by Mary Burton
“What do you think happened to them?” she asked.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“You think I’ve made Judy Monroe up.”
“It is a plausible theory.”
“I didn’t make her up. She’s real.”
Instead of engaging him on this diversion, she took a different tack. “Have you left your computer unattended?”
“Almost never.” He stilled. “Except when I left it in my hotel room.”
“The device is password protected,” she said. “And the police don’t have a warrant allowing them access to your computer.”
“They have good reason to frame me.”
“And I have good reason to think the worst of you, but I’m trying very hard not to. Think beyond the obvious. Who else had access to your computer?”
“I went out drinking last night and hooked up with a woman. I’ve already told the cops her name was Carla, and I met her at the Silver Maverick.”
“Do you think this woman did it?” Ann asked. “We’ve established the computer is password protected.”
“No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She didn’t strike me as that smart. But I did pass out for several hours.”
“And Carla definitely wasn’t Judy?”
“No. Of all the Fireflies I would have recognized Judy in bed.” He shook his head. “Elijah has to be behind this. He has to have put Carla or Judy up to all this.”
“Are the images of any other women missing?” she asked.
He searched, shook his head. “No. Those files are all intact.”
“When did you and Judy break up?” she asked.
He tipped his head back. “I went to Knoxville in late May and met with Sarah.”
“And you slept with her.”
Thompson shoved out a breath. “Yeah, once.”
“Could Judy have figured that out?”
“I broke up with her a few days after my return,” he said carefully.
“How’d she take it?”
“Not well. She said all men should be on a leash.”
“When’s the last time you texted Judy?” she asked.
“It was a couple of days after we broke up.” He scrolled through his text messages, then turned the phone around so she could read.
Judy: Wish you luck, lover.
Thompson: You too, babe.
Judy: You’ll find I’m the best you’ll never have again.
“I didn’t respond.” He looked up, and his stare was frantically intense.
“And you never heard from her again?”
“No.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I did not kill those women.”
“Text Judy now and see if she responds.”
He typed, Hey, babe. What’re you doing?
The screen remained still, no bubbles, no hint that there was anyone on the other end.
“She always got back to me fast,” he said.
“Logical to assume she’s moved on and doesn’t care about you anymore.”
“Could Judy be working with Elijah? Unstable women are drawn to him.”
“I don’t know.” Ann could not refute Thompson’s claim. Elijah was outwardly calm and collected, but there was a darkness in him.
“You can have my notes, and you can read them all,” Thompson said. “Maybe you can see something I’ve missed.”
“I will.”
“Hurry. Your brother is going to arrest me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. The charges won’t stick, but there’s enough evidence to hold me for a few days while they sort this out. And in the meantime, the real killer will be free.”
I do not like to hurt people. I do not enjoy doing the things I have done. But there are times when I am backed into a corner. When messes need to be cleaned up. When lessons need to be taught.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Missoula, Montana
Thursday, August 26
6:00 p.m.
Ann carried Thompson’s laptop out of the interview room and found both Bryce and Gideon waiting for her. “He’s letting me print out his story notes, and then he wants his computer back.”
“I have a printer in my office,” Gideon said.
They walked to the small windowless office. Behind a desk with neatly arranged files stood a credenza outfitted with a printer. She opened the files, selected the printer, and hit “Print.”
As they waited, she set the laptop on his desk, and her attention shifted to an image on his wall taken of the boys when they were about four years old. They had been fishing on the Yellowstone River. She remembered the picture well. Clarke had taken it.
“Joan and I can take Nate tonight,” Gideon offered.
“Thanks, but I’m picking him up from practice in a little while. We’re really trying to establish a new routine.”
The printer spit out the last page. She verified she had what she needed and closed the laptop. After returning it to Thompson and making assurances she would read the notes tonight, she connected with Bryce in the hallway.
“Hopefully, there’s something in his notes that will tell us about the killer,” Ann said. “In the meantime, he also spoke to Judy Monroe, who was not only a Firefly but a former girlfriend. Find out what you can about her.”
“Will do,” Bryce said.
“Thanks.” She liked the idea of having him close.
“I should also have more forensic data by tomorrow as well,” Gideon said.
“Thompson did say he was in the car when he interviewed Nena,” Ann said. “He said you might find his DNA.”
“He told me,” Bryce said. “It could be a preemptive reason he’s planting so when it’s found, his defense attorney can explain it to the jury.”
“Maybe.” Ann saw in Thompson a man as bewildered as the cops. But she had misjudged people before.
Ann left with Bryce, and neither spoke until he placed the files in the back seat of her car. “Until this is over, I’m sticking close.”
“Why?”
“There are four dead women, and all of them spoke to Thompson. You just spoke to him, and now you have his notes. You’ll be privy to whatever those women revealed to him. And Elijah is far from cleared in all this.”
“Nothing I haven’t told myself. When do you plan to talk to Thompson again?” Ann asked.
“As soon as you go through those notes. Then it’s going to be a full-court press.” He checked his watch. “Where are you headed next?”
“I have to get Nate. He’s at soccer practice.”
“Soccer. I haven’t seen a soccer game in a very long time.”
She cocked a brow. “Why do I think you’ve never seen a soccer game?”
“Been to my fair share of rodeos.” Bryce kissed her gently on the lips. “But there’s always a first time for soccer.”
“That I would like to see.” She leaned closer to him, wishing they had more time right now. “I’ve got to go.”
“Stay safe, Ann.”
“Always.”
“I mean it,” he said, all traces of humor vanishing from his face. “I don’t want to find out that you’re on this killer’s list.”
When Ann parked in front of her house, Nate was in the back seat staring out the window, lost in thought, as he often was. A sense of relief washed over her as she stared at the brick rancher that was slowly starting to feel familiar.
“Mom, can we order pizza?” Nate asked.
“I must have read your mind. Just placed an order on the app. Should be here in about ten minutes.”
“Awesome.”
As they got out of the car, her gaze swept the yard, the bushes by the house, and the yards of her neighbors. Nate raced ahead of her toward the front door and waited impatiently for her to unlock it.
She twisted her key in the lock and pushed open the door, and Nate hurried down the hallway toward his room. She was anxious to read throu
gh the Thompson interviews and maybe figure out how the reporter’s visits to the Fireflies had triggered the killer.
She flipped on lights, moving through the freshly organized living room, feeling a sense that she and Nate were going to be okay. Life was not necessarily going to be easy, but they would be happy again.
She dropped the files on top of her desk and then changed into a loose-fitting T-shirt and yoga pants. When the doorbell rang, she grabbed her wallet and fished out a five-dollar bill for the tip. Her stomach rumbled, and she was anxious to eat and get to work.
She opened the door, finding the young delivery driver sporting an insulated red carrier. He was slim and had pulled back his thick dark hair in a ponytail that drew attention to his youthful face.
“Dr. Bailey?” he asked as he checked the name on the slip.
“That’s right.”
“Large thin crust, light on the cheese?”
“Correct.”
He handed her the warm box, which smelled of tomato and oregano, and she gave him his tip. “Thanks.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door, fastened the two locks, and called out, “Nate!”
The boy hurried out of his room. He had changed into shorts and a T-shirt and had washed his face. He was carrying a book as he settled on the barstool by the kitchen island.
She grabbed paper plates and several sheets of paper towels, then served them each a slice. “Eat up.”
He bit into the pizza. “Remember when you used to cook all the time?”
That life seemed so long ago. “I do.”
“I think I like the takeout better,” he said.
“Sooner or later, I’ll have to get my act together and cook for us again.”
“No rush, Mom.”
She chuckled, knowing it was hard to compete with pizza and burgers. “What are you reading?”
“Huckleberry Finn.”
“That’s a classic. What made you think of that one?”
“Elijah suggested it.”
She stilled, her half-eaten pizza slice suspended in midair. “Elijah Weston.”
“Yeah, from school. We both audit the same math class.”
She set the pizza down, reached for her paper towel, and carefully wiped the grease from her fingertips as she checked her worry. “He gave you the copy of King Lear?”
“That’s right.”
“You told me you got the book at computer camp.”
“He was there and suggested it.”
She tightened her grip on the wadded paper towel. “Do you talk to him a lot?”
“Sometimes.” He looked up at her over the edge of his book. “I know what Dad did to him.”
“Did he tell you?”
“No. Everyone knows it.”
She had tried to be honest with the boy about what was happening, but she had also sugarcoated what she could. Smart or not, he was a kid.
“He’s cool, Mom,” Nate said. “He doesn’t treat me like a baby. And I’ve only seen him at school.”
She cleared her throat while concentrating on appearing calm. “And what do you two talk about?”
“Books. He suggests books. He likes to read like I do.”
“Really?”
Nate regarded her more closely. “You look sick, Mom.”
“I’m not. Long day,” she said, managing a smile. Her appetite gone, she cleared away her pizza plate and dumped it in the trash. “I want you to be careful around Elijah. We really don’t know him that well.”
“Because he was in prison? You know he was innocent.”
“That’s only part of it.”
The boy shrugged. “He seems nice to me.”
“You need to tell me when he reaches out to you, okay? No secrets.”
“Okay. Maybe we can have him over for dinner sometime.”
Ann cleared her throat, and instead of answering his query, she asked, “Are you still hungry?”
He studied the remaining slices. “No, I’m good.”
“Okay. I’ll wrap this up, and then I need to do some reading.” The sooner she understood who was behind the murders, the sooner she might have a better idea of how Elijah fit into the crimes.
“Me too. This is a good book.”
“Is it?”
“I like the idea of going on an adventure. Kind of felt like that when I went camping with Uncle Gideon.”
“Uncle Gideon will always take you camping. But I don’t want you going off with Elijah like that.”
“You don’t have to worry about Elijah, Mom.”
“I worry about everyone when it comes to you.”
He rolled his eyes. “I know.”
The front bell rang, and she was annoyed by the distraction. She threaded her fingers through her hair as she hurried to the door. When she opened it and saw Bryce, she nearly stepped into his arms. “Hey, what brings you here so late?”
“I was about to drive back to the ranch, but thought I would check in.”
“Come on in. Nate’s at the kitchen table reading a book that Elijah Weston gave him.”
“Really?” His tone was cautious.
“They seem to have struck up a friendship.” She toned down the edge creeping up in her voice, knowing she had no right to lay this on Bryce. “I have extra pizza if you want it.”
He glanced past her and then leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. His lips tasted of salt, and the stubble of his beard brushed her skin, sending an erotic shot to her loins. He drew back, squeezed her shoulder gently, and then, dropping his arm, followed her into the kitchen.
“Nate, have a look who stopped by. Sergeant McCabe.”
Nate looked up. “You were right about the gear. I packed too much. But not as much as I would have. Thanks for the tip.”
“Glad I could be of help,” Bryce said easily. “Your mom says there’s extra pizza.”
The boy opened the pizza box top. “Mom and I don’t like leftovers, so eat it all.”
He picked up a slice and took a seat next to Nate. “I read that book once. But I was in the marines working on my college degree. Wish I’d gotten an earlier start like you.”
“Did you ever take a boat down the Mississippi River while you were in the marines?” Nate asked.
“Not the Mississippi River. We did practice maneuvers on a few rivers.”
“Did you like it?” Nate asked.
“I’d rather be on a horse than a boat. I’ll take an open field over an ocean any day.”
“I’ve never seen the ocean.”
“Something to see.” He took a bite.
“Mom’s talked about driving west until we hit the Pacific,” Nate said.
Ann had had a lot of fantasies about running away last winter. “Just haven’t gotten around to it.”
“We’ve been busy, Mom,” Nate said. “You said next summer.”
“We’ll do it.” Next summer felt like a lifetime away.
“You like dogs, Nate?” Bryce asked.
“Yeah,” Nate said.
“Get your mom to bring you out to my ranch. My brother lives there, too, and he has four dogs. All retired military working dogs.”
The boy’s eyes brightened. “Can I bring Kyle?”
“Sure. You two can make a day of it,” Bryce said.
“Can they do tricks?” Nate asked.
“I’m pretty sure they can,” Bryce said. “You’ll have to get Dylan to show you.”
“Why does Dylan have so many dogs?” Nate asked.
“He takes the ones no one wants,” Bryce said. “Their handlers couldn’t keep them, and they’re too much dog for most people. But they’re friendly.”
“What kind of dogs are they?”
“Three German shepherds and a Belgian Malinois.”
Nate’s phone rang, and Kyle’s name appeared on the display. “Can I take this?”
“Go right ahead,” Ann said.
“I’m going to tell Kyle about the dogs.”
�
��Sounds good, Nate.”
The boy scrambled off to his room and, to Ann’s delight, acted like a kid without a care in the world.
“You’re going to have a three-page report on the differences between the two dog breeds by morning,” Ann said. “Be prepared for more questions.”
“I don’t mind.” Bryce took her hand in his, rubbing his fingers against her smooth palms. “He’s handling it all pretty well.”
“I think so.” She took the seat beside his, taking comfort in just having him close. “And yet I worry.”
“Don’t.” He finished off the first slice.
“What have you found in Nena Lassiter’s car so far?”
“The techs pulled hair strands and fingerprints from the front seat. The hair samples have been sent to the lab, and it’ll take days at best. But Thompson’s fingerprints were pulled from the dashboard. He was in the car.”
“Did you find anything else? The pictures or facial skin? They would be the killer’s most prized trophies—tangible fragments of the victims. The killer keeps them close and in a safe place.”
“No to both. We’re checking the cameras from the surrounding businesses near the motel. I’m hoping to get a glimpse of the driver. If it’s Thompson, then the case against him gets really strong.”
“He’s not that stupid,” she said. “Why would he park the car near his room? Why would he give me his files to read if he killed those women?”
“Saying that’s true, who would want to set him up?” Bryce leaned back in his chair. “One of the Fireflies who didn’t like him asking questions. Or someone who didn’t appreciate him using Nate to get to you.”
“Have you found anything that links Elijah to the car?”
“No prints. Maybe there’ll be a hair sample. Again, the security cameras are going to tell more.”
“Elijah is too careful to leave prints behind.” She frowned. “Did you find anything attached to Judy Monroe?”
“I’ve placed calls to the Tennessee and West Virginia authorities. Should have pictures, maybe police records by morning.”
“Can you contact the prison and see if they copied any of Judy’s letters to Elijah?”
“I’ll call as soon as I walk out of here.”
“Good.”
“Why don’t you and the boys plan to come out to the ranch sooner rather than later? You could stay out there. There’s room enough for you all, and those pups can distract anyone from anything. Hell, at the rate my brother is going, there might be another one in the brood by now. And no one will get to either of you at the ranch.”
