“No.”
“I’m supposed to believe you drove aimlessly around all night without seeing another person?”
“I can’t make you believe anything. I don’t know anything about what happened to Amber Lynn.” Travis clamped his jaw shut and looked away. “The last time I saw her she was fine.”
Frustrated, Seth turned to Luke. “Do you know where Travis was last night?”
“He wasn’t here.” Luke shook his head. “Will he go back to prison?”
Seth blew out a hard breath. “Not right now. I don’t have anything on him.” He spun Travis around and removed the handcuffs.
“Damn.” Luke propped his fists on his hips. “The only reason I let him stay here was to keep him away from our parents. They keep taking in his sorry ass. In return he drained their checking account. Last week he took a power drill from my garage and pawned it. I’m a carpenter. I can’t work without my tools.”
“I told you I didn’t take your drill,” Travis whined.
“That doesn’t mean much since I already know you’re a liar.” Luke looked like he wanted to smash his brother’s face. Seth knew exactly how he felt.
Luke pointed to the house. “Go pack your stuff. I want you out within the hour. And don’t you dare go to Mom and Dad’s house. I’ll find you and beat your sorry ass if you take one more thing from them.”
Travis slunk off toward the house.
Luke took a breath. “What happened to Amber Lynn?”
“Someone killed her.”
Luke’s mouth flattened. “That’s not right. Did Travis do it?”
“I don’t know,” Seth answered. Travis had seemed genuinely surprised by the news, but he was also a practiced liar. “You knew her?”
“A little. She was sweet, way too nice for my brother.” Luke’s mouth went tight. “I’m sorry she’s dead. Where’s the kid?”
“Social services has the baby,” Seth said. Even after he’d heard about Amber Lynn’s death, Travis hadn’t asked about his own child. His only thoughts had been about himself.
Frowning, Luke gave Seth his contact information. Seth and Phil got back into their cars. It was after noon. Bruce had been missing for twelve hours.
What now?
CHAPTER FOUR
It was after two o’clock in the afternoon by the time Carly drove the baby out to her mother’s house and started the search for relatives. She’d promised Seth she’d wait to call Travis White, but her initial phone calls investigating his background didn’t make him sound like a good candidate. According to his parole officer, Travis’s job at the car wash didn’t pay enough to support him, let alone a child. He also doubted that Travis was responsible enough to provide care for a young child.
Seth had given Carly the address and phone number of Amber Lynn’s parents, but no one answered when she called. The sheriff had performed the death notification that morning.
Not wanting to wait for a callback, Carly decided to drive over. She got out of her Jeep in front of the trailer. Forlorn. That’s the word that sprung into her mind as she studied the rusted metal single-wide. A broken picket fence enclosed the tiny, weedy lot. Metal steps folded down to a cinder block. She went up to the door and knocked.
Amber Lynn’s apartment was small and sparse, but it was a huge step up from where her parents, Tony and Dana Cooper, lived. From her quick background check, Carly knew that fifty-year-old Dana Cooper worked in a nail salon. At fifty-five, Tony was unemployed.
A bald man answered the door. He was stocky, with muscular shoulders over a beer gut. He gave Carly a suspicious look. “What?”
Carly presented her credentials. Anger lowered his brow, and he tried to shut the door on her.
“Wait.” She pressed a palm to the aluminum. “I’m here about your daughter, Amber Lynn. Are you Tony Cooper?”
“Yeah.” Anger ebbed to curiosity. He scratched his stomach through a stained T-shirt. “We already know about Amber Lynn. The sheriff stopped by this morning.”
He didn’t look brokenhearted. The sound of a woman crying carried through the open door.
“Who is it?” a shaky voice called.
“Social worker. It’s about Amber Lynn,” Tony said over his shoulder.
The woman bawled. “Let her.” Sniff. “In.”
He moved back, giving Carly room to enter. Barely. She squeezed through the opening, pressing flat against the wall to avoid touching him. He smelled like stale beer. Passing through a tight galley kitchen, Carly stopped at a Formica table where a woman sat, crying. Amber Lynn’s mother looked nothing like her, but she probably had once, before hard living etched deep lines in her face. She tucked a strand of bleached-blonde hair behind her ear. The movement revealed the side of her jaw, where Carly could see a purple bruise still visible despite a thick layer of concealer.