Evie found it an interesting premise. “You think they crossed with someone who got control via the boy or maybe the wife, and under duress they drove far away in the first few hours, were outside the search zone from the very beginning?”
They both nodded. “You can’t find the truck or camper, you can’t find the bodies, which after some point in a search means they aren’t there to find,” the second one continued. “This area has been searched hard, and it’s still searched every spring and fall when the ground shifts from freeze and thaws and rains by friends and family who go out hiking, hunting, and looking for clues. The woods around here are being systematically covered. It’s the respectful thing you do—‘I think I’ll go out and look for the Florists’ when it’s a nice evening and you have an extra few hours. There are grid maps of what has been searched, what’s next to cover. The deputy’s cousin kept that map updated at first, then later it went to his nephew to update. They keep current copies of it available at the library’s entryway brochure rack, so you can pick one up and go to an unsearched grid if you’re inclined to help.”
“That’s very useful to know. Thank you, officers. I appreciate the insights.”
“We wish you luck, ma’am.”
After they left, Evie flipped the lock on the door while considering what the officers just told her. A local guy would know where a search had been done, where people were heading next. It would be easy enough to move something you didn’t want found into an area already searched. But a lot of people wandering around . . . the officers were right. If there was something nearby to find, in twelve years someone would have stumbled on it.
But that gave her another thought. Had there been any homicides in the last dozen years that might be the death of someone who had discovered a detail about the Florist family’s disappearance? Someone killed before they could report what they found? If the killer was still local, it made sense that he’d been doing what he could to keep the crime under wraps.
It was worth putting on the wall. Evie went and picked up a marker and wrote Other homicides over the last decade, adding to her list. She could sense actual progress. Small maybe, but progress just the same.
Gabriel Thane
Gabriel laid down the pages of names on the table, including suggestions from his father. There were more violent people in the county than he initially estimated, but it was still a manageable number. He glanced over at Evie. She was right—the sheriff’s office had interacted with most on more than one occasion. While his deputies might be able to add a few more to the list, it was mostly complete. He got up to open the cooler, get out cold drinks. Without comment, Gabriel set two Tylenol tablets on the table beside Evie, a soda beside the pills.
She looked at the time, reached for the pain relievers. “No wonder the headache is coming back with a vengeance. I should have taken something an hour ago.”
“It might also have something to do with all the reading. We both need a break. Come, take a walk with me.”
She conceded his point, pushed her chair back, and rose. He locked the building behind them, called George to cover on-site security until they got back. “Let’s walk to the bakery and see what’s left. Everything goes for half price in the evening.” He nodded that direction and set out at an easy pace, so she could work the stiffness out of her back.
He could tell the stitches were bothering her by the way she’d occasionally run her finger along the edge of the gauze. “Tell me something I wouldn’t know about you. Easy stuff qualifies at this point. Where do you live? Cubs fan, Cardinals? Like big cities, visit downtown Chicago occasionally, or avoid it at all costs?”
She glanced over at him, apparently decided he was mostly making conversation and letting her choose the topics, and nodded before casually replying, “I rent a house in Springfield, near the State Police headquarters, and tend to fill it with garage-sale finds. I’m only a Cardinals fan, but camouflage it with a Cubs hat if I happen to be north of Interstate 72. Let’s see . . . what else? I mostly work alone, as we’re short-staffed at state investigations. I seriously miss having a partner. I like to drive and think about cases. I stay as far away from the madness of crowds as I can, though I love the ethnic food, the music diversity, and the art you can only find in a big city. Mostly the food. If I could transport that out, I’d be thrilled. Moroccan food, Indian, Thai. You could talk me into about any road trip if there were meals like that as part of the journey.”
He liked the mix she’d given. “An interesting set of answers.”
“I can add a few more: I enjoy cooking but am not a very good chef. I’m a lover of comedies, old movies, romances, have a building tolerance for watching sports. Oh, and I hate the smell of gunpowder. Seeing as how I’m a cop, that might be worth mentioning.”
That remark diverted him from her personal life for a moment. “Ever pull your weapon on the job?”
“Twice, both backups of another officer in a tight situation, but it’s been a long time. I like the Bureau of Investigations, which is mostly paperwork, talking with people. I’m a good shot, steady, calm, decisive. You have to be in this business for the sake of the cop beside you, but because I don’t like shooting, I’m probably more serious than most about my time on the practice range. I shoot a hundred rounds three times a week, after the workday is done, as it’s important to be accurate when tired. If I don’t like the results, I shoot another hundred rounds. The discipline isn’t the problem. I just don’t like guns and the smell. I tolerate carrying a firearm because it’s a job requirement.”
Gabriel didn’t say anything for a long moment, wondering if he had cops like her on the county payroll. Being averse to the smell of gunpowder was probably a bit unusual. He had his share of those who’d pulled their guns on the job and bore the scar of that memory, often no longer enjoying shooting deer or wild pheasant. “You’re not into hunting, I take it.”
“Never have been. And after hitting that deer, I can’t say I would ever be. Taking a huge animal’s life just for the sake of sport or meat you probably don’t need seems like an overall loss. Such beautiful animals—majestic and powerful and free. I’d be in the camp that says take a picture, don’t kill them.”
Evie half turned to consider him as they walked. “You’re a dozen questions ahead. Fill in some blanks of your own.”
The fascinating thing about an interesting woman was the journey to discover those unique items that made her . . . well, interesting. Only this one had another guy in her life, which put a rather tight box around the moment.
As far as understanding him, she mostly had to know his family, and that seemed an innocuous direction for this conversation.
“The dam that made Carin Lake was built in 1962. My parents own what is now called the Southern Woods—basically the south end of Carin Lake, land given to them by the state to compensate for what the lake had put underwater. They’ve added on to it over the years with purchased pieces. I mention it because I spent the first eighteen years of my life either in those woods, on the water, or trailing my father around on his job. Came to love nature, that water, and always admired my dad.
“I never thought of becoming anything but a cop,” he continued. “I like people, I like when things are peaceful in a community, between neighbors. I like being the one called when a crisis hits, able to respond and help them out. I’d have probably become an EMT if Dad hadn’t been the sheriff. He insisted on college, and that was fine with me. I enjoy school and I used it to broaden what I knew about the law and this job. Because Thanes have been here so long, we know the people of this county. It was a natural step to run for sheriff after Dad’s retirement.
“It’s interesting being the oldest son. Josh, the youngest, put his roots down in a place beside the lake. A bait shop, boats for rent, part interest in a campground. His business thrives and grows as large as he wants it to. He spends time on the water most days.
“Will went overseas as a combat medic, came back and settled on
the opposite side of the lake from Josh, but more in the country. He’s a mechanic now, small-engine repair. If it’s got a motor, call Will. He’s very good at putting things back together, whether people, animals, or machines.
“Like I said, being a small-town, small-county sheriff fits who I am. I do the state conferences, spend more time taking classes on law enforcement and forensics than I would care to add up. But the degrees aren’t the goal. I’m not looking to make a name for myself elsewhere. I have a place here, a job that needs doing with excellence. I care about the people of Carin County who voted for me. I’m not a particularly ambitious man.”
“Hmm . . .” Evie cocked her head. “Sure you are, Gabriel. Your ambitions are focused here, in this place, in this role. You’ve spent your whole life dreaming and planning and working to get right where you are today. You want to live up to your expectations of yourself, deliver on what you know being a good sheriff means. Your ambitions have brought you to your goal. You want to live it now, so enjoy the moment.”
He was impressed with how much she’d captured from his brief description. “True enough. This job is a big piece of my day-to-day life, and I like it that way.”
He slowed their pace a bit, shifted to lighter subjects. “I like watching baseball, soccer, football, but prefer to watch them live at the high school or the park sports diamonds. I like being around the families who come out for the games. I like the hot dogs and popcorn and sitting on a folded blanket to cushion the hard bleachers.” They both laughed at his description.
“I’m a theater movie fan and enjoy the big-screen experience, those few hours when I don’t think about police matters. I don’t usually go to see police procedurals—they get so much so wrong.” More laughter. “I enjoy fishing, the peacefulness of it, but mostly the time with whichever family member or friend I talked into going out with me for the hour.”
“You focus on people in both your work and play.”
He nodded. “I like talking with others. And I like to think I’m on good terms even with those I have to occasionally arrest.”
They had arrived. She looked in the bakery window. “Do they have sourdough bread? I’m hoping for something fresh from the oven I can take back sliced and have for sandwiches.”
Gabriel held open the door for her. “You’ll find that and more here.”
They made their selections and started back, Evie eating a soft pretzel she’d bought along with a loaf of bread. As they approached the post office, she said, “I’m ready to call it a day.”
Gabriel, eating a bagel loaded with cream cheese, nodded. “Good. If you want to work until midnight, you should wait till after your body has another day or two to recover.”
“I’m getting there. It’s mostly sore muscles now. I’m going to soak in a hot tub for an hour and enjoy some music, then find a movie to watch on TV.”
“A nice plan. I’ll lock up for the night. I’ll be tied up most of tomorrow morning, but I’ll be by in the afternoon or maybe I’ll run into you around town.”
“That works.” Evie took out the car keys and moved to the convertible. She slid inside and shifted the seat to her preference, turned the key in the ignition, and grinned at the engine’s powerful hum. “I’m glad it isn’t so cool tonight I have to put the top up,” she told him.
He stood back, considering her. “You and the car look happy together. Good to drive?”
“I’m fine. I appreciate the selection.”
“See you tomorrow, Evie.” His phone rang, and he got it out as she drove off. A nice first day with her, he thought. She was a woman with some good ideas on how to work a case. And nice to have around, he added as he said “Sheriff Thane” into the phone and mentally shifted gears back to the car-vandalism problem.
SIX
Evie Blackwell
Evie knew she was ambitious, had given up trying not to be. She was unlocking the post office before five the next morning. There was somebody out there, living free and thinking he . . . or she . . . had gotten away with murdering a whole family. She was in competition with that person, looking for the truth, looking for the culprit. She wanted justice—for the Florists, for their extended family, for the law. And she wanted to win.
She put down the loaf of sourdough and package of cheese she’d brought with her from the house, along with a thermos of coffee. She walked over to the dozen photos of the family now on the wall and moved them around in a different order, a habit that let her see them in other contexts, look again at the details, see the people afresh at the center of the puzzle.
She stepped back, studying the photos, the timeline, the facts on the crime wall, pulling it back into her memory. By doing so many cases, she had learned how to work them, to pack the details down into her subconscious, then wait for that eureka moment, the one pivot that would connect things together, point to a question, a fact, and she’d have it. Like seeing the end of a chess match when there were still a dozen moves to be played. She could solve this case. Twelve years of collected evidence and interviews was a gold mine, and all she needed was to put her finger on the one thing. She was convinced it was here. She could find it. God had created her with the skill set uniquely suited for such work. She solved crime puzzles, and this one desperately needed solving.
She opened the next box of files and dug into the work. It wasn’t personal to her, and that distance helped her perspective—she didn’t have assumptions about the victims or others around them clouding her view.
She no longer apologized for liking her job, even though she was careful about saying aloud something of that sort. This family was missing and likely dead. That reality fueled her motivation to solve what happened, why, and who did it. But she couldn’t help but enjoy the hunt, the puzzle of it, the search to locate the key to solving the disappearance. She wanted to find a thread before the day was over, something that might lead to another “something.”
She poured her first cup of coffee and started reading, making notes.
Gabriel Thane
Gabriel slowed as he drove by the post office, seeing the lights, Evie’s rental parked at the curb. He glanced at the time. Early even for a dedicated cop. He doubted it was inability to sleep that got her up before dawn. She was in Carin to work, to solve these cases before her vacation leave was over.
Once Evie finished with the two cold cases, he reminded himself, she would be on to the next assignment. And back to what’s-his-name, he thought a bit ruefully. She’d give a friendly wave and smile, a how’re you doing? if she crossed paths with him at a conference, but she’d likely not be back in this county for a few years or more. He’d do well to remember that reality.
He had work waiting for him, deep enough to swallow his Monday morning—and the reason he also was rolling into work so early. If he wanted to help Evie this afternoon, he had to move a whole day’s worth of work this morning.
He glanced one last time at the lights in the windows and had to smile. He appreciated that she was focused on the job. He’d noticed the same thing about Ann on their first meeting. That friendship had become something rich and deep over the years, but it had begun because the way Ann focused on her work was not to be missed. Evie was showing him the first hints of something similar. Maybe a good friendship is something I can look forward to.
Several hours into his morning, Gabriel looked up at a tap on his office door. The woman who had lingered in the background of his thoughts while he worked was standing there. She wore dress slacks and a blue- and white-striped shirt, a jacket over her arm.
“Hey, Evie.” He noted the fresh bandage over the stitches showed the fading edges of bruising. Other than that, she looked fit, alert.
“Mind if I look through the archives?” she asked.
“Sure.” He dug out keys from his desk drawer and motioned toward the hallway. “Third door on the left marked Records. You want the side room labeled Archives.” He handed over the two keys she’d need.
“Thanks.”<
br />
He gave it an hour, then wandered back with some coffee. She’d made herself comfortable at a worktable in the middle of the filing cabinets. “What are you hoping to find?”
“I’ll know it when I see it. Anything interesting, helpful . . .”
He noticed the files spread out on the table, saw she was reading reports from the animal-control officer.
“No dead deer were picked up on the days in question, to my disappointment,” she said, shaking her head. “Two dead skunks, a dead fox, too many smashed squirrels for him to bother counting, just a check on many species—the daily reports are like that. He’d been on the job for six years at this point, liked his work, liked keeping tallies. He even sketched on the back of the report the roadways he cleared that day, where he found remains.”
“He was probably aggregating that data to find animal trails most in use,” Gabriel explained, “so he could follow them back through the woods during hunting season, have a leg up on his fellow hunters.”
“Okay . . . that’s helpful. I wouldn’t have thought of that answer, as I don’t hunt.”
He read the tabs on the files she hadn’t yet opened. “You’re looking at murders in Carin County?”
“As many as I can. Even solved ones, before or after the family disappeared, could be useful to me. Would you be able to get someone to generate a list? Murders in the county over, say, the last thirty years? Maybe another of particularly violent crimes, assaults?”
“What are you looking for?”
“You don’t start killing with a family of three. You start with one, and it’s probably an accident or due to temper. You don’t start on a deputy who has his family right there to protect. So if the person we’re looking for is from around here, where are his first kills?”
“That sounds depressing, Evie. And you can say it so calmly.”
“But do you think I’m right?”
Traces of Guilt Page 9
