.” He flipped through the pages Laura had given him until he found the ones detailing the youth-camp participants by year. Skimmed until Willard’s name jumped out at him. “Kelsey would have been . . .” He did some quick figuring in his head. “Ten the last time she went to the camp.”
She leaned in to read the list in his hand, close enough that her hair tickled his jaw. Dropping the papers, Mark lurched from his chair as though he’d been scorched. “We need to nail down the date DeVries was there, see if it correlates.” Even if the times coincided, it didn’t tie the man to Willard’s disappearance. Or Whitney’s.
But it would be another connection, and add to the mountain of explaining the man had to do.
He pulled out his cell, checked the time. “I have to call home.” Even if Kelli wasn’t exactly communicative lately, he wanted to talk to Nicky before his son went to bed.
“Go ahead. I’m going to change into something more comfortable. I assume it’ll be another late night.”
The words gave his feet wings. He practically ran for the adjoining door that led to his room. His hand was on the knob when Sloane said, “Give my regards to your wife.”
The words transported him to the last time the two of them had worked a case. When their focus had switched from the investigation to each other. A mental picture flashed across his mind. The two of them on the bed, bodies tangled, clothes pooled on the floor. His last remaining brain cell was all that had prevented him from making the biggest mistake of his life. And as he’d rolled off the mattress, headed to his room, she’d uttered the same remark. Give my regards to your wife.
Mark responded the way he should have then. “Go to hell, Sloane.”
Whitney DeVries
November 12
6:12 p.m.
“Much better, Whitney. I applaud the way you kept your word and tried harder today.”
She kept her head down so he wouldn’t see the hatred that would surely show on her face. “Thank you.”
“Thank you . . . what?”
Her teeth ground. She had to choke the words out. “Thank you . . . Daddy.” A wave of revulsion swept over her. As if she could ever be related to this monster. She’d say whatever was necessary to spare herself another whipping. But still . . . every time she called him by the name he insisted on, it felt like a betrayal to her real family. Who were still alive. Since last night, she’d grown more convinced of that by the minute. The words Kelsey Willard had written had been echoing in her brain all day. Had stoked the growing conviction that the freak had constructed an elaborate lie. One guaranteed to make Whitney feel alone. Desolate. With no one else to rely on.
She hated him more for that than for anything else. Even the beatings.