DOUBLE TROUBLE

A novel by

SCOTT WITTENBURG

©2015 Scott Wittenburg

Discover other titles by Scott Wittenburg at http://www.scottwittenburg.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This is a work of fiction. The characters and events of this book are entirely the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, or to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

PROLOGUE

Eight-year-old Carly Fulton was terrified as the man pushed her into the back seat of the car, sat down beside her and slammed the door shut. The car lurched forward as the driver floored the accelerator and sped out onto the street. Neither man spoke for several blocks and the only sounds Carly heard were her own sobs.

She stared out the window and began counting the streetlights streaking by in an attempt to get a handle on her emotions. Her mother had always told her she was a strong girl for her tiny size, both physically and spiritually. But her mother could never have known how much she had already been forced to endure in the last six days. The mere thought of her mother made Carly sob even harder. What she wouldn’t give to be with her right now.

“Driving straight through?” the driver said.

“Yeah,” Marty replied.

Marty was the name of the man sitting beside her. She had never seen the driver before but she hated Marty as much as she feared him. She knew better than to cross him, though. She had learned the hard way where that would get her. And where it had gotten some of the others.

Marty was a fat man with a thick, bald head and always wore a baseball cap turned backwards. He could move fast for his large size and was stronger than a bull. He had a high-pitched voice that didn’t match his bulk and if things were different, Carly would find it hard not to laugh at him every time he opened his mouth and spoke in his prissy voice.

If things were different, that is.

It was a hot, sultry night and the smell of body odor filled the interior of the car. She was the one who stank, and who wouldn’t after six days of nothing but a hose down two nights ago? She was also weak from starvation but food was the last thing on her mind right now. Although she had no idea where the men were taking her, she sensed that she was going to be killed or worse. What could be worse than death? She didn’t know, but it was out here. She had seen more than half of the others who were taken away never return. The ones who had returned were no longer allowed to see or speak to anybody in the main room. They were held in another room down the hallway instead. She could tell from the sound of crying and screaming echoing along the hall that most if not all of them were young girls and boys.

She couldn’t imagine where they had been or what they had been forced to do at the mercy of their captors. And where had the others gone to?

She’d never been to Florida before but had seen photos of it. The little she had seen of the place in daylight was pretty with all of the palm trees. There were lots of people in shorts and bathing suits enjoying their freedom. She could smell the ocean now but all she could see were the countless hotels lining the street as far as the eye could see.

Suddenly she fell apart as fear took hold again.

“Where are we going?” she cried, peering over at Marty.

“You’ll find out soon enough, Princess.”

“Are you taking me back tonight?”

“That’s none of your business. We’re done talking now.”

“All I want to know—”

Suddenly Marty smacked her hard across the cheek.

“Fucking shut-up or I’ll shut you up!” he screamed.

Her face stinging from the blow, Carly turned away and stared out the window. She should have known better than to ask any questions, but she was finding it harder and harder to control herself. She had spent the last six days forcing herself to do as she was told and to not show any fear. That’s what her mother would have told her to do. She knew that things could be even worse had she not possessed such a strong will to survive. But she could feel herself growing weaker and weaker and finding it harder to be strong the longer she remained so far away from home.

CHAPTER 1

Amanda had no sooner sat the groceries down on the counter than her cellphone rang. She checked the caller ID and answered.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey. Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“Not at all—just got back from Kroger’s. What’s up?”

“Some bad news, I’m afraid. Remember my telling you about Jodi Wilburn being murdered last week? Guess who they think did it.”

“Who?”

“Nick.”

“No way!”

“That’s what I said.”

“But Nick would never kill Jodi! I know they may have had some problems but I also know how much he loved her. And besides that, Nick Wilburn doesn’t have an evil bone in his body.”

“Nobody in town thinks he did it, either. But the Sheriff’s department has reported that whoever killed Jodi also made off with a small fortune. Apparently she had all of the jewelry and cash her grandmother left her last year stashed away in her home. They believe the murderer had known about the stash beforehand and where to find it. Nick had installed a hidden safe in their home that nobody else knew about.”

“How do you know all of this, anyway?”

“From your Uncle Ken. He’s representing Nick.”

“So they’ve arrested him?”

“Not yet, but Ken thinks it’s inevitable.”

“Jesus, I can’t believe how screwed up that little town is! I’m so glad we moved to Mansfield and got away from that lynch-mob mentality.”

“C’mon, Mandy—it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh yes it was. And now an innocent man is probably going to be sent to prison for something he didn’t do. That whole police force is corrupted, if you ask me. All they want to do is hurry up and hang somebody for this horrible crime before everybody in Milldale gets all paranoid about it, that’s what I think.”

“Well, I’ve known Nick Wilburn since the two of you were in diapers and his parents shouldn’t have to go through this. They’ve had enough problems already, with Les recently losing his job and Marge’s poor health. This has really devastated them.”

“And they’re such nice people. How’s Jodi’s family handling this?”

“Not well at all. I drove down to see Ken yesterday and ran into Jodi’s mother at the Wal-Mart—she looked terrible.”

“Poor Mrs. Brooks. I wonder if she thinks Nick did it.”

“I doubt it. Nancy has always been fond of Nick and was anything but thrilled when he and Jodi split up. She tried her damnedest to keep those two together but Jodi flatly refused to forgive Nick for messing around with a younger woman. And you know how obstinate Jodi could be.”

“I know all too well. God what a mess! First Jodi gets murdered, and then Nick becomes the prime suspect. I’ll bet the whole town is going crazy.”

“Oh yeah—this is the most excitement they’ve seen there in a long time. Speaking of a long time, when are you going to come visit us? It’s been nearly two months since I’ve seen you.”

“I know, Mom, and I apologize. I’ve just been so busy with this promotion at work and all. But I promise I’ll come up the first chance I can get away.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. I miss you so much and can’t wait to hear more about that new guy in your life. What’s his name—Alan?”

“Yes, but don’t jump to any conclusions. We’re just friends, Mom—nothing serious. He is a great guy, though.”

“I’m sure he is. Well, try to make it up for a visit soon, Mandy. That’s all I ask.”

“I will. Take care, Mom. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

As she put the groceries away, Amanda felt a sharp pang of guilt for not visiting her parents more often. She’d been so wrapped up in her job and everything else that had been happening that there had been no time to think of what a lousy daughter she was.

She brewed herself a cup of tea and went into the family room. She was proud of how charming and comfortable her apartment was and nothing made her more content than plopping down on the soft leather sofa and reading a good book or watching the tube. She had spent a lot of time and effort making this place feel like her own.

She took a sip of hot tea just as Henry jumped up on her lap and joined her. There had been a lot on her mind the last few months, ever since she and Alan Swansea had started seeing each other on a fairly regular basis. She had known Alan nearly as long as she’d known his deceased wife, Julie. She and Alan had started dating back when Julie and Amanda were roommates at college and then the couple eventually married. Last spring Amanda had seen Alan at her work place after all these years while he was investigating a murder case. Although she’d felt a bit awkward going out with her old friend’s husband, their relationship had grown steadily from that point on.

Alan was a private investigator and had been hired by her boss’s wife to find out who had murdered their young daughter a couple of years ago. Amanda had in fact played a pivotal role in the capture of the girl’s murderer, resulting in she and Alan becoming close. Both agreed they made a good team; he had in fact suggested that she consider joining forces with him on future cases. At first she had scoffed at the idea. But now she was having second thoughts.

Having just learned that one of her dearest childhood friends was suspected of robbing and murdering his ex-wife, Amanda feared that he could be sent to prison for doing something he would never do. Nick Wilburn simply wasn’t capable of murder and most certainly would never have murdered his ex-wife. Jodi Brooks and Nick Wilburn had been a steady couple since middle school and were married right after their graduation from high school. The couple had always gotten along and seemed content in their marriage.

But that all changed once Jodi discovered that Nick was having an affair with a younger woman. From what Amanda’s mother had learned, Nick had readily admitted to the brief affair, apologized to Jodi for his selfish mistake, promised never to do it again and begged Jodi’s forgiveness. But Jodi wouldn’t budge. She had filed for divorce shortly thereafter, the divorce was granted and Nick had moved out of town.

Amanda petted Henry and the cuddly terrier licked her hand. She conceded that much of what she knew about Nick, Jodi and everything else that went on in her former hometown she had gleaned through her weekly talks with her mother, who was living in Mansfield. Amanda’s family had moved to Mansfield when she was a sophomore in high school. Her father had been transferred to a better paying job and she had been thrilled to escape the small-mindedness of the little river town in southern Ohio.

Amanda’s mother had always been close to her brother Ken and the two siblings kept in regular contact with one another despite the distance between them. Amanda sometimes suspected that her mother regretted moving out of Milldale and would move back in a heartbeat if it weren’t for Amanda’s father, who was perfectly content living in Mansfield.

The mere thought of living or even visiting Milldale made Amanda shudder; she loathed the place that much. It had been an okay place to grow up in but it wasn’t fit for anybody expecting a future beyond blue-collar work or standing in the unemployment line. Comprised of little more than a main street, a small, virtually abandoned downtown area and a run-down, soon to be shut-down paper mill, Milldale was a struggling Appalachian community located on the Ohio River surrounded by scenic, rolling farmland. The nearest town of any appreciable size was Huntington, West Virginia—fifty miles away and not exactly what one would call a major urban hub.

Amanda now felt a need to pay her old hometown a visit. A need to find out what was really going on there and to see what, if anything, she could do to prevent Nick Wilburn from being convicted of a crime she knew he did not do.

But she knew she couldn’t to do it alone. She needed a partner.

Amanda thought for another moment, smiled resolutely, and then reached for her phone to call Alan Swansea.

CHAPTER 2

Alan pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. As he walked toward her Dublin town house apartment, he wondered why Amanda had been in such a hurry to see him. She’d said it was something really important but wouldn’t elaborate. This was the sort of thing that always made him nervous. Was she going to tell him she’d found somebody else? He hoped not. If that were the case, he would kick himself royally for playing things so cool with her all this time instead of letting her know how he really felt and cared about her.

He stepped up to the door and knocked. She answered almost immediately.

“That was quick!” She swung open the door and pecked him on the cheek.

“I sorta got the impression you were in a hurry, so I didn’t waste any time.”

“I appreciate your coming on such short notice, but this couldn’t wait.”

He followed her into the family room and was greeted by Henry. “Howdy, Hank,” he said, leaning down to give him a pat on the head.

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Amanda said. “He was just neutered last week and is confused enough already.”

“Sorry about that. But I always thought that ‘Henry’ and ‘Hank’ were interchangeable.”

“Not in this case. Want a beer?”

“Sounds great.”

“I’ll be back.”

Alan plopped down on the sofa, his eyes following her as she left the room. Amanda Linville was a classic American beauty—petite with thick, shoulder length brown hair, full lips and a perfectly proportioned figure. He found it hard to believe she was in her early-thirties and even harder to believe that she was actually somewhat attracted to his lamentable self. It had been hard to resist falling under her spell since their unexpected reunion during his last case. Amanda had been Julie’s bridesmaid at their wedding several years ago.

She had also attended Julie’s funeral not so long ago.

Julie had been the love of his life until tragedy suddenly snuffed out their wedded bliss. Terminal cancer. Three months of sheer hell and despair. Alan still wondered how he had managed to survive the terrific pain and loss after her passing.

And now here he was a couple years later smitten by her former friend. The guilt at times was palpable. But that was beginning to change.

Amanda came back into the room, carrying a couple of cold beers. She handed him one.

“Thanks.”

She sat down next to him, took a swig of beer and set it on the coffee table. Not one to beat around the bush, Amanda faced him and promptly came to the point.

“I need your help. I just found out from my mother that an old childhood friend of mine is suspected of murdering his ex-wife in Milldale. I know Nick Wilburn didn’t do it but they’re trying to nail him for it anyway. I want to go down there and see if there’s something I can do to help—along with your help and expertise, of course.”

Alan took a slug of beer. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you, of course. But how can you be so sure your old friend didn’t do it?”

“Simply because he loved Jodi way too much. I know that sounds silly, but you’d have to know the guy as long as I have to understand what I mean. Nick had been hooked up with Jodi since we were all in middle school, for crying out loud. They were always a happy couple and clearly committed to each other. Well, at least until Nick made an error in judgment.”

“And what would that mean, ‘an error in judgment?’”

“He had a brief affair with another woman. But he knew it was wrong and begged Jodi’s forgiveness. She refused to forgive him though and they ended up getting a divorce.”

“No offense, but that sounds exactly like the sort of thing that might launch a once happy couple into a quagmire of ill will, mayhem and violence. Maybe this Nick guy isn’t quite the golden boy you believe him to be.”

“I’m not saying he’s perfect. I’m saying he isn’t a murderer.”

“Okay, assuming he’s innocent, what do you propose I, or we, do to help him out? It sounds like he needs a good lawyer more than anything else.”

“He already has one—my uncle.”

“I see. That’s a good start. So are you suggesting we drive down to Milldale and see what we can find out?”

She nodded. “Exactly. What do you think—will you do it?”

“Like I already said, of course I’ll do it.”

She gave him a big hug. “Thank you!”

“Hey, no thanks needed. I’ve been telling you we’d make a good team, and I see this as an excellent opportunity to find out what we can do. But what about your job? If we get rolling on this, it could take weeks or even months to investigate. Milldale is a couple of hours away.”

“I’ve already figured that out. I’ve got some personal days due me so I’ll just take some time off. At least it’ll be a start. And then we can take it from there.”

“I assume we’ll be doing this pro bono.”

“Not necessarily. I’m going to call Uncle Ken and see if we can work something out. I can’t promise anything and this may well be nothing more than a favor you’ll be doing for me. I want to be up front about that right now.”

“And I’m perfectly okay with that. Hell, I could never have wrapped up the McPherson case if it hadn’t been for you. And since you wouldn’t accept any of the proceeds, the very least I can do is help you out with this.”

“You’re so sweet—I can’t thank you enough,” she said, and gave him a big kiss.

Afterwards he said, “You already have—that just did it.”

* * *

Two days later, Alan and Amanda were heading south on Route 23 en route to Milldale, Ohio. It was a beautiful early summer morning with the slightest chill in the air.

“So tell me about Nick Wilburn,” Alan said, lowering the volume on his car stereo.

“Well, I’ve known Nick for as long as I can remember. Our mothers were good friends and the Wilburns lived a few doors down from us. We were both in this little neighborhood clique including Sherry Lynn Rase—my very best girlfriend—her cousin Martha and Martha’s brother, Jimmy. We were sort of an odd group, now that I think about it, since little boys and girls didn’t play together so much back then. But we all got along really well in spite of the gender gap and grew pretty close over the years.”

Alan chuckled. “About the only time my friends and I played with girls was when we’d tease them or terrorize their little tea parties. So what kind of guy is Nick?”

“A real sweetheart—always nice and very funny. He had big dreams as a child. I remember him wanting to be a fireman when he grew up—not that every other young boy wants to be something cool like that—but it went beyond just being an exciting career choice for Nick. Before making up his mind, he’d already seriously considered the dangers involved, the inevitable boring downtime at the firehouse waiting around for an alarm, the training involved—stuff that most kids that young wouldn’t even consider. But that was Nick—very organized and mature for his age.”

“So the next question would be, did he end up becoming a fireman?”

Amanda laughed. “Nope. Ended up being a used car salesman.”

“So much for childhood dreams, eh? You mentioned that Nick and Jodi had been a couple since middle school. When did they get married?”

“The summer right after high school graduation. Everybody advised them to wait a few years to get settled into the real world before tying the knot so young but they wouldn’t hear of it. The funny thing is that their respective parents were supportive of their union despite their age, and gave Nick and Jodi their blessings. And wouldn’t you know, they actually did very well starting out. Nick had a good job at a local car dealership and Jodi worked at a beauty salon. They weren’t rich, but they were both responsible wage earners and managed to afford a decent apartment to live in. They later bought a house out in the country and seemed to be on top of the world. Until the shit hit the fan.”

“When Nick got caught screwing around.”

Amanda nodded. “Keep in mind that I had long since moved out of Milldale before the end of high school so I may not have all the facts straight. My mother has been filling me in with the latest news over the years and the last time I saw either Nick or Jodi was at their wedding.”

“Not quite the same as being there.”

“Of course not. So maybe I do have an inflated opinion of Nick Wilburn and his marriage. But I can say with one hundred percent certainty that he did not murder Jodi, no matter how bad things may have become between them.”

Alan said, “The bottom line is that we need to find out what all he’s been up to since the breakup from his wife. I wonder if he got back with the girl who had caused all the trouble. Do you happen to know?”

“I have no idea. All I know about this girl is that she was quite a bit younger and lived out of town.”

“Not by any chance in the same town Nick lives in now?”

“Don’t know the answer to that, either. I do know that he’s been living somewhere in Indiana and that he still sells cars. Mom’s never mentioned where the girl lives.”

“A lot of holes to be filled in. What did your uncle have to say when you called him?”

“He told me I’d have to wait until we got in town before he’d discuss anything about the case.”

“What did he think of your dragging me along?”

“He was thrilled! He’s heard of you and is familiar with the two big cases you’ve worked on. You might say he’s a fan.”

“Jesus, I didn’t know I was that notorious.”

“See, you’re getting a name for yourself. I was going to wait to tell you this, but Uncle Ken hinted that he’s considering hiring you to investigate this case if you’d be willing to accept. So there may be money to be made after all.”

“He would be hiring us, you mean. That would be my only stipulation.”

Amanda smiled. “If you insist.”

“Just wondering, why would your uncle be willing to pay a private investigator for this case? Does he have some personal connection with Nick Wilburn, or is he just feeling generous?”

“Uncle Ken is a one of a kind guy. He became a defense lawyer because he really resents the injustices in our legal system and wants to do something about it. He’s so pissed off at the absurd outcomes of cases like the OJ trial that he’s become a man with a mission. In fact, most of the cases he takes are pro bono—cases that he feels warrant decent representation for innocent folks who really need it. He’s tired of the way the rich hire high-powered lawyers that get their clients off scot free while those without the means so often get screwed by the system.”

“I admire his cause,” Alan said. “But how does he afford to work for free? I mean, how does he make a living?”

“To be blunt, Uncle Ken is very well off so he can afford to do it. Several years ago, he invented some gizmo that increases the efficiency of producing electric power from solar energy and had it patented. The thing has brought him in a small fortune. My uncle is one of those guys who can do just about anything and tinkering around with electronic devices happens to be one of them. He went into law rather late in life because of his interest in the justice system but his first love has always been mechanical engineering.”

“Hmm, interesting. I’m looking forward to meeting this guy.”

“I think the feeling’s mutual,” Amanda said.

They fell silent and Alan stared out at the scenery, thinking of the woman sitting beside him and how comfortable he felt being with her. It had been awkward several months ago when he’d first taken her out for a drink while working the McPherson case. The devastating loss of his wife and the guilt he’d felt socializing with her old college roommate had kept his inner emotions at bay. He knew his love for Julie would never die and the last thing on his mind had been starting a relationship with anybody, ever—much less a close friend of his beloved wife.

But as time went by, he’d allowed himself to embrace the possibility of having a romantic relationship with Amanda. There were even times he could imagine Julie looking down on him, giving him and Amanda her blessing, wanting him to move on with his life. Those were the times he would admit to himself he was falling hard for Amanda and that was how it was supposed to be.

Now they were about to take on a case involving an old friend of hers. When she had first mentioned Jodi Wilburn’s murder, he suddenly realized how little he knew about Amanda Linville and her past. He’d always assumed she was from Mansfield, not some tiny dot on the map in southern Ohio. She showed a capacity for loyalty and conviction that he admired and respected. Here was some guy she hadn’t seen for years that she felt obliged to help out—from out of the clear blue, no less. How many people did he know who would be willing to go out on a limb to help an old childhood friend like that?

Damn few, if any.

Alan started thinking ahead, wondering if it was possible to take on Amanda as a partner in his business and be in love with her at the same time. That was the other fly in the ointment in his burgeoning relationship with Amanda. They worked well together—he had discovered in his last case—and he was impressed with how Amanda’s remarkable insight complemented his own line of thinking. She’d been able to fill in the blanks and compel him to see things from another perspective. He’d been so impressed by her input that he could only imagine what a great investigative team they would make.

But at what price? Would he be jeopardizing a romantic future with Amanda by making her an associate? He didn’t know.

The only thing he knew for sure was that this case would help answer that question, and he was looking forward to seeing how it panned out.

He glanced over to find that Amanda appeared to be deep in thought as well, staring out the passenger window at the landscape. What he wouldn’t give to know what she was thinking at that moment.

CHAPTER 3

“What’s the population of this place?” Alan asked. They had just passed a battered, washed-out sign saying, “Welcome to Milldale: A Great Place to Work and Play!”

“About fourteen thousand and falling fast,” Amanda replied drily.

“Something tells me you don’t miss the place so much.”

“And you couldn’t be more correct. In another couple of blocks, take a left.”

Alan observed two gas stations, a carryout, a Wendy’s and a run down bar all just inside the city limits and he could already sense the vibe of a town that was headed swiftly for the skids. He’d been here before several years ago on his way south to Florida and he could see that little had changed, except perhaps for the worse.

“Here,” Amanda said.

Alan swung a left and saw that they were in a residential area of town. The houses were large and well kept, in stark contrast to the shabby vista that had greeted them only a moment ago. He wondered if whoever ran the town had ever considered making the place look a bit more inviting to folks passing through.

“This looks like a pretty nice neighborhood,” he noted.

“It is a nice neighborhood, actually. The whole town is quite beautiful in fact for the most part. The trouble is how it’s been run through the years and how nobody ever tries to move into the future. It’s like a time warp here, as you will soon see. Clothes, hairstyles, fads, and so on—at least five years behind the rest of the country.”

“Surely it’s not all that bad.”

“Oh yeah it is, you’ll see.”

Traffic was light as they drove along a main drag and Alan saw homeowners mowing lawns and sitting on their porches. The place was neat and clean as far as he could see.

“Take a right at the next intersection.”

Alan turned onto a street that eventually curved upward and cut along a hill. The houses became larger and more luxurious the further he drove and it didn’t take a business degree to see that this was one of the more affluent areas of Milldale. Amanda pointed to a gated driveway.

“Pull over there.”

Alan pulled up to the gate and stopped. “You’re shitting me, right?”

She smiled. “This is where he lives.”

“I think I’m in the wrong line of work.”

All of a sudden the electric gate swung open as Alan noticed a three-story stone house jutting above the trees further up the drive. He pulled ahead and thought of how surreal it seemed—this obviously high-end estate sticking out so prominently amidst this financially strapped hamlet in southern Ohio.

He remained silent as they rounded the driveway and pulled up to a three-car garage. A tall, thin middle-aged man with hair graying at the temples emerged from a side door and walked toward the car as they climbed out of the Pilot.

Amanda ran over to him.

“Hi, Uncle Ken!”

The man embraced Amanda. “Hi honey, how was your trip?”

“Fine. I’d like you to meet Alan Swansea.”

He shook Alan’s hand. “Ken Barker, Alan.”

“Nice to meet you.”

They followed Ken inside and were immediately greeted by a frisky golden doodle that jumped up onto Amanda.

“You must be Tilda,” she said, accepting a big kiss from the friendly dog. “I’ve heard all about you.”

“She’s still got some manners to learn,” Ken said, looking at Alan. “Dumber than a box of rocks but makes up for it with her overzealous love for humans.”

“Pretty dog,” Alan said.

“Let’s go into the family room—you guys must be thirsty. What can I get you?”

“I’d just like some ice water,” Amanda said.

“Me, too—thanks,” said Alan.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Ken said.

Amanda led the way through the beautifully appointed kitchen to her uncle’s family room. Alan looked the place over, impressed with the decor of the spacious yet homey room.

“Jesus, what an awesome place.”

Amanda nodded. “Uncle Ken’s been living here for about ten years now. You’d be surprised how cheap he got it for,” she added under her breath.

“Cheap?”

“Dirt cheap. As you can imagine, this town is a real buyers’ market. What would cost several million in Columbus sells for a fraction in this little burg.”

Ken entered the room carrying a couple of glasses of ice water. He handed them to Alan and Amanda, motioned for them to sit down on the sectional sofa and sat across from them in a luxurious leather recliner chair.

“So how long has it been since I last saw you?” he asked Amanda. “Must be over a year ago.”

“It was almost exactly two years ago. You had stopped in to see Mom on your way back from Cleveland.”

“That’s right—I’d been up there checking up on a client’s brother. And how long has it been since you’ve been in Milldale?”

“Gee, at least five or six years, I guess.”

“Much too long! I know you don’t like this place but it wouldn’t kill you to come down and see your uncle every now and then,” he smiled mock accusingly. “Your mom’s apparently not too thrilled with your visiting practices either.”

“I know, and I’ve apologized to her. Like I told you, it’s been pretty crazy up in Columbus and kind of hard to get away. I promised Mom I’d go see her very soon, though.”

“So tell me Alan, what’s the latest on the Chloe McPherson case? I’ve been following that one closely, especially after finding out that Mandy was involved. Kudos for a job well done, by the way. Any idea when it’s going to trial?”

“Early next year, the last I heard. Markham’s also going to be tried in Philadelphia for the other murder he committed.”

“Hope they fry him. Anybody who would murder a child should be tortured and put to death very slowly. Although I’m a defense lawyer, I’m not against the death penalty for scum like that.”

“I hear you.”

Ken leaned forward in the chair. “I’m sure both of you are wanting to learn more about Nick Wilburn so I’ll get right to it. As you already know, Nick is suspected of murdering his ex-wife. And to put it mildly, there is substantial evidence suggesting he’s guilty, according to the authorities. For one thing, Nick is purportedly one of the very few who knew of Jodi’s sizable inheritance and that she had stashed it away in a hidden safe he had installed in their basement a while back. According to Jodi’s father, she didn’t trust banks and therefore kept everything of value in that safe. Her father is pretty certain that only Jodi, Nick and the immediate family knew of this eccentric quirk of hers.

“Adding more fuel to the fire is this: Nick has been living in Richmond, Indiana for the past year but had traveled to Milldale on the very same day Jodi was murdered. This would seem of little importance except for the fact that the last time Nick was known to be in Milldale was over six months ago. So it seems more than a little coincidental that Nick shows up in town on the same day his wife is murdered after being away for such a long period of time.”

“Does he have an alibi?” Alan asked.

“Sort of, but it’s uncorroborated. He claims that he drove to town to visit his parents, take care of some business and pick up a few personal items to take back to Richmond. Only problem is that nobody can verify where he was within the time frame they believe Jodi was killed. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg. The cops also discovered some incriminating evidence in Nick’s car.”

“What was that?”

“A metal box filled with old gold and silver coins. Those coins had belonged to Jodi’s grandmother and were part of the inheritance she’d left her.”

“Oh Lord,” Amanda said. “What does Nick have to say about that?”

“Claims that Jodi gave him those coins the last time he was in town. I guess he’s been an avid coin collector for years and had known of Jodi’s grandmother’s stash of old coins while they were still married. He had asked Jodi one day if he could have those coins after she passed and Jodi promised him he could. So Jodi was simply keeping her promise.”

“That’s sort of hard to swallow, don’t you think?” Alan said. “From what Amanda has told me, Jodi didn’t want a thing to do with Nick once she found out he’d been cheating on her. Yet she turns the other cheek and gives him a bunch of valuable coins just because she’d promised them to him back in better times?”

Ken shook his head. “I know—it seems pretty hard to fathom. But like Mandy, I truly don’t believe that Nick murdered Jodi so I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. I just think the poor man was in the wrong place at the wrong time and has rotten luck.”

“But even if Nick were lying about the coins, I don’t see how that necessarily implicates him for Jodi’s murder. I mean, why would he keep just the coins and none of the rest of the loot in his car? I’m assuming the coins were all they found.”

“The police believe that Nick stashed the loot somewhere, but for some reason didn’t include the coins. Not an unreasonable theory, really.”

“But why would Nick have the coins in his car if he didn’t steal them? Seems like an odd thing to have just lying around.”

“He claims that he brought them along to see if he could find a buyer for them. He’s been having some financial difficulties and had decided to sell the coins if he could get a good price for them. Says he had planned on giving Bill Mayer a call to see if he’d be interested in purchasing them. Bill’s a pretty well-known coin collector around the tri-state area.”

“I don’t suppose Nick talked to Mayer prior to being picked up by the police.”

“No. So again, there’s nothing to corroborate his story.”

“Poor Nick,” Amanda said. “Is there any more bad news we should know about?”

“I’m afraid so,” Ken said. “And it may be the worst.”

“How much worse can it get?”

“Decide for yourself,” Ken replied. “The authorities have gained access to Nick’s cellphone records and discovered that he placed a call to Jodi around the same time he arrived in town.”

“Jesus,” Alan said. “Did she answer his call?”

Ken nodded. “They had a brief conversation.”

“And what did they talk about?”

“Nick claims he’d just called to see how she was doing. Although Jodi told him she was pissed at him for calling, she filled him in on what she’d been up to and that was pretty much it—end of conversation.”

“So of course the cops believe he was actually casing Jodi out.”

“Exactly. The timing of that call couldn’t be more critical to the case. The call was placed at 8:47 AM—giving Nick just enough time to rob and murder his ex-wife and arrive at his folks home by 9:30.”

“It still doesn’t sound like there’s enough concrete evidence to convict him,” Alan said. “Except for the possibly of the coins, is there any physical evidence linking him to the crime?”

“No, but there’s certainly plenty of damaging circumstantial evidence. There were no signs of forced entry, so there’s a very good chance that Jodi knew who the murderer was—but not necessarily. Nick’s fingerprints were found all over the house but luckily they can’t prove that any of the prints were fresh and the ones they found could very well be old prints made by Nick when he lived there. After all, he and Jodi lived in that house as a couple for nearly a decade—so there’s bound to be some of his fingerprints still around.

“As for any other forensic evidence, nothing substantial has been uncovered thus far. What they know for certain is that the cause of Jodi’s death was strangulation by ligature, most likely a lamp cord or similar object. There were signs of assault—some bruises and a cut lip. The murder weapon has not been discovered, however. No prints other than Jodi’s and Nick’s were found at the scene, no evidence of sexual assault and no trace DNA recovered. Whoever killed Jodi was very careful not to leave anything incriminating behind.”

Ken paused for a moment before continuing. Alan could see the deep concern on his face. “There’s also been one recent development I want to share with you, and it’s my fervent hope that nothing comes of it. I just so happened to overhear something yesterday at the courthouse that could break this thing wide open.”

“What’s that?” Amanda asked, literally holding her breath.

“The sheriff’s department may have found an eyewitness who can put Nick Wilburn near the scene of the crime. Keep in mind that this hasn’t been confirmed and may be a rumor or some sort of scare tactic—the local law enforcers have been known to stir the pot on occasion. I’ll be frank—none of the authorities, especially the Sheriff’s department, has been very forthcoming or cooperative in this case from the get-go. It’s as though they’re hell-bent on proving Nick Wilburn’s guilt and not looking at anybody else. And that’s what really concerns me.”

“I’ve always thought the cops in this town were corrupt,” Amanda said. “And this just confirms it.”

“Well, I’m not so sure about that, honey. But unless something breaks, or another suspect suddenly materializes, I’m afraid Nick is going to continue being their prime suspect.”

“Is there any chance we can go to the crime scene?” Alan asked.

“The scene has been cleared and I picked up the key from Jodi’s father yesterday. But before we make a single move in this case, we need to discuss a couple of things. First of all, I’d like to know if you’d be interested in working on this case, Alan. I’ll be honest, I need somebody like you to get to the bottom of this and help me determine what’s fact and what’s fiction.”

“It would be my pleasure. Not only does it sound interesting, but I owe your niece big time for helping me thwart the bad guy in the McPherson case.”

“Wonderful! Now with regard to your services—what are your rates and conditions?”

“I’ll be honest, Ken. I view this as something I’d like to do for Amanda and her friend. It will also be sort of a test of sorts to see how well the two of us can work together. Has she told you we’ve been considering teaming up in my practice?”

“Why no, this is a total surprise. Is that true, Mandy?”

“More or less,” she replied. “Although Alan’s a bit more enthusiastic about it than I am. For some reason he thinks I could provide valuable insight into his investigations—be ‘the missing component,’ as he puts it. I’m flattered of course, but I think he’s giving me a little more credit than I deserve. At any rate, I told him I’m not opposed to giving it a try, and I’d be lying if I said this whole investigation thing isn’t fascinating.”

“I think that’s wonderful. But I insist on paying you both for your services. It wouldn’t be right, otherwise.”

“Tell you what,” Alan said. “Let’s see how things go and take it from there. Play it by ear. How does that sound?”

“Very well,” Ken said with some resignation.

“Where’s Nick now?” Amanda asked. “I really want to see him.”

“At his parents’ house,” Ken replied.

“They still live on Highland Drive?”

“Same place. I informed Nick that you were coming down today and he was elated, to say the least. He can’t wait to see you—and told me to have you call him when you arrive so you could get together.”

“Great, I’ll call him right now. You have his number? Hey, come to think of it, I still remember it if it hasn’t changed,” Amanda said, reaching for her phone.

CHAPTER 4

Amanda ended her call to Nick Wilburn and glanced at her uncle. “He wants us to come over as soon as we can.”

“Let’s go, then. We’ll take my car,” Ken offered.

On the way to Nick’s parents, Alan was lost in thought. Something didn’t seem right. For one thing, he felt odd sitting there in the passenger seat, being driven around on a new case in unfamiliar turf. He wasn’t in any sort of control at all. This feeling of insecurity made him question if teaming up with Amanda was such a good idea after all. He had always worked cases on his own with little or no help from anybody else, except for Charlie Ling. Charlie was his computer hacker friend and quasi-associate whenever he needed the computer geek’s unique, invaluable services. But beyond his relationship with Charlie, Alan had basically been a loner, and quite comfortable in that position.

On the other hand he enjoyed having somebody to bounce ideas off of and get input from. And even though this case was beginning to feel like some sort of family affair, he would keep his mind open and see where it all went.

They arrived at a two-story brick home and parked out behind a blue late model Toyota RAV4.

“Nick’s SUV?” Alan asked.

Ken nodded. “Yup.”

They got out and Alan took a moment to peek through the Toyota’s window. In the backseat were several of the items he presumed Nick planned on taking back to Indiana.

If he ever got the chance, that is.

“My old house is right there, just a few doors down,” Amanda said, pointing toward a similar two-story home.

Alan said, “I’ll bet you have a lot of memories of this neighborhood.”

She nodded. “Plenty. I really did like growing up here. Everybody was so friendly all the time.”

Amanda led the way up a narrow stairway to the front porch. She knocked on the door and a moment later a man wearing a Cincinnati Reds ball cap over closely cropped hair opened the door, stepped outside and gave Amanda a big hug.

“Damn, it’s good to see you!” Nick Wilburn said.

“Me, too,” Amanda replied. “Sorry it has to be under these circumstances.”

After the embrace, she motioned to Alan and said, “This is Alan Swansea, Nick.”

Alan shook the man’s hand, noting the telltale signs of stress and anxiety written all over his drawn face.

“Nice meeting you. Let’s go inside—Mom and Dad are dying to see you, Mandy.”

They followed Nick into the living room where a man and woman in their early to mid-sixties were sitting on the sofa. They immediately stood up and came over to greet them.

“You look as beautiful as always,” Nick’s mother said, embracing Amanda. “It’s so wonderful to see you after all this time.”

As Nick’s father gave Amanda a hug, Alan noticed the same stress and despair on Nick’s parents’ faces. He recalled Amanda mention of the family’s other problems and he could see that this latest one had taken its toll.

“Have a seat,” Nick said. He looked over at Ken. “I’ve asked Mom and Dad to let us talk privately if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine. Are you okay with that?” he asked the elderly Wilburns.

“If Nick feels better not having us around, we’ll just make ourselves disappear,” Mr. Wilburn said.

“But before we leave, would any of you like something to drink?” Mrs. Wilburn added.

When no one replied, she said, “Well, just holler if you need anything at all. And don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye, Mandy Linville!”

“I won’t,” she smiled.

After they left the room, Nick said, “Thanks for coming down—both of you. This whole mess has just about killed my folks and I hope to hell I get cleared before things get any worse. Mom’s got cancer and Dad just got laid off last month. I feel so damn guilty now that all this shit has come up and added to their misery.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of this,” Amanda said. “You have the best lawyer in town on your side—you’ll see that justice is served, right Uncle Ken?”

“I’ll do my best. We’ll all be working together to get this sorted out.”

“I really appreciate it, you guys. I’m in really deep shit, here—I need all the help I can get.”

“You’ve got to try and be positive, Nick” Amanda said. “They haven’t even charged you with anything yet. You’re acting as though you’ve already been tried and convicted!”

“No wonder. Ken was telling me what he heard at the courthouse—that some neighbor claims to have seen me near the house around the time Jodi was murdered. That’s utter bullshit—it’s obvious that I’m being set up!”

“Can you think of anybody who might want to do that?” Alan asked.

Nick shook his head. “Nobody. I mean, I may not be the most popular guy in Milldale since Jodi and I split up, but I can’t think of anyone who hates me enough to do this kind of shit. I swear, it was the stupidest thing I’ve done in my life, hooking up with that girl. It was the beginning of the end for me. And now—this happens.”

“I am so sorry about Jodi,” Amanda said. “I know how much you loved her.”

“That’s what I don’t get about this. How in the hell could anybody think I’d murder the only woman I’ve ever loved? I’m no idiot—I know the spouse or ex-spouse is always the first person the cops look at when something like this happens. I get that. But I didn’t do this, man—you gotta believe me!”

“We believe you, Nick. Everyone in this room believes you, or we wouldn’t be here,” Amanda said.

“Why don’t you tell Alan and Mandy about that day, Nick,” Ken said.

“Okay,” he replied. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “So the used car business has been shit lately with the economy and all so I figured I’d drive down here and look up Bill Mayer. Jodi had given me some old coins that her grandma left her when she passed and I figured I’d sell them to Bill to pick up some extra cash. I also wanted to collect some of the stuff I’ve been wanting to take back to Richmond.

“I hadn’t talked to Jodi for months so I decided to give her a call to see how she was doing on my way into town. I’ll level with you; I’d called her several times before but she’d never pick up once she saw it was me on her caller ID. But that day she actually answered, which totally surprised me. Although she wasn’t exactly friendly, it was better than nothing. So we talked for a few minutes—just idle chat—and then she told me she had to go. I was bummed we didn’t talk longer but at the same time it was nice to just hear her voice for a change.”

Nick fell silent, his eyes clouding up. Alan could see that he was struggling to compose himself. He knew exactly what Nick was going through—he had experienced the same emotions himself after he’d lost Julie. He felt certain this man was innocent. His pain was too real, his loss too genuine.

Nick managed to compose himself and continued. “Sorry about that. So then I got here at around 9:30, ate breakfast with the folks, and spent the rest of the day puttering around in the attic looking for the stuff I want to take back with me. That evening, we had no sooner sat down for dinner and the phone rang. It was Jodi’s cousin. He told me that Jodi was dead.

“I was in total denial. I remember thinking for a split-second that this was some kinda sick joke—Tommy Brooks has always been sort of a prick and I figured he was just making it up to get back at me for cheating on his cousin. When I finally realized he was serious, I asked him how she died and he just said they’d found her murdered out at our house. I started freaking out and asked him if they’d caught who did it and he said no and then hung up.

“I remember just standing there speechless with the phone still in my hand. Mom and Dad were staring at me, trying to make out what the call had been about. I told them that Jodi had been killed and we all just started bawling—I was fucking shell-shocked, man.

“After I got over the initial shock, all I wanted to do was find whoever killed Jodi and blow him away. I stormed out of the kitchen and ran down to the basement to get my twelve-gauge. Dad followed me down and told me to hand it over to him, and that all I was going to do was get myself in trouble if I took off carrying a loaded shotgun like some kind of lunatic. At first I refused— told him that I wanted justice—but he finally talked me out of it. Once I saw how scared and concerned he was, I decided not to get him any more upset. He managed to convince me that there was nothing I could do and that I should just let the cops handle it. Well, you can see where that’s gotten me.”

“Your father was right, though,” Ken said. “Can you imagine how much worse this would be if the police had caught you driving around town with a loaded shotgun in your car?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I didn’t want to just stand around doing nothing about it. Jesus, who in the hell would want to murder that sweet girl? That’s all I could think about. That, and how I had just spoken to her a few hours ago. Then all the guilt suddenly hit me like a freight train. How I’d cheated on her and destroyed our marriage. And how she never deserved any of this shit. I—”

Amanda went over and put a comforting arm around him. “It’s okay, Nick. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“But I fucked everything up, Mandy! If I hadn’t screwed up, I would have been with her and none of this would ever have happened. Jodi would still be alive.”

“You know that’s not true. You can’t beat up yourself over something you couldn’t control. Even if you two had still been together, you could have been away at work that day, or just running to the grocery for a gallon of milk when she was attacked. It wouldn’t have changed a thing.”

He just shook his head.

“When did the police interview you?” Alan asked.

“The first time was later that evening. They came to the house about an hour after Tommy had called. After informing me that Jodi was dead, they asked me where I’d been for the last twenty-four hours. I told them that I’d been at my home in Richmond the night before and had driven to Milldale that morning. I said I’d left at around six-thirty and got in town around nine-thirty.

“I then proceeded to tell them what I just told you—that I’d driven straight here and stayed in the house all day. I could tell they didn’t believe me, even after my parents confirmed I had never left the house.

“Then they asked me when I’d last seen Jodi. I told them I hadn’t seen her in six months—when I’d come down here over the holidays. I had dropped in on Jodi to wish her a Merry Christmas.”

“And how did that go?” Alan asked.

“Not too bad, really. She’d been in pretty good spirits and asked me about my life in Richmond and if I was still selling cars—shit like that. I asked her if she was seeing anybody and she said no—that she was ‘through with men,’ was how she put it.”

“Tell them what she gave you that day,” Ken said.

“Oh yeah. I asked her if she’d still let me have her grandma’s old coins she’d promised me a ways back. She wasn’t thrilled at the prospect but still kept her word. Shocked the hell out of me.”

“Those coins have ended up being a curse, as it turns out,” Ken said. “If it weren’t for them being found in your car, the cops would have very little to go on.”

“Tell me about that, Nick,” Alan said. “When did they discover the coins?”

“The next day. After their first interrogation, they strongly advised me to stay in town. Then they came over with a search warrant the next morning and found the coins in my car. That’s when I decided to give Ken a call—I knew I was in deep shit then.”

“They wanted to arrest him right then but changed their minds after contacting the D.A’s office,” Ken explained. “Jack Spradlin is a meticulous prosecutor who likes to leave no stones unturned. He knew there wasn’t enough on Nick to convict him, so they had to back off. That was before they had subpoenaed his cellphone records, however, and discovered that he had called Jodi earlier that morning within the time frame they believe she was murdered. Now they think he was casing her out before going to her home and murdering her, which pretty much leads us to where we are now.”

“So what are we gonna do now?” Nick asked.

“You are going to just lay low and not go anywhere,” Ken said. “Have you called your boss yet?”

“Yeah. That’s what will happen next—he’ll fire my ass and then I’ll really be screwed.”

“Surely he doesn’t think you’re guilty,” Amanda said.

“No, but like I told you, auto sales have been down lately and he’s already laid off one guy. So it’d be no skin off his teeth to let me go, too—especially now that this has all gone down. Jesus, what a mess!”

“You have to stay positive, Nick. It’s very important. Let us do what we need to do and you stay here out of trouble.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

CHAPTER 5

“I feel so sorry for him,” Amanda said as they pulled out of the Wilburn driveway. “His ex-wife—the love of his life—has just been murdered and he’s the prime suspect. All he can do now is just sit around and think, and wait, wondering if he’s going to eventually be arrested for murder. Add to that the fact that his mother has cancer and his father is jobless. That’s an awful lot to handle. We’ve got to do something, Uncle Ken.”

“I hear you, sweetie. And the first thing I’m going to do is try to find out if there really is a neighbor claiming to have seen Nick around his and Jodi’s house on the day of the murder. I’m having a problem believing that, assuming that everything Nick has told us is true.”

“You do believe him, don’t you?” Amanda said.

“Honestly? I’m about ninety percent in belief. But although my gut feeling says Nick didn’t kill his wife, I still haven’t seen enough evidence to be convinced he didn’t. In this business, you have to imagine yourself as one of the jurors. Forget that you know anything about the suspect and focus on the evidence that’s being presented to you. And as a juror in this case, I’m not seeing or hearing any solid evidence proving beyond a reasonable doubt that Nick is innocent. All I’ve heard is what he’s told me. He has no solid alibi and there’s substantial circumstantial evidence that is incriminating and can’t be overlooked.”

Amanda fell silent, lost in thought.

“The first thing I want to do is check out the crime scene,” Alan said. “How soon can we do that?”

“Anytime—I have the key back at the house. Why don’t you two go on out to the Wilburn house while I go see about any progress that’s been made on the investigation? I’ll meet you out there afterwards.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Ten minutes later Alan and Amanda were heading west on Route 52 in the direction of Jodi and Nick’s former rural home.

“I have to ask—why does everybody down here call you Mandy?”

She made a pained face. “That was what I went by as a child. As you can see it’s sort of stuck.”

“But you prefer Amanda?”

“Hell yes. When my family finally moved out of this place the first thing I did was tell everyone in Mansfield my name was Amanda. I saw my new name, which is my birth name, as a symbol of my new life. Besides that, I’ve pretty much hated Mandy from the moment I heard the Barry Manilow tune the first time. Couldn’t stand that sappy song and hated it even more after I found out he’d wrote it about his dog!”

Alan laughed. “I hear you—never been much of a Manilow fan myself.”

“So what do you think, so far?” Amanda asked.

“About the case? Not much to say this early on. About all I’m sure of is that we have a real uphill climb ahead of us. Like your uncle said, there really isn’t anything indicating that Nick didn’t do this. We need some solid evidence proving otherwise.”

“Do you think he’s being set up?”

“Hmm, I don’t know—it’s possible, I guess. But you’d have to wonder why anybody would want to set him up in the first place. Who could benefit by doing that? So far I haven’t heard squat about Jodi’s life since Nick and her split up. Is there somebody she knew who might have a motive for making off with her valuables rather than the obvious one? Was killing her the prime objective, or an afterthought after the burglary? Was all of this done just to frame Nick? It could go in several different directions.”

“I wonder if there’s any way to prove that Nick has had those old coins since Christmas? That would sure take some of the heat off of him.”

“My guess is that Ken has already investigated that and it was a dead end. Your uncle seems very much on the ball—I can’t see him overlooking that option. But it wouldn’t hurt to make sure, just in case. We’ll ask him about it when we get back.”

Alan switched playlists on his iPhone, inched up the volume and settled back in his seat. He was impressed that Amanda was thinking like an investigator and it made him smile. Although he’d bet his last dollar her uncle had already grilled Nick about the coins, she had nevertheless thought of a potential angle that could help prove Nick’s innocence. That was a good thing.

He was antsy to get to the Wilburn house. Until he stood at the actual scene of a crime, he never felt adequately oriented enough to go any further than speculation or theory. There was potentially a wealth of information to be gleaned there—and although the local authorities had already combed the Wilburn house for evidence, there was always the slim chance they had missed something that could be valuable to the case. He’d seen it happen before.

“How much longer?” he asked.

She glanced down at the directions Ken had printed out for her. “About ten minutes.”

“Jesus, it really is out in the boonies.”

“I told you.”

They had been driving on a state highway that ran parallel to the Ohio River. From the moment they left the Milldale city limits, the entire landscape switched from small town charm to countryside. Large wood frame farmhouses, vast cornfields and the occasional gas station/convenient mart dotted the landscape. To the north were rolling foothills that seemed endless, giving a nestled-in feeling to the surroundings. He imagined that this place was absolutely beautiful in the fall.

“Take a right up ahead,” Amanda said.

Alan hung a right onto a two-lane asphalt road. They passed a couple of modest frame houses before coming upon a fork in the road.

“Bear to the left.”

As he turned left they approached a bridge that crossed a small creek. Alan instinctively turned down the music, sensing they would be nearing the place soon. He opened his window all the way, hearing the sounds of the flowing water, birds chirping and bugs chatting. It was very peaceful out here, he had to admit.

They passed a couple more homes before Amanda directed him to pull onto a gravel road that led up a slight hill to a two-story yellow frame house. He pulled up to the side and parked a few feet from the garage entrance.

“Here we are.”

“No vehicles here,” Alan said, noticing that the one-car garage was empty.

“Mr. Brooks may have already picked up Jodi’s car.”

He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s do this.”

They got out and headed toward the front porch. As he searched for the key in his pocket, Alan gazed around the property. There were probably a couple acres of land cleared out around the home and hillside everywhere else. A decent-sized garden had been dug out in the backyard off to the side. There wasn’t another house in sight and the quiet was almost stifling. It was as though their sudden presence at this death house had scared all of the living things away.

He unlocked the door and entered the house. There was a small foyer leading back to the kitchen and the living room was off to the right. A stairway to the second floor stood across the foyer to his left. He studied the living room and sensed that Jodi Wilburn had been a dedicated homemaker in spite of the disarray left by the crime scene investigators. The gleaming hardwood floors, tasteful furniture, and art furnishings lent a comfortable feel to the place. He could almost imagine Nick’s ex-wife enjoying a good book as she lounged on the off-white leather sofa, rays of sun beaming in through the large window in diagonal slants across the floor.

“Nice place,” he said.

“It really is,” Amanda replied. “I can’t believe that Jodi was murdered here. It seems so surreal—and creepy.”

“I know what you mean. I haven’t been involved in many murder cases but I can vividly remember the first murder scene I investigated. There was a certain feel to the place that was indescribable but omnipresent. Like some sort of dull force field. I feel that same sensation here.”

Alan opened the three-ring notebook Ken had given him. Inside was a copy of the police crime scene investigation along with notes the attorney had jotted down in the margins. The report stated that Jodi’s body had been discovered after her mother hadn’t heard from her the day she’d been murdered. Ken noted that Jodi always called her every morning after she’d had breakfast since the divorce. Her mother insisted she call because of concerns about her daughter living alone in such an isolated area. Around noon, having not heard from Jodi and receiving nothing but her voicemail greeting when she called, Nancy Brooks phoned her husband, who in turn drove out to the house to check on her. That’s when he found Jodi’s body in her bedroom.

How horrible that must have been, he thought.

Included in the notebook was a layout of the house and printed out copies of photos taken of the scene. Apparently there had been nothing of forensic value discovered in the living room with the exception of Nick’s fingerprints on some of the surfaces. The presence of his prints had appeared randomly throughout the house but primarily in obscure surfaces he had most likely been in contact with back when he used to live here.

“Let’s go down to the basement—I want to see this hidden safe.”

The basement door was located in the kitchen according to the layout so Alan led the way back toward the rear of the house. The kitchen had been recently updated and looked out of place in the old country home with its gleaming granite counters and stainless steel sink and appliances. Alan went over to one of the cabinets and peaked inside at the contents. The report noted that the dishes and glassware had all been dusted for prints and the only ones present had been Jodi’s.

“This kitchen looks like it was recently updated,” Amanda noted.

“It does. What did Jodi do for a living?”

“Mom said she was still a hairdresser and worked at one of the salons in town. She was apparently one of the best around and had a lot of clients.”

“She must have done pretty well for herself. A lot of money has been spent on this house from what I can see.”

Alan went over to the basement door and opened it. He switched on the lights and headed downstairs with Amanda following behind. He looked around and saw the laundry room and made a beeline for it. Immediately he noticed a six-foot section of wall jutting out at a forty-five degree angle from the far right corner of the room, revealing a tiny room with a safe sitting in the middle of the floor.

A false wall.

“This is impressive,” he said as they approached the room. “The wall looks like it’s been designed to swing like a door. I wonder how Nick figured out how to build this.”

“I don’t know, but it’s a cool idea.”

Alan went over to the safe, knelt down, saw nothing inside and then examined the area where the false wall was attached to the corner wall of the laundry room. He noticed a steel chain running down along the hidden room wall a few inches, then disappearing into it. The chain looked like it could somehow connect inside the drywall to a water valve sticking out from the other side. Hidden inside the wall was probably a gear and pulley system that made it all work.

Quite a gizmo, he thought. Nick was in the wrong line of work, considering the mechanical know-how required to construct this marvel.

Curious, Alan grabbed the water valve and turned it clockwise. Nothing happened. He pushed in on it and the wall immediately began moving. He quit pushing and the wall stopped. He went over and tried to push the wall with both hands but it wouldn’t budge. Kneeling down, he noticed that there was about a quarter inch of space between the bottom of the swinging wall and the floor. He took out his iPhone, turned on the flashlight and peered inside the crack. Several tiny steel ball bearings made contact with the floor. So that’s how it worked.

He stood up and went over to push the water valve again and the wall swung in like a door until it closed altogether. The tight seam where the moving wall met the existing wall was barely visible and had been meticulously painted and textured to avoid detection.

“Wow.”

Alan stood back and stared at the hidden room, realizing that Jodi Wilburn had stashed her valuables in a place so well-hidden that virtually nobody could ever find it. Yet somebody had.

Or had they?

“If Nick and Jodi were the only ones who knew about this hidden room, how was killer able to find it?” he said.

“I was just wondering the same thing,” Amanda replied. “Somehow the guy had to have already known it was here, you would think. Otherwise, Amanda had deliberately shown him where it was.”

“Like he coerced her in some way?”

“Yeah.”

“But that wouldn’t make much sense. Even if he was threatening Jodi at gunpoint or whatever, it seems she would have kept her mouth shut since giving up this hiding place wouldn’t have spared her life anyway. She had to have guessed there was no way this guy was going to leave any witnesses behind.”

“What if she used the safe as a bargaining tool? Like she tried to make a deal with him: ‘spare my life and I’ll show you where all of my loot is hidden.’”

“Hmm. I guess that’s a possibility. But again, she’d have to be pretty naive to believe he wouldn’t kill her anyway. From what I’ve heard about Jodi so far, she doesn’t sound like the flighty, simple type—correct me if I’m wrong.”

“No, you’re right. She was a very bright gal and would have assumed the guy wasn’t going to let her live.”

“Which brings us back to Nick. If it were Nick, there would be no beating around the bush with this hidden safe. He’d have simply come here, taken the goodies, killed his ex and ran off into the sunset.”

“So now you think he did this, too?” she asked, visibly put off.

“No, I don’t think he did it—I’m just saying it’s starting to look more and more like he could have done it. Which is a bit unsettling, truth be told.”

“But Alan, there’s no way he would have done this! You just have to believe me—Nick is no murderer. And he has always loved and still loves Jodi.”

“Trust me, I really want to believe that, Amanda. But like your uncle, I’m having a hard time not being swayed against it. Seems like every time we turn around on this case, we discover yet another thing that makes Nick look like the perp. I’d like to just once see something, or hear something, that makes me think somebody other than Nick could have done this. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Okay, I see where you’re coming from. But neither you nor Uncle Ken really know Nick the way I do. My mother has known Nick his whole life and she feels the same way I do. I know what you’re going to say—that this is some sort of ‘woman’s intuition’ thing. Well, call it what you want. Nick Wilburn did not murder Jodi.”

“Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll continue as I have all along with this case and give Nick the benefit of the doubt. I am going to be a believer, and keep an open mind. You’re probably not going to believe this, but I have faith in your intuition or whatever we’re going to call it. I’ve seen you use it before and it enabled me to catch Robert Markham. That’s enough for me.”

She gave him a hug. “Thanks for saying that, Alan.”

Alan thumbed through the notebook until he found the page he was looking for.

“You ready to go up to the second floor?”

“Not really. But I told myself I would, so I’m following through with it.”

“You know it’s not necessary. You could just wait downstairs until I get done up there.”

“If I’m really going to be your partner, I’ve got to be able to face reality. And seeing where they found Jodi’s body is about as real as it gets.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Although he knew that the last thing Amanda wanted to do was see where Jodi had been found murdered, he admired her resolve to follow through with it. They had discussed it earlier, while looking through the report and crime scene photos. He had purposely viewed the photos of the body with his back turned, knowing that their graphic nature might be too much for her to bear. When she asked to see them, he suggested that she abstain—that they might give her nightmares. That had been enough to convince her, thankfully.

Truth was, he would probably have nightmares himself. He had never been good around dead bodies. Everything about death and the concept of dying had always freaked him out. When he was a child, violent movie scenes used to terrify him to the point that he’d have to look away whenever a character was about to kill somebody or be killed. Although he knew it was all make-believe, he still couldn’t get past the universal fact that when you’re dead, you’re gone. Gone forever. Like a snuffed-out candle, everything you ever knew, loved, experienced, and hoped for was snuffed out as well. As if you never existed.

His feelings about death had become even more intensified after Julie passed away. He had felt as though his entire life up to that point had suddenly been snuffed out as well. He had no longer wanted to live, really. He’d never been suicidal (he would never invite death to his own doorstep) but what he had known as life and living before Julie’s death had been replaced with an existence without purpose. Just like that, death had obliterated everything he’d ever cared about.

It seemed as though violent death was much more commonplace nowadays. He had to be the only PI who didn’t own a gun. Didn’t believe in them. And although owning a gun was a constitutional right, times had changed exponentially since our forefathers saw it fit that everybody have that right. Back then folks hadn’t been buying assault rifles at Walmart so they could blow away people like they’d swat a fly, for instance. If our forefathers could have foreseen that sort of thing happening some day, they most certainly would have reconsidered adding unconditional gun ownership to the bill of rights.

He and Amanda were at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor.

“You sure you don’t want to change your mind?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

Referring to the layout of the house, he saw that the master bedroom would be past the spare bedroom and the bath on the right. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he could swear he smelled something foul. Like a dead body. This was ludicrous, of course because Jodi’s corpse had been taken to the morgue a week ago. Had to be his mind playing tricks.

They reached the upstairs landing and stopped at the spare bedroom. The room was relatively bare except for a double bed and an antique dressing bureau. The bed had been stripped and processed for evidence and the drawers were all opened. Alan went over and peeked inside the closet, which contained nothing more than women’s clothes and a large collection of designer shoes.

“Even the closets are neat,” he mumbled.

“Considering that the police have been all through this place with a fine-toothed comb, it looks neater than a lot of homes I’ve been in,” Amanda said.

“Gotta say, it makes me wonder just how fine-toothed that comb actually was.”

“Are you suggesting that the cops may have not been as thorough as they could have? It wouldn’t surprise me,” Amanda asked.

“I don’t know—something just doesn’t seem right. I’ve known of crime scenes that were closed off to outsiders for weeks and even months—especially when there has been a homicide involved. Yet this place was cleared after only a couple of days. I mean, I know this is a small town and law enforcement resources probably aren’t what you’d call ‘cutting edge,’ but the fact that there is not one shred of crime scene tape or a police sticker anywhere sorta bothers me.”

“You think that could have something to do with Nick being framed?”

“Hell, I don’t know. We need more facts before we jump to any conclusions. It may well be that the police have documented everything there is to in this place, end of story. Doesn’t mean there’s some kind of major conspiracy going on here.”

Alan entered the room and stood in the doorway, observing the scene. Jodi’s body had been found at the foot of the bed, having been strangled by what the medical examiner concluded was a thin cord of some kind. She had been lying on her right side partially nude. Although there had been strong suspicion of sexual assault, nothing had been found to indicate any activity. She had some bruising on her face from being struck but no other sign of trauma elsewhere other than the horrendous deep cut on her neck resulting from strangulation.

It had appeared as though she’d been caught off guard when she was strangled, judging by the condition of her body. The examiner reported that she had been strangled from behind and therefore virtually powerless against her attacker. Why she had been murdered in her bedroom at the foot of the bed was a mystery.

“They’ve even removed the chalk marks,” Alan said, stepping over to the bed.

“Is that unusual?”

“I guess not, considering that they’re all done documenting the scene. How are you doing?”

“Okay. It’s a little creepy knowing that she murdered right here just days ago. I’m sure glad there isn’t any blood, I have to admit.”

“I’m trying to figure out why the guy killed her here. It might make more sense if she’d been raped first, but she hadn’t been. And since he most likely killed her after clearing out her safe, why go to the bother of bringing her upstairs to murder her?”

“A blowjob, maybe?”

“What?”

“Maybe he forced her to perform oral sex. That might explain why there wasn’t any sign of assault. Would that show up at an autopsy?”

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth. But it’s a good theory. We’ll mention it to your uncle when he gets here—see what he can find out from the coroner. But you don’t need to be in a bedroom for a knob job. That still doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“True.”

“Come to think of it, maybe it wasn’t a blowjob, but something else. Maybe he decided to bring Jodi up here to rape her but then changed his mind. Instead, he ordered her to sit on the floor while he sits directly behind her on the bed. He then takes the ligature and suddenly strangles her.”

“That sounds kinda crazy. Why in the world would he order her to sit on the floor facing away from him in the first place? She would definitely suspect that the next step would be an attack of some kind,” Amanda said.

“Not if he made her think it was for some other reason. Like he was just going to just massage her shoulders or feel her up. Hell, I don’t know! It’s the only thing I can think of right now.”

“I guess if I was being forced to do something in order to stay alive that anything is possible. Jodi was at his mercy and would have done anything he told her to do if it meant not being murdered. So your theory isn’t that crazy after all.”

“Bottom line is that this guy got away with an awful lot without leaving a shred of evidence behind. Of course if Nick had been the perp it would explain a lot. He somehow cons Jodi into the bedroom for sex, strangles her instead and then helps himself to the loot. End of story.”

“I wish you wouldn’t have said that.”

“Sorry.”

“Because it is so damn plausible! Jesus, we have got to come up with something soon before you make me start second-guessing myself about Nick. It’s driving me crazy!”

Alan put a reassuring arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “We will. All we have to do is find somebody who knew about Jodi’s small fortune and how to get it. We need to find out who her friends were and if she had any kind of relationship going on with anybody. The police report is sketchy at best with regard to any interrogations that have been conducted in this case. I mean, other than Jodi’s parents, Nick’s parents, the neighbors and Nick himself, there isn’t indication of any sort of routine interviews having been conducted. That’s a little disturbing.”

“You mean they haven’t even spoken to any of her friends?”

“Not according to this report. We really need to talk to Ken about this.”

As if on cue, they heard somebody open the front door.

“That must be him,” Amanda said.

“Sheriff’s department,” somebody called.

Alan stared at Amanda and saw a look of bewilderment on her face.

CHAPTER 6

On the way down to the first floor, Alan had an ominous feeling about the sudden appearance of law enforcement at the house. Was there some kind of problem with he and Amanda being there? Was the department doing some follow-up work at the scene?

They were about to find out. An obese man around six-foot-three wearing a khaki sheriff’s uniform emerged from the living room just as Alan and Amanda reached the bottom of the stairs. The look on the lawman’s face was flinty.

“Hello, officer,” Alan greeted.

“Would you folks care to tell me what you’re doing here?” he asked.

“My name is Alan Swansea—I’m a private investigator. This is Amanda Linville, my associate. We’re here investigating the murder of Jodi Wilburn.”

“Who hired you, Mr. Swansea?”

“Ken Barker. He’s the attorney representing Nick Wilburn.”

“I’m quite aware of that. And does Mr. Barker know you’re here?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact he’s meeting us here in a while. Is there some kind of problem with our being here, officer?”

“I reckon not, although it would have been nice knowing beforehand you were coming. I was doing a drive-by to check up on the premises and saw your car.”

“I see.”

“You folks don’t look local.”

Amanda said, “I’m originally from here but my family moved away several years ago. Alan and I live in Columbus.”

“Linville, right? Can’t say as I recall that name. And I’ve lived in this area my whole life.”

His apparent skepticism didn’t go unnoticed.

“Well, we lived here my whole life until the summer of ninety-three. Would you like some proof, deputy?”

Alan was in awe of her brashness. She really did resent the local authorities.

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Linville. And I’m the county sheriff—Sheriff Jim Foley. I wasn’t suggesting you were lying—it just seemed odd I’d never heard your family name before is all. Sorry if I offended you.”

“No offense taken.”

“So what are your thoughts about the case, Mr. Swansea?”

“Too early to say, really. We just arrived in town today and know very little about it.”

“I assume you don’t believe the husband did it since you’re working for the defense. Got any ideas of who may have done this then?”

“As I said, it’s too early to tell.”

“So what makes you so damn sure Nick Wilburn didn’t murder his wife? The evidence is pretty damn convincing he’s guilty.”

“I’m not sure that Mr. Barker would want us to answer that, Sheriff. Was your office in charge of the investigation?”

“Yup, sure was. We had some help with the city boys but it’s in our jurisdiction so it’s our case.”

“I have to say I was a little surprised that this place was cleared so soon. I mean, what if there’s a need to re-examine the evidence? The crime scene will have been contaminated.”

“You don’t know much about a criminal investigation, I see. Everything that is relevant to this crime has been carefully recorded and documented. All evidence has been processed, photos have been taken and the place has been cleared. No need to worry about any ‘contamination,’ Mr. Swansea.”

The sheriff’s smug, condescending attitude was wearing thin on Alan. This tub of lard apparently felt some sort of need to show exactly who the boss is around these parts. The man with the big stick.

“I guess you know what’s best, Sheriff. But I’m wondering; if there’s no longer any need to worry about people walking freely around this place, why are you still doing drive-bys?”

The man’s face suddenly turned beet red. “That’s none of your damn business. And you know what? You’re both starting to annoy me with all this bullshit. Why Barker has decided to hire some big-city Colombo to investigate this no-brainer case is way beyond me, I can tell you that. You’re wasting your time here, Swansea. You and the little lady should go back to Columbus and solve the world’s problems there.”

“Believe me, we won’t be able to get out of this hellhole, hick-town soon enough once we’ve proven Nick Wilburn’s innocence!” Amanda cried.

The sheriff guffawed. “That’s sure a laugh! Well, I reckon I’ll let the two of you get on with your business, then. Tell Barker I’ll see him around.”

With that, the sheriff carried his enormous girth to the door and left.

“I can’t believe this,” Amanda said. “What a fricking pig!”

“Really. So this is how the cops act around this town? No wonder you left the place!”

“They’re crooked, like I told you. And they don’t mind showing it.”

“Well, I think there may be more to this than just a rude, bad-ass county cop. Don’t know what it is, but I’d sure like to find out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not sure. But it’s more than obvious Sheriff Foley is being less than open-minded about this case. As far as he’s concerned, this crime has already been solved and Nick is the perp. Granted, there’s plenty of evidence against Nick, but I actually think if somebody came along and confessed to murdering Jodi Wilburn, the sheriff wouldn’t believe it. This man seems hell-bent on convicting Nick for some reason.”

“The ‘conspiracy theory,’ again?”

“Maybe. One thing I want to do is see if Jodi’s laptop is around here somewhere. I saw it in a photo of the family room.”

“That’s a good idea.”

The family room was located off the kitchen and it actually was a sunroom that had probably been added on to the original structure. Alan entered the room and looked around but couldn’t find Jodi’s computer.

“There isn’t any indication her computer was taken into evidence in the report, but that doesn’t mean anything. The more I look at this report, the more slipshod the whole investigation seems. I really wish Ken would hurry up. Let’s call him and see when he’s coming.”

Amanda got out her phone, punched in her uncle’s number.

“Hi, we’re wondering when you think you’ll be here,” she said.

She glanced at Alan. “Okay, see you in a few minutes.”

“He’s almost here.”

“Good. Can’t wait to see what he has to say about Sheriff Foley’s cameo appearance.”

Alan went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Inside was a half bottle of white wine, a six-pack of Miller Lite and not much else. The fridge looked as though it had been cleaned out except for the booze, which seemed a little odd.

“Looks like Jodi enjoyed an occasional drink,” he said drily.

“Yeah, but where’s all the food? Wonder if her parents threw everything out to keep it from spoiling?”

“Could be. Probably figured the booze would keep.”

They heard the sound of a car pull up outside so they headed toward the door. Ken Barker got out of his Mercedes carrying a black leather-bound briefcase.

“Sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Got hung up downtown.”

“You missed our visitor,” Amanda said.

“Who was that?”

“The sheriff.”

Ken frowned. “What the hell did he want?”

“Said he was just checking up on the house and decided to see whose car was parked outside.”

“That’s interesting. Let’s go inside.”

Ken led the way to the kitchen and set the briefcase down on the table.

“So tell me what Foley said.”

Alan filled him in and afterwards the attorney smiled. “Jim Foley is a real ‘good ol’ boy’ kind of guy. A super-conservative, self-righteous redneck that thinks the whole world begins here and ends outside of the county. All he ever talks about is how his ancestors settled this area and how screwed up the rest of the world is. Hates big cities, gay marriages, liberals, anything Democratic.

“At any rate, it’s more than obvious he’s getting nervous now that he’s learned I’ve hired you to investigate this case—probably afraid we might somehow manage to clear Nick. The question is why? Why is this so important to him? I’ll tell you now, Alan, the local law enforcement in this town is sketchy at best. The reason is hard to explain but suffice to say that politics has a lot to do with it. We’ve had the same mayor for decades and he’s a shady character. Has his own circle of friends and way too much power for his own good. This sort of leadership has trickled down to all the ranks of local government I’m afraid to say, and it’s not helped this area progress through the years.”

“But what about the prosecutor? You said he likes to be sure he has a solid case before he proceeds with a prosecution. I’d think he would have already had Nick arrested by now—especially with the sheriff so gung-ho to put him behind bars.”

“That’s the kicker. Our D.A. is not only an honest man but a liberal. In other words, a thorn in the side of the local government. Jack Spradlin is one of the few good things about this city and why he’s been elected. He’s a man folks know they can trust.”

“I see. So what did you find out about the possible witness?”

“Nothing. But the DA has warned the city detectives that they’d better start moving forward on this case. As I was telling you, there’s a lot of politics going on in the background and since the crime was committed in the county’s jurisdiction the city police feel like they’re playing second-fiddle. It’s really the sheriff’s case so they are feeling less than ambitious to pursue it much further. ”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Amanda exclaimed. “A woman has been murdered and the city is going to just stand by while that arrogant slob handles the case? Nick won’t stand a chance if Foley gets his way.”

“That’s the problem. And it’s exactly why I have you two to help me. We’re just going to have to do our own investigation if we want to see Nick cleared.”

“Which brings me to a couple of questions,” Alan said. “Has anyone interviewed Jodi’s friends or coworkers at the salon? I didn’t see anything in the police report or your notes.”

“That is number one on my list here,” Ken said, tapping the brief case. “You guys feeling hungry yet?”

“Famished,” Amanda said. “I could eat a horse.”

“There’s a nice Italian restaurant that just opened recently downtown that’s really good. Thought we might go there.”

“An Italian restaurant in Milldale? I’m shocked!”

“I figured you would be. Don’t know if you remember Tony Scalla, but his son recently graduated from culinary school and decided to open a restaurant. The place is doing great, believe it or not. Got some of the best pasta dishes I’ve ever tasted.”

“I’m impressed. This I have to see.”

“Great. Before I tell you my game plan, are there any questions you have about the scene?”

“There doesn’t appear to be much left to see,” Alan replied drily. “It looks like everything’s already been packed up and taken away.”

“I thought the same thing when I first saw this place. But they actually did a pretty thorough job here as far as I can tell. Just a little hasty in clearing it.”

“What about Jodi’s laptop? It isn’t here anymore.”

“They took that in and had it checked out. Didn’t find anything on it that raised any flags so they returned it to the family.”

“Any chance I could take a look at it?” Alan said.

“I don’t see why not. I’ll see if I can arrange it with her parents.”

“Does Nick have some sort of mechanical experience? That hidden wall he built is amazing.”

“He told me he found the plans for that online. Said it was pretty easy to construct and that it only took him a few days. I think he’s being overly modest, to tell you the truth. I have a mechanical background and was impressed with the design. But it’s one thing to design something and quite another to put it into practice.”

Ken opened the briefcase and said, “Our first plan of action is to find out if anybody can confirm that Jodi gave Nick her grandmother’s coins over the holidays. Nick says he can’t recall ever telling anybody about it, nor did Jodi ever mention it to her parents. But there’s a chance she could have told somebody. We need to talk to everyone who was in close contact with her—friends, coworkers, neighbors, any possible boyfriends, etc. We need to track them down and see if we can find out about those coins and anything else relevant to this case.”

“I could do that,” Amanda offered, looking at Alan. “If that’s okay.”

“Go for it. You’re familiar with the town and may even know some of her acquaintances,” Alan said.

“Can you think of any other ways we could help corroborate Nick’s story?” Ken asked Alan.

“According to the coroner’s report, Jodi was murdered between 9:00 AM and noon. So the only time Nick could possibly have murdered her was shortly after he talked to her on his cellphone. If we could somehow prove he was nowhere near this place that morning, it would certainly help our case.”

“How do you propose doing that?”

“I want to interview the neighbors living around here again. Although the report says the sheriff’s department has already canvassed the area, maybe they didn’t ask the right questions. For example did somebody actually see Nick’s car that morning? Or is that indeed nothing more than a rumor?”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Ken pulled out a stack of papers from his briefcase. “These are transcripts of my interviews with Jodi’s and Nick’s parents concerning the case. I’ve made copies so you can study them at your convenience.”

He handed the documents to Alan. Alan scanned through them and then recalled something.

“I have a question regarding autopsy procedure. How thoroughly do they test for sexual activity? For instance, can they determine if any oral sex was involved?”

“From what I know, they swab for the presence of semen in all orifices of the body. If there’s anything there, they will find it.”

“What if the killer used a condom?”

“Although there would be no sign of semen, they would also look for any signs of trauma such as bruising that might have resulted from sex acts. I suggest you ask the coroner—he could tell you a lot more about it than I can.”

“I may do that.”

“Well, I say we go get something to eat.”

“And a drink,” Alan added. He could certainly use one.

After dinner, Ken suggested that Amanda and Alan stay at his place since he had three extra bedrooms and they could avoid staying in a motel. They agreed and spent the rest of the evening having drinks and hanging out in their host’s comfortable family room. When it was time to retire for the night Alan and Amanda slept in separate bedrooms after a good-night kiss outside Amanda’s room.

As he lay in bed, Alan reflected on the case and how unusual the day had been. He had trouble falling asleep, and when at last he drifted off, he had a dream about Julie. By the end of the dream Julie’s face had somehow become Amanda’s face.

CHAPTER 7

Alan awoke to the clatter of dishes coming from downstairs. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was eight-thirty. He arose, slipped into his jeans and headed for the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Amanda said as he entered the room. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log. Where’s your uncle?”

“He had to go take a deposition from one of his clients. He’s letting me use his Jeep to get around in. Want some coffee?”

“Thanks,” he replied.

Amanda got out a coffee mug and poured him a cup.

“I’m having cereal—you want some, too?”

“Sounds good. I’ll make the toast.”

“So what’s the plan for the day?” she asked.

“First, I want to go get that computer from Jodi’s folks. You know where they live?”

She nodded. “I asked Uncle Ken and he left the address. It’s not far from here.”

“Let’s go there together so you can do the introductions. After I get the computer, we’ll split up. I’m going back out to God’s country to canvass Jodi’s neighbors. In the meantime you can be trying to track down Jodi’s friends and possibly visit the salon where she worked to see what you can find out.”

“Okay.”

As they sat down to eat breakfast, Alan felt awkward. Now that they were beginning their new relationship as partners in investigation, he detected an unmistakable formality in Amanda’s demeanor. He sensed that she wanted to act professional now—either to impress him with her dedication to the work at hand or simply because it would be easier to proceed that way. This was exactly what he had dreaded happening while contemplating their new partnership.

Would they be able to work together and simply put their budding romantic relationship on the back burner? Business now, pleasure later? Or would this partnership spell the end to their budding romance?

Was there even a romance budding for that matter?

He didn’t know the answer to any of these questions.

“Are you looking forward to all of this?” he asked.

She smiled. “I am—much more than I ever thought I would. It feels really good knowing that we’re doing something to help out Nick. That means a lot to me. I’m thrilled to actually be part of the hunt. It’s awesome!”

“That’s great. So let me ask you something that’s been sort of bothering me. Do you think this could mess us up somehow?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, as a couple, or whatever you’d call us.”

There, he’d said it.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s what you mean! I actually haven’t given it that much thought. I mean—I figure we are what we are already. And I definitely like what we are. This collaboration or whatever you want to call it is something new we’re going to do together, as a team. So what could be wrong with that? We’ll be able to spend more time together and get to know each other better. I think that’s wonderful.”

Alan felt a huge wave of relief. Her way of rationalizing things was always refreshing and unexpected.

“Gotta say, I’m thrilled to hear you say that. I guess I’ve been over-thinking all of this, which I tend to do. It sometimes gets me in trouble.”

“Over-thinking probably goes with this line of work, doesn’t it?”

“I guess you could say that. But sometimes it’s best just to keep things simple.”

“Missed sleeping with you last night,” she winked.

“Me, too. Guess we gotta keep up appearances for your uncle, right?”

“Most definitely. He’s as old school as they get and the last thing he wants to see is his favorite niece playing house with the hired help.”

“Afraid you’d say something like that.”

After cleaning up the kitchen and letting the dog out, they showered, dressed and left the house. Amanda led the way to the Brooks residence while Alan followed behind.

The drive only took a few minutes. Alan parked the Pilot and then joined Amanda as she led the way to the Brooks’ front door.

A man wearing a suit and tie answered. “Good morning,” he greeted. “Come inside.”

They followed Mr. Brooks inside and were led to the living room. Mrs. Brooks was tidying up the coffee table and smiled as they entered the room.

“Hello, Mandy. My, I haven’t seen you in years! Your mother used to bring you in the shop when you were a little girl.”

“I remember now—you used to work at Martin’s Gift shop, didn’t you?”

“I did indeed. Worked there right up to the last day in fact, when they had to shut down.”

Amanda hugged her. “I am so sorry about Jodi, Mrs. Brooks. She was a sweet girl.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“This is Alan Swansea.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Ken Barker told me he’s hired you to investigate. I sure hope you can find whoever did this.”

“We’re going to do the best we can, Mrs. Brooks.”

“Please, sit down.”

“I have a couple of questions I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind,” Alan said.

“Of course.”

“Is there any way Nick Wilburn could be involved in this?” he asked.

“Absolutely not. Nick and Jodi’s relationship goes all the way back to when they were in middle school. They’ve been inseparable ever since. Or had been,” she corrected herself.

“How did Nick react to Jodi’s insistence to end everything when she found out about his affair? Did he accept it, or was he resentful?”

Alan saw Amanda out of the corner of his eye, glaring at him. No doubt baffled and perturbed about this line of questioning.

“Well, he wasn’t thrilled about it, I can tell you that. Nor were Hank and I for that matter. We’ve always adored Nick and thought our daughter was wrong not to give him a second chance. But Jodi was a proud, stubborn girl. Zero tolerance would be the best way to describe her feelings about philandering husbands.

“With that said, Nick was of course hurt and couldn’t believe that Jodi wanted to break it off, just like that. But from what she told me since, Nick had always acted like a gentleman whenever they spoke to each other. She even admitted that she might have been wrong to end it without at least trying to reconcile. We were both praying she would one day change her mind, weren’t we, Herb?”

He nodded. “Yes, for what good that ever did.”

“Do you know if Jodi ever dated anybody after the divorce?”

“Not to my knowledge. She called me every day and never once mentioned anything about a boyfriend or any guy friends at all. She said on more than one occasion that she was through with men, would probably die an old maid and be just fine with it. Nick had been the only man in her life.”

“Who all did she hang out with?” Amanda asked.

“She had a couple of close friends that I know of: Jillian Weathers and Summer Moore. She would always be with one or the other whenever she went out, which wasn’t often. Jodi was a bona fide homebody—came into town to work at the salon and do her shopping then drove back out to her home on the west side. She seemed to be happy just reading or crafting, hanging around her home living a quiet life.”

“Could you tell me where those two gals live?” Amanda asked.

“Sure. Summer lives on Oakland Lane and last I heard, Jillian’s living with some man in the Sunset Apartments.”

Amanda texted the information on her iPhone. “Thank you.”

“I was told you have Jodi’s laptop. Would you mind if I borrow it for a few days?” Alan inquired.

“Sure, I’ll go get it for you,” Mr. Brooks said. “But the police have already examined it and said they didn’t find anything of significance.”

“I understand, but I’d still like to borrow it—I know somebody who can give the hard drive a thorough going over.”

Mr. Brooks left the room. Mrs. Brooks said, “I appreciate what you two are doing to help find Jodi’s murderer. We have been devastated by all of this, and having the police think that Nick was involved has made it even worse. He’s a good man and doesn’t deserve any of this. And with his mother’s poor health and all—well, it’s just not right.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Mrs. Brooks,” Amanda assured her.

“I hope so.”

“Do you know where Jodi’s car is?” Alan asked.

“Hank parked it out back. Jodi loved that car and Hank was afraid it might get stolen or vandalized out there with nobody in the house.”

“Did the police check it out?”

“I believe so. I’ll ask him when he gets back.”

“Mind if I take a look at it?”

“Not at all. Hank, dear—did the police investigate Jodi’s Volkswagen?”

Hank had just entered the room and handed Alan the laptop. “Yeah. Checked for fingerprints and all that. Told me it was okay to bring it here.”

Alan didn’t recall anything in the police report about the car.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a quick look at it,” he told Hank.

“Sure, it’s around back. C’mon—I’ll get the key.”

He followed Hank to the kitchen where he removed a set of keys from a ceramic bowl sitting on the counter.Alan followed him out the back door to a silver VW Passat Cabriolet that looked like it just came off the showroom floor.

“This little car was her ‘baby,’ as she called it. She really liked the thing.”

Alan noticed Hank Brooks tear up as he unlocked the door. He tried to imagine how hard it must be for this nice couple to lose their only child so tragically.

“There you go. I’m going back inside—just lock her up when you’re done.”

“Will do, thanks.”

Alan stepped in and sat down in the driver’s seat. The black leather interior was as immaculate as the exterior of the little German car. He smelled the faint scent of perfume and it dawned on him that only a week ago Jodi had most likely been sitting right where he sat now, listening to the stereo with a big smile on her face. The vibe of her death suddenly engulfed him, filling him with a dull, indescribable sadness. How could someone so young and so loved be taken away so violently?

He had to find out who did this.

He poked around in the console and glove compartment and found nothing but the owner’s manual, a box of tissues, some loose change and a couple of country rock CD’s. He peeked between the seats and saw nothing but a clean carpet. After checking under the visors and under the seats he searched the rear compartment but found nothing.

Alan popped the trunk and looked inside. The entire area looked as though it had just been detailed. He lifted up the carpet covering the spare tire compartment and saw a jack and the temporary spare. He was about to replace the carpet when he noticed a small piece of black plastic sticking out from under the spare tire. He took out his pocketknife and managed to fish the object out.

It was a memory card. Either the police had never looked here or the trip into town had jostled it out from under the tire and into plain sight.

He pocketed the SD card, closed the trunk, locked up the car and went back inside. When he returned to the living room, Mrs. Brooks was telling Amanda about Jodi’s funeral.

“Did Jodi have a camera?” he asked, handing the keys to Mr. Brooks.

“Yes, she did. A very expensive digital one,” he replied. “It was in her car so I brought it inside.”

Alan pulled out the memory card from inside his pocket. “Found this in the trunk under the spare tire. Could you get her camera so we can take a look?”

“I’ll be back.”

“I wonder how the cops missed that,” Amanda said accusingly.

“They never removed the spare tire—that much is pretty obvious.”

“How do you suppose it ended up there?”

“I’d like to know. Jodi was apparently very neat and orderly. Seems unlikely that this thing could find its way under the trunk carpet and into the tire compartment.”

“Oh, she was an absolute neat freak,” Mrs. Brooks said. “Got that from her father.”

Mr. Brooks returned and handed Alan a camera bag. He opened it up and took out a Canon EOS Digital SLR. He switched it on and reviewed the images on the camera’s LCD. There were several shots of a parade—probably taken during the Fourth of July. He clicked through about a dozen or so frames until he reached the last one.

He removed the card and replaced it with the card he had just found. To his dismay, the second card was empty.

“Either it’s been erased or it’s a new backup card,” he mumbled. “Guess that ends that mystery.”

He examined the camera case for more memory cards but came up short. He was about to put the camera back into the case when he suddenly thought of something. He removed the card and looked over at Amanda.

“Maybe this card wasn’t used in the camera. It could have been used for file storage on a different device instead.”

“That’s possible,” Amanda nodded.

“We’ll see if your uncle has a card reader and check it out,” Alan said.He stuck the card in his pocket and said, “Well, I guess we should get going. Thanks for all of your help.”

“And thank you,” Mrs. Brooks said.

After the shaking of hands and more hugs, they were shown to the door.

On the way to their cars, Alan handed the memory card to Amanda. “If you get back to your uncle’s before I do, see if there’s anything on this, okay?”

“No problem. You heading out to the west side now?”

Alan nodded.

“Guess I’ll go see if I can find those girls. Oakland Lane is only a few minutes away.”

“Give me a call if you find anything out.”

“Will do. See you later.”

As he pulled away, Alan called Charlie Ling’s number.

“Hey Charlie, what’s up?”

“Not much, haven’t heard from you in a while,” the Asian-American computer wiz said.

“Really not much happening lately. Listen, I’ve got a Dell laptop that I need thoroughly checked out. Any chance you could do that for me?”

“Yeah, but I hope you’re not in a hurry. I’m really busy.”

“How long, then?”

“A week or so?”

“Shit, I need it sooner than that. What if I paid you double time—could you get it done quicker?”

Ling let out a long sigh. “Jesus, man. Okay, I’ll put a rush on it and see if I can fit it in. And you can forget the tip—you know me better than that. When are you bringing it over?”

“Well, that’s another issue. I’m down in Milldale so I’ll have to Fed Ex it to you. You’ll get it tomorrow.”

“Actually, that’s better. I couldn’t touch it today anyway. So what are you looking for on this thing?”

“To make a long story short, it belonged to a woman who was just murdered. Amanda’s childhood friend, who’s the ex-husband of the deceased, is suspected of murdering her. We’re trying to prove his innocence so I’m looking for anyone else who could be a suspect.”

“Amanda?”

“Yeah, you know—the girl that helped me nab the perp in the McPherson case. An old friend of Julie’s.”

“Aha, now I remember. So you’ve got a new girlfriend.”

“Christ, Charlie! Why are you always trying to get me married off? This is actually a business arrangement—I’m thinking about partnering up with her on some of my cases. She’s got a sharp mind and will be a nice addition.”

“And she just so happens to be beautiful from what you told me before,” he pressed.

“Yes, that’s true. Can we get back to the computer now? I’m looking for any correspondence—deleted or otherwise—that this woman may have had through emails or social networking. Jodi, the deceased, has supposedly been living like an old maid for the past year since she and her husband divorced. I need to find out if that’s true or if somebody else is in the picture. Somebody who was looking for romance or sniffing around for a piece of pie. Also, I want to take a look at any images that may have been deleted you can retrieve. Got the idea?”

“Yeah, and it sounds like this could take more time than I have.”

“Maybe not. It’s an older laptop with only a couple hundred gigs or so. Plus the cops have already looked at it, although I doubt they scanned the entire drive. Just do me a favor and see what the situation is. If it looks like some sort of major time taker, we’ll go from there. Okay?”

“Alright. I’ll give it a preliminary scan and report back anything relevant.”

“Thanks, you da man! I’ll ship it out as soon as I can find a place here to do it—should be on your doorstep tomorrow.”

“I’ll look out for it.”

“See ya, dude.”

He disconnected and called Amanda.

“I meant to ask you, is there a Fed Ex or UPS in this town?”

“Could be, hold on.”

Alan realized she was probably Googling it right now and felt a bit guilty for not simply doing it himself. The girl hadn’t been in this one horse town for years and probably wouldn’t know any more about the local shipping facilities than he did.

“There’s a Pack and Ship store with UPS on your way out of town. No Fed Exes. It’s on Front Street a couple of blocks before you reach the bridge. It’ll be on your left.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

“What are you sending?”

“Jodi’s laptop. I’m going to have my ‘puter hacker friend take a good look at it for possible evidence.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I just pulled up in front of Summer Moore’s house. Looks like there’s a car in the driveway.”

“Good. Let me know what you find out.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later Alan slowed down and began looking for the UPS store. He took the laptop inside, paid the man to have it packed and shipped overnight to Charlie Ling’s home in Columbus. It cost about as much to ship as the computer was worth.

He wasn’t sure how wide he should spread his net to question Jodi’s neighbors. Because her home was in such an isolated area, he doubted there was more than a handful of residences close enough to have been able to see or hear anything the day of her murder.

He pulled out his iPhone, clicked on Google Maps, clicked the GPS icon and switched to satellite mode. When the pulsating blue circle appeared on the screen he zoomed out to get a better view of the surrounding area. As expected, the homes were few and far between. He did his best to locate Jodi’s house on the screen but it was impossible to negotiate and keep an eye on the road at the same time. It would have to wait until he got closer.

Several miles further he pulled over and parked along the berm then brought up the nearby area on the phone’s screen. He knew Jodi’s house would be to the southeast of his present location so he scrolled along the narrow roads until he found it. Her place was only accessible from the same road on which he was parked. There were a couple of neighbor’s houses about a half mile before the gravel road leading up to Jodi’s home and a single farm house located a mile or so beyond it.

He pulled back out onto the road and drove another five minutes until he reached the first of the homes he wanted to canvass. The house was a small single story situated around forty feet from the road. He pulled into driveway, went up to the door and knocked. A moment later an elderly woman greeted him.

“Can I help ya?” she said.

“Hello, my name’s Alan Swansea and I’m a private investigator. I was wondering if you’d mind answering a couple of questions.”

“Depends on what you’re investigating,” she replied. “I don’t like meddling in other folks’ affairs.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I’m investigating the murder of your neighbor, Jodi Wilburn.”

“I should have known. Horrible thing—but I’ve already spoken to the sheriff about that.”

“I understand, and I promise I’ll be brief. Did you by any chance see or hear anything unusual that day?”

“Like I told the sheriff, nothing comes to mind. I’m an old woman, Mister um—”

“Swansea.”

“Swansea. I don’t see so well and I don’t exactly spend the day staring out the window for unusual things to happen either. Nothing going on I can recall, other than the occasional car or truck passing by. That’s it.”

“Do you remember seeing a blue SUV?

“No, not off hand.”

“I see. How well did you know Mrs. Wilburn?”

“Hardly none at all. Oh, I’d see her jogging once in a while and chat with her about the weather—wave to her when she’d drive by in her little car. She seemed to be a nice girl, friendly.”

“What did think of her ex-husband, Nick?”

“He seemed like a fine young man. Helped me get my power on one day once after a hellish thunderstorm.”

“Did they seem to get along okay—as a couple?”

“Far as I could tell. Not that I saw them together that often except when they drove by. The husband wasn’t much of a jogger.”

“Just one last question. Did you ever see Jodi with another man? Or notice any men other than her husband heading toward their house?”

“You asking if she was unfaithful? Not that I know of.”

“Well, thanks for your time, ma’am. I appreciate it. Here’s my card if you think of anything else.”

She took the card he handed her, glanced at it and said, “Hope you find whoever murdered that little gal. I don’t know what’s happening in this world anymore—ain’t safe anywhere you go.”

“I know what you mean. Well, have a nice day.”

Alan pulled away and drove to the next house. There were no cars in the driveway and the place looked abandoned. As he drew closer he saw a lockbox on the front door and noted that the windows were uncovered. He got out and peeked inside. Not a stick of furniture anywhere.

Disgruntled, he headed for the last house on his list. He passed by the road leading to Jodi’s and arrived at a two-story farmhouse a couple of minutes later. Pulling into the driveway he saw a middle aged woman standing over a lawnmower near the back of the house. He got out and walked over to her.

“You lost?” she said, eying him suspiciously.

“No, ma’am. I’m investigating the murder of Jodi Wilburn and wonder if you’d mind answering a couple of questions.”

“The sheriff’s already been here.”

“I’m a private investigator working for Ken Barker. He’s the attorney representing Mrs. Wilburn’s ex-husband.”

“I see. Okay, damn mower won’t start anyway—too cold, I guess. Shoot.”

“Thanks. Were you by any chance at home the day the crime took place?”

“Yup, all day. My son was at work and I was doing some housecleaning. There’s just the two of us living here. Husband ran off on us a few years ago.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. Best thing that ever happened to me. The man was a drunk and a womanizer. Couldn’t trust him any further than you could throw him. So I say goodbye to bad rubbish.”

“Uh-huh. So, did you see anything unusual that day? Strangers driving around or anything like that?”

“Nope. Traffic was really light that day so I would’ve noticed anybody lookin’ suspicious. In fact, I’d just gotten the mail and was coming back up the driveway when I saw one of the sheriff’s deputies drive by. I remember thinking how rare it is to see the law around here. It’s about as dead as it gets in this part of the county—nothing ever happens. Especially something like this.”

“About what time was that?”

“Must have been just past noon—that’s around the time the mail comes.”

“And you mentioned this to the sheriff when he questioned you?”

“I did. He actually acted kinda odd when I told him—like he was surprised to hear there’d been a patrol car in the area.”

Alan felt his pulse quicken. What’s this all about?

“Did you get a good look at who was driving the patrol car?”

“Naw.”

“Then how do you know it was a deputy and not the sheriff himself?”

“Like I said, Sheriff Foley never told me otherwise so I reckon it was a deputy.”

“I see. And which way was the patrol car headed?

She pointed to the west, away from the Wilburn house. “That way.”

“I’m sure he’s already asked you, but did you happen to see Nick Wilburn that day? He would’ve been driving a blue Toyota SUV.”

“Never saw him. But to be honest, I don’t know how anybody could think he’d murder his wife. It was obvious he loved her an awful lot.”

“Oh yeah? And why do you say that?”

“They invited me and Billy to their place a couple of times. Nick was really into firing up the grill in the summer and they would have us over. Lord, he made the best ribs you ever ate! Anyway, he and Jodi were attached at the hip—always clinging to each other and such. I was surprised when they split up, I can tell you that. Heard he played around on her, but that’s just a rumor. All I know is that he could never have killed her. Never in a million years.”

“Well, thanks so much for your help, ma’am. Do you mind telling me your name?”

“Esther Weems.”

“Thanks, Esther. Would you like a hand with that mower?”

“That’d be awful nice of you.”

Alan walked over, took hold of the cord and pulled it hard. There were a couple of sputters but it failed to start. He reached down, primed it and tried again. It roared to life.

“Thank you,” Esther hollered above the din of the old Toro.

Alan handed her one of his cards. “You’re welcome. Please give me a call if you think of anything you may have forgotten.”

“Will do.”

She took over the mower as Alan headed back to the Pilot.

His thoughts were in overdrive as he backed out and headed toward the Wilburn house. The possibility that the sheriff might have something to do with this weighed heavy on his mind. The law officer’s involvement might explain his overbearing presence and insistence that Nick was the murderer. It would also explain why he seemed so concerned that Alan had been hired to investigate the case.

Alan recalled the police report stating that Jodi’s mother had asked her husband to drive out here to check on Jodi at around noon. It would have taken him at least fifteen or twenty minutes to make the drive. That meant the patrol car had been spotted approximately a half hour prior to Mr. Brooks’ arrival.

Could that have been the sheriff making his getaway? What were the odds of there being a patrol car around just prior to Jodi’s body being found by her father and just prior to his contacting the authorities to report it?

But if Foley were the perp, what was his motive?

Who was he kidding? The guy was an arrogant sonofabitch and he wouldn’t put it past him. Foley was a high-ranking law officer who could easily have found out about Jodi’s stash through the small town’s legal pipeline. Young woman living alone inherits a small fortune from her grandmother and doesn’t like banks so she keeps the spoils hidden away at her home.

Certainly not implausible.

He would have to take a look at Foley—see what he might be up to. Tailing a law officer would be touchy but not undoable.

He headed toward the Wilburn house in earnest. He had left the place yesterday feeling as though he hadn’t been thorough enough. He was accustomed to working alone and still getting used to having a partner. Then the sheriff had shown up before he’d really had a chance to finish his investigation of the crime scene.

But as he drew nearer to the house, he spotted something that made him brake to a complete stop.

Parked in the driveway was a sheriff’s department patrol car.

CHAPTER 8

Summer Moore was a lanky redhead who wore too much makeup and appeared as though she had partied a few too many times. She looked absurd in her denim mini skirt and mid-calf suede boots, pretending she was twenty years younger than she actually was. The perennial teenager, Amanda thought.

“I nearly died when I heard what happened to Jodi,” she said. “It was such a damn shock, you know—I’d just been out with her a couple of nights before. And then all of a sudden, just like that, she’s gone. So sad.”

Amanda continued standing as Summer leaned back against her front porch railing.

“What were you doing when you last saw her?”

“Oh, we just went down to the Brewery for a few drinks. That’s about it.”

“Was anybody else with you, or was it just the two of you?”

“Just the two of us.”

“Jodi’s mom mentioned that Jillian Weathers was also a friend. Do you happen to know her phone number?”

“Sure. But Jillian doesn’t hang out much since she moved in with Keith.”

Summer recited the phone number as Amanda punched it into her iPhone.

“Thanks. Was Jodi seeing anybody?”

“No. She didn’t want to get mixed up with anyone after Nick pulled his little stunt. That whole thing really hurt her bad. I remember her vowing she would never ever have anything to do with men after the divorce and I just thought to myself, yeah right. But in all this time, she held tough. Hadn’t ever been with a single guy that I know of.”

“Did guys ever ask her out?”

“All the time. As you probably know, Jodi was drop-dead gorgeous and the guys were always trying to pick her up. Used to make me kinda jealous, really. But she never took anybody up on it. I mean, she was always real sweet whenever she’d turn them down—not conceited or anything like that. She just plain wasn’t interested in men anymore.”

“Were there any guys that seemed particularly persistent—who kept asking her out repeatedly in spite of her refusals?”

“There’s one guy—Blaine Evans—who doesn’t know what the word ‘no’ means. He’d hit on Jodi every damn time he saw her out. And when she’d blow him off, he’d just smile and walk away. Then turn around and ask her out again the next time he saw her. Creepy guy.”

“When was the last time that happened?”

“That night at the Brewery, as a matter of fact. Why are you asking all these questions, anyway?”

Amanda keyed in Blaine Evans’ name. “I’m just trying to get a snapshot of everybody in Jodi’s life, that’s all. Does this Blaine guy seem like the violent type, capable of assault?”

“I don’t know him too well, but I don’t think so. He’s not too swift in the brains department if you know what I mean. But he seems harmless enough.”

“Did Jodi talk about Nick much?”

“All the time. Between you and me, I don’t think she ever really got over him. I mean, she played a tough game, divorcing him so suddenly like that and all, but sometimes I thought she regretted it.”

“How so?”

“Oh, she was forever bringing up things they used to do together; how she wished he wouldn’t have fucked up like he’d done—pardon my French—because they could have started a family by now. Stuff like that. Funny thing is whenever I’d say something like, ‘then why don’t you just give Nick another chance?’ she’d blow me off. Like that was the most absurd thing I could ever ask her.”

“So she was in denial?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“Do you think Nick murdered Jodi?”

Summer’s eyes widened. “No way!”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Nick loved Jodi way too much. And he’s a good guy. He just plain could never have done that to her.”

“Could you tell me the name of the hair salon where Jodi worked?”

“Hair Plus. It’s down on Court Street.”

“Great. Just one more question. Do you recall Jodi ever mentioning giving Nick some old coins? Coins she received from her grandmother’s estate?”

“No. The only thing she ever said about her grandma was how much she missed her.”

“I see. Well thanks for your time. Here’s a card. Please give me a call if you think of anything else.”

“No problem. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you know Jodi?”

“Yes, I did. I used to live in Milldale years ago and Nick was my neighbor. He and Jodi started going steady back when we were all in middle school.”

“Then you must be the same girl he was talking about to Jodi. Did you used to go by ‘Mandy?’”

“I did. So what did Nick say about me?”

“Jodi said Nick used to claim that you were his first girlfriend.”

“That’s crazy! Jodi knew that Nick and I were just friends and nothing more. I can’t believe he’d say that to her.”

“Well, he did. And more than once, apparently. I think he used to say it just for fun to tick Jodi off. It seemed to work.”

“I’ll have to ask him about that when I see him,” she said, bewildered. “Well, thanks again, Summer. You’ve been very helpful.”

“You’re welcome. And I’ll give you a call if I think of anything else.”

As she pulled away, Amanda wasn’t surprised at Summer Moore’s insistence that Nick couldn’t have murdered Jodi. Like everybody else who knew him, the notion was absolutely preposterous. She felt confident that she would get similar reactions from Jodi’s other friends and coworkers.

She wondered why Nick would lie to Jodi about her being his first girlfriend. Had Nick been saying that just to make his wife jealous as Summer indicated, or had Nick seen more than a friendship between them all those years? She seriously doubted that was the case.

She located Jillian Weather’s number and called her but got her voicemail. After leaving her name and number, she located the address for Hair Plus and headed downtown.

Amanda’s mind was humming. She felt good. Although she hadn’t learned anything particularly significant in her interview with Summer Moore, other than the potential Blaine Evans’ lead, the experience had reaffirmed the necessity to prove Nick’s innocence. And bolstered her resolve to see this through to the end. She was beginning to understand why Alan enjoyed what he did. Being a part of the process of separating the wheat from the chaff and searching for the truth was a gratifying experience.

She just might opt to become part of the team after all.

CHAPTER 9

Alan felt confident that the sheriff hadn’t seen him. A small grove of trees stood in the line of sight between him and the house. He threw the Pilot into reverse and backed up until the sheriff’s patrol car totally disappeared from sight. Once he reached an area wide enough, he turned around and headed back toward the main road.

It was more than a little suspicious for the sheriff to return to the Wilburn house having just been there the day before. What could possibly be the reason? The crime scene had been officially cleared and Foley had already proclaimed to the entire town that Nick Wilburn was the murderer. Yet there he was, poking around in the house.

Planting evidence?

He couldn’t rule that out. Especially after hearing that the sheriff may just so happened to have been near the scene of the crime before it had even been reported. Granted, it could have been one of his deputies instead, but what difference would that make? The whole department could be in on this for all he knew. All conspiring to frame Nick Wilburn.

Alan had half a notion to turn around and find out what Foley or whomever was up to. But he knew that would be like trying to break into Fort Knox with a skeleton key. You just don’t spy on cops—at least not when they’re at the end of a dead-end road in the middle of nowhere. He couldn’t expect to tail him either—not now in broad daylight. He would have to come up with something else.

Alan called Ken Barker.

“Ken, it’s Alan. I’m out on the west side and you’ll never guess who’s at the Wilburn home right now.”

“Who?”

“The sheriff—or at least, Foley or a deputy. What do you make of that?”

“Well, technically the investigation is still active so it’s plausible for somebody to show up there. Not out of the question, but odd, nonetheless. And you say you’re not sure if it’s Foley?”

“No, I saw the patrol car parked there and turned around the second I spotted it. What makes it seem even more suspicious is what I just found out from one of the neighbors.”

“What’s that?”

“A woman saw one of the sheriff’s squad cars drive past her house before Mr. Brooks showed up at Jodi’s home on the day of the murder. She said that they rarely patrol this area yet she spotted a patrol car heading away from the Wilburn house at around noon. The clincher is that when she mentioned this to Foley during an interview, he acted weird—like he was less than thrilled to hear it.”

“That’s very interesting. Sounds a bit too coincidental to me.”

“I wonder if Foley is up to something here. What can you tell me about him?”

“Well, he’s always been a pompous asshole, that’s a fact. He’s divorced, lives alone and has a couple of kids who are grown up. Lives on Stony Bend Lane on the north side of town. Don’t know much more than that.”

“Do you think he’s capable of something like this? I mean, does he seem the type to get involved in something shady?”

“As far as I know, there haven’t been any complaints or accusations against him since he took office. Doesn’t mean he’s the most honest cop in the county, though—could just be lucky and never been caught. Foley’s a hard read, really. It’s so difficult getting past his good ol’ boy image and know-it-all bullshit that I’ve never really given it much thought.”

“Well, I may do a little digging and see if I can come up with any dirt on him. There’s something about him that just doesn’t seem right and I want to find out what it is.”

“Better watch yourself, though. If Foley finds out you’re checking him out, he could give us a lot of trouble. And we’ve got enough of that already on this case.”

“I hear you. Well, I’m going to call Amanda and see how she’s doing. I’ll get back to you later.”

Alan disconnected and called up Amanda’s number.

“Glad you called,” she answered. “I need some advice.”

“What’s up?”

“Well, I learned from Summer that there’s this guy named Blaine who repeatedly hit on Jodi to go out with him. I did some asking around and found out that he hangs out at this dumpy bar downtown. He’s in there right now in fact, and quite frankly I’m afraid to go in, it’s so freaking foreboding-looking. Should I just bite the bullet and go in anyway or wait until he leaves to have a chat with him.”

“Just sit tight and wait until I get there,” Alan said. “The last thing we need is for you to get assaulted at some redneck bar in this godforsaken town.”

“I feel like a wimp, though.”

“You’re not a wimp—you’re just using common sense. What would you have done if I hadn’t called?”

“Probably called you. I mean, the place is that scary.”

“Can’t wait to see it. How do I get there? I’m about five minutes from the bridge.”

“Stay on Front Street when you get in town and take a left at the third light. It’ll be on your right. The place is called ‘One-Eyed Jack’s’”

“Jesus, seriously?”

“No shit.”

“Not so sure I want to go in there, either,” he joked. “What did you learn from the other girl?”

“Jillian wasn’t home. I did speak to the owner of Hair Plus, though. Like Summer, she couldn’t recall Jodi ever mentioning any guys in her life and said that Jodi was basically a homebody. Came in and cut hair then went back home, end of story. She said that Jodi did a lot of crafting—like making bead necklaces and stuff like that—never had much to say about her social life.”

“Jodi’s starting to sound like some kind of spinster.”

“Exactly what I’ve been thinking. Summer seems to think that she never really got over Nick but was too stubborn to do anything about it. It’s almost as if she was content to just live an uncomplicated life and leave it at that.”

“The neighbors had nothing but good things to say about the Wilburns. Always seemed happy together and were surprised when they’d split up. I’ll fill you in on the rest when I get there. You parked in front of the bar?”

“A block down the street”

“Good move, you’re learning fast.”

“Not so sure about that, but I got to say this PI stuff is pretty exciting.”

“It has its moments.”

Minutes later, Alan turned the corner and spotted One-Eye Jack’s. The place was even worse than he’d imagined with its filthy chipped paint facade, smoke-stained windows, and erratically blinking Budweiser sign flanked by a cardboard OPEN sign. The entrance door looked as though it had been knifed and kicked in repeatedly and the structure itself appeared to have once been a one-story frame house.

He spotted Ken Barker’s Jeep and pulled in behind it.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said as he got out and joined Amanda.

“Told you it was creepy,” she replied. “So how are we going to do this?”

“Let’s go in together and see what we can find out. You know what this Blaine guy looks like?”

“Found his page on Facebook. He’s the big, oafy type.”

“How do you know he’s in the bar now?”

“His neighbor told me what kind of car he drives. It’s that old gray Focus across the street,” she said, pointing.

“Damn, I’m impressed—you’ve gotten a lot done.”

“I’m trying.”

“Well, let’s go see what Blaine has to say for himself.”

The moment they stepped inside, they both did a double-take. Instead of an all-out, beaten-down dive they saw a cozy space with shiny hardwood floors, a clean, well-stocked bar with matching leather-topped stools, a Brunswick pool table and a couple of shiny new video arcade game machines flanked by a shuffle board across the room. On the jukebox the Dire Straits’ “Money For Nothing” was playing at a listenable volume. Several empty booths and a dozen tables were scattered throughout and a couple of patrons were sitting at the bar. A Cincinnati Reds game was playing on a matching pair of flat screen TV’s.

“Don’t judge a book—” Amanda whispered.

“Really.”

They stepped over to the bar and sat down. A man in his early forties wearing a One-Eyed Jack’s tee shirt came over and asked for their order.

“I’ll have a Coke,” Alan said.

“Me, too,” Amanda echoed.

“That’s him—the guy on the end,” Amanda said in a hushed voice.

Alan nodded.

Their drinks came and Alan said, “Nice place.”

“Did the outside fool you?” the man said.

“Uh, that’s an understatement.”

“And you’re probably wondering how something so god-awful looking could be this nice on the inside.”

“Yeah, the thought came to mind.”

“When I bought this place last winter, I decided to work from the inside out. It looked even worse than the outside in here, if you can imagine that, and it took every cent I had to demo and remodel. Now I’m sitting here waiting for my first sign of profit so I can get started on the outside. Let’s just say I’m not holding my breath.”

“Business that bad?”

“Horrible. My wife wants to leave me. After she shoots me and collects my life insurance, that is.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Amanda said. “Maybe things will look up.”

“And maybe I’ll win the Super Lotto. Anyway, thanks for dropping in. You folks from around here?”

“I used to live here, years ago,” Amanda said. “We’re from Columbus.”

“Lucky for you. That place is booming from what I’ve heard. Wish I would’ve gotten the hell out of here back when I was younger. Oh well. Gimme a shout if you need anything else.”

Alan could see Blaine’s reflection in the mirror behind that bar. He was drinking a bottle of Bud and horsing down peanuts from a bowl.

“Shall we go over and give Blaine some company?” Alan said.

“Yeah.”

Alan got up from his stool and led the way over to the end of the bar.

“Excuse me,” he said, “Is your name Blaine?”

The man glanced over. “Yeah.”

Alan offered his hand. “Alan Swansea, and this is Amanda Linville. We were wondering if you’d mind answering a few questions.”

Blaine suddenly looked nervous as he shook Alan’s hand. “What about?”

“I’m a private detective and we’re investigating the death of Jodi Wilburn.”

“I barely knew the girl. Why do you want to talk to me?”

“We heard that you asked her out on several occasions,” Amanda said.

“And we’re wondering why you would do that—especially if you didn’t know her that well, as you say,” Alan added.

“Hey look—she was a beautiful chick. Nothing wrong with somebody wanting to scope that out, is there? I mean, this is supposed to be a free fucking world, ain’t it?”

“Of course, Blaine. You don’t have to get all worked up,” Alan said. “All we want to know is your thoughts about Jodi, and if you can think of anybody who might want to harm her, or steal from her.”

Blaine calmed down a little. “Oh, I see. Well, like I said, I didn’t know her very good. I’d see her out every now and then in a bar with Summer and try to strike up a conversation with them—you know how that goes. But Summer is a stuck up—uh, woman, and they both always basically blew me off. So sort of as a joke I’d ask Jodi out, just to see her reaction. Jodi was nice, not all conceited like Summer is. Thought maybe she’d warm up to me some time. But it never happened. That’s about all I got to tell you.”

“You know of anybody else interested in Jodi?” Amanda asked.

“Not really. I mean, when her and Nick split up it was like open season at first. Guys trying to pick her up all the time. But it was pretty obvious she wasn’t interested in partying around any so everybody basically gave up.”

“Except you,” Alan said.

“Listen, buddy—I don’t think I like what you’re implying here. I told you I had nothing to do with Jodi and I sure as fuck never killed her, so why don’t you just back off!”

“Whoa, get a grip Blaine. I’m not implying anything—I just think it’s interesting that you, unlike everybody else in town, repeatedly hit on Jodi Wilburn. That’s the sort of thing that raises suspicions. But that doesn’t necessarily mean we think you had anything to do with her murder. In fact, if you could just tell us where you were on the morning of May thirtieth, we’ll take off and let you get back to your peanuts.”

Blaine fell silent, appearing to try and recall what he was doing on the day in question.

“Let’s see, the thirtieth—that was a Wednesday. I was at work all day.”

“And where do you work?”

“Cuttin’ grass. I’m a lawn maintenance expert.”

“Could you give us the times and locations of your appointments that day?”

“I could, but I’m not gonna. Listen, you ain’t the cops and I don’t have to give you squat if I don’t want to. Now I told you what I was doing that day and that’s gonna have to be good enough. So why don’t you two leave me alone and go bug somebody else?”

“This is just making you look even more suspicious,” Alan declared.

For a moment, Alan actually thought the man was going to punch him. Instead, he took a slug of beer, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stared him down.

“You better go, buddy. You’re really startin’ to piss me off.”

“Have a nice day.”

Alan turned and headed for the door, Amanda following behind.

Outside she said, “I thought he was going to punch you for a second!”

“So did I. The guy was pretty worked up, wasn’t he?”

“Definitely. What do you think?”

“I think we need to dig a little deeper. Find out what he really was doing on the thirtieth. He doesn’t come off as squeaky clean, that’s for sure. Got quite a temper, too. But capable of robbing and murdering a woman just because she refuses him? We need more info.”

“How can we find out where he was that morning?” Amanda asked.

“We can start by asking around. Find out who he hangs out with, see if he really has a lawn mowing business, take it from there. Shouldn’t be too hard to do.”

“Want me to take care of it?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. I need to do some sniffing around of my own.”

He began telling her what he’d learned from the neighbors and about the sheriff but before he could finish his cellphone rang. Alan looked at the caller ID. It was Beth Lindsay.

“Hello Beth, how are you?”

“I am doing great, Alan. How about yourself?

“Not bad. Damn, how long’s it been since we last talked?”

“Too long, that’s for certain. Have you got a minute, or am I calling at a bad time?”

“No, I’m fine. What’s up?”

“I got a call from somebody who really wants to meet with you. I can’t tell you much more, other than that he wants to see if you’d be interested in taking a case.”

“That’s it? Surely you can tell me more than that.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s all he’d say. I can tell you that he’s a retired investment broker and investigates human trafficking cases, which is why he called me. He’s familiar with your work on the Russian trafficking case last year and thinks you’d be the perfect man for the job.”

“Jesus, what can I say? I’m on a case right now and can’t do anything until something breaks with that. About all I can do is take the guy’s number and give him a ring after this is all over.”

“That’s not going to work. He wants to meet you yesterday—ASAP.”

“I can’t do it, Beth. Sorry. Just tell him if he’s in that big of a hurry he’ll have to find somebody else.”

“If I told you that this guy is really rich and willing to pay whatever it takes to hire you, would that make a difference?”

“You know me, Beth. I’m not really big on becoming a Fortune 500 player. Not only that, you’re asking me to drop this case like a hot potato just to meet somebody who can’t even tell me what the hell he wants to hire me for. It just ain’t gonna happen.”

“Okay, I hear you,” she replied. “I’ll tell him you’re too busy. Thanks, anyway.”

The disappointment in her voice seemed to pour out of the phone and envelope him. He glanced at Amanda who was trying her best to appear passive.

“I don’t know why I suddenly feel so damn guilty,” he groaned. “What’s this guy’s name, anyway? Where does he live?”

“Ron Fleming. He lives in Massachusetts—just outside of Boston.”

“Would Mr. Fleming settle for a call instead? A meeting right now is definitely out of the question.”

“That would be better than nothing. I’m sorry to put you on the spot like this but Ron has been an absolute godsend in our fight against trafficking. Not only has he managed to put a serious dent in it, he’s quite frankly one of our biggest contributors. There, I’ve said it—now you know why I’m pressing you so hard. Call me selfish.”

“Aha, now we’re seeing the light!” he joked. “Okay, I’ll listen to what the man has to say. Just make sure you stress that I’m on a case right now and he’s going to have to accept that.”

“I’ll call him back right now—you should hear back from him very soon. Thanks my friend, I owe you one.”

“Actually, I think we’re up to two,” Alan quipped, recalling the other case she had talked him into taking. “You never paid me back for the first one.”

“Two it is then. Thanks again.”

As he disconnected Alan wondered what he was getting himself into. Beth Lindsay was an old friend who wrote and lectured on the exploitation of women and children through human trafficking. She was passionate about her work and he had become an advocate himself after rescuing six young eastern European girls who had been trafficked into the country. In the process he had also exposed a major Russian trafficking ring, which led to the arrest of two of the gang’s kingpins, currently being held in federal prison awaiting trial.

As much as he wanted to do a favor for Beth, the timing couldn’t be worse.

“What was that all about?” Amanda asked.

“That was an old friend of mine, Beth Lindsay. She’s the woman who inducted me into the search for those Ukrainian girls that were abducted and trafficked last year. Wants me to consider taking another case from some retiree who apparently specializes in human trafficking.”

“You going to take it?”

“I don’t see how I possibly can. Not with this case just starting to heat up.”

“Maybe I could keep working this while you take the other one. If you want to take it, that is. And if you think I can handle it.”

“Jesus, Amanda. I couldn’t do that. As much as I have faith in your abilities, I wouldn’t feel right leaving you in a lurch. For that matter, I don’t even know what all is involved in this new case. Whatever it entails, it will have to wait.”

Alan could tell she was disappointed and he wondered why she seemed so willing to let him bail out when saving Nick meant so much to her. Was she really that generous or was it something else? He had no idea. Maybe she simply didn’t want to keep him from doing something he felt was important on her account.

“Want to go grab a sandwich and a cup of coffee?” he said.

“Yes, I could eat a horse.”

“Great, I’ll drive.”

“There used to be an old hamburger joint not far from here. Best burgers in the world.”

“Perfect, let’s do it.”

As she gave him directions, Alan’s mind was on overload. He knew that until he heard from Ron Fleming he was going to feel anxious. As if on cue the sound of his phone suddenly came via Bluetooth through the car’s speakers.

“Alan Swansea,” he answered.

“Hello, Mr. Swansea, This is Ron Fleming. Beth Lindsay gave me your number. Do you have a moment?”

“Sure, Mr. Fleming. Beth told me you’d be calling.”

“I’d like to explain up front why I’d prefer meeting with you in person as opposed to talking on the phone. I’m working on a case that is extremely important and involves some people who, shall we say, aren’t above hacking into cellphone conversations? I know for a fact that my phone is secure but I doubt the same can be said for yours. I cannot risk jeopardizing this case by taking any unnecessary chances. I hope you understand.”

“I understand. But I hope you understand that I’m not in a position to leave the case I’m working on to meet with you. It just isn’t possible.”

“Of course, so I would like to propose a simple solution. If you wouldn’t mind purchasing a prepaid cellphone, I would be more than happy to pay you back for it. Then we can speak freely and afterwards you can simply destroy the thing.”

Alan wondered who or what could possibly be threatening enough to make Fleming so paranoid. Whatever it was, it looked like the only way was going to find out was to go buy a burner.

“Okay, fair enough. Give me an hour and I’ll call you back.”

“Excellent. Have you got a pen handy? I’ll give you the number.”

“I already have your number in my phone’s recent calls,” Alan said.

“You have the number for this phone, which will be toast after we get off. I’m giving you the number of a different secure phone.”

This seemed so ridiculous that he almost broke out laughing. Fleming is either a drama king or has read one too many espionage stories, he thought. He looked over at Amanda who had already taken out a pen and scrap of paper from her pocket, poised to write.

“Okay, we’re ready to go. What’s the number?”

“Who are ‘we?’ You’re not alone?”

“No, I’m not. ‘We’ would be myself and my colleague,” Alan replied sharply.

“I’d prefer you to be alone, Mr. Swansea. If you don’t mind.”

“Listen, Mr. Fleming, I’m beginning to run out of patience with this cloak and dagger routine. You can either give me the number now or find somebody else to play James Bond with.”

There was a brief pause. “Very well, then. I can see that this is getting on your nerves so I’ll proceed anyway. After you hear what I have to say, maybe you’ll understand why I’m being so cautious.”

He read off the number as Amanda jotted it down.

“Thanks for your patience, Mr. Swansea. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

“Good-bye.”

Alan disconnected. “This guy sounds like some kind of nut. If it weren’t for Beth, I’d tell him to go fly a kite.”

“Please don’t get mad at me, but maybe you’re overreacting. I mean, there may be a very good reason why the guy is being so cautious.”

Alan was surprised at how seriously she was assessing the situation. Funny thing was, she had a valid point.

“You’re right. Guess I’ll reserve judgment until after we’ve heard the facts. Is there a Walmart or Target nearby?”

Amanda promptly Googled Walmart on her phone. “There’s a Walmart on Tenth Street.

“Let’s go buy a cheap cellphone.”

CHAPTER 10

After a quick lunch at Ye Old Hamburger Inn, Alan and Amanda went to Walmart and purchased a pre-paid cellphone. Alan hooked the phone up to the car’s charger, punched in the necessary info to enable the phone to operate and called the number Ron Fleming had given him.

“Fleming,” he heard over the line.

“Alan Swansea calling.”

“From your new phone?”

“Yes, fresh out of the box.”

“Wonderful. I realized after we spoke earlier that you must think that I’m some sort of a crazy person taking so many precautions. And I wouldn’t blame you a bit. But in my defense, my former colleague was shot and seriously wounded last week while working this case. And I have surmised that there’s only one way the bad guys could ever have found him out: by hacking his cellphone. This unfortunate incident could have been avoided had we not used our conventional cellphones in our communication. Now you know why I have asked you to take this extra precaution, Mr. Swansea.”

This is some serious shit, he thought. And this guy actually expects him to take over for his wounded partner?

“I see your reasoning now,” he said. “So what’s this all about, Mr. Fleming?”

“Please call me Ron. My problem is trying to explain the situation over the phone—it would be much easier to simply show you. My hope is that I can persuade you to meet me by the end of this conversation.”

“I’m all ears, Ron.”

He heard the man take in a deep breath. “The case I’m working on involves the trafficking of very young children who are being abducted and exploited for sex. My colleague has been in Florida investigating a powerful ring of traffickers that have been abducting children all over the Southeast and transporting them to Miami until they are eventually sold to the highest bidders. Many of these kids are as young as four years old and will ultimately face the inevitable fate of being either rented out or sold for sex or used in the production of kiddie porn. The sheer number of these exploited children in this single operation is absolutely staggering, Mr. Swansea.”

“Jesus,” Alan breathed. “That’s deplorable. But how do you think I can be of any help with this? I hardly think myself qualified on the merit of just one lucky case.”

“Oh, but you are qualified, Alan—much more than you realize. You see, we have reason to believe that some of these children have been sold to a certain party or parties in Columbus, your very own stomping grounds.”

“That’s certainly a shock. Any idea who?”

“Not a clue. It is my hope that you’ll be the one who finds out.”

Alan would be fooling himself to think this wasn’t tempting. Imagining this sort of thing going on was horrific enough. But finding out it’s happening so close to home would be enough to make anybody with a conscience want to retaliate.

Fleming certainly knew what buttons to push.

“How soon would you need me?” he asked.

“Immediately.”

“Can’t it wait? I can’t just chuck the case I’m on right now. It wouldn’t be fair to my client.”

“Couldn’t Ms. Linville take over the case for you?”

Alan froze. How in the fuck did he know Amanda’s name? He knew for a fact he hadn’t told him.

“How may I ask, do you know my partner’s name?”

“I actually know quite a bit about both of you.”

“But how?”

“Come up to Boston and I’ll show you.”

“So what else do you know?”

Fleming sighed, rattling off his knowledge as if reading a shopping list. “You’re working for Ms. Linville’s uncle, who is an attorney in her hometown. He is representing a childhood friend of hers—Nick Wilburn—who is highly suspected by the authorities to have murdered his ex-wife. Shall I go on?”

Alan was stunned. “That is, uh, rather disturbing,” He managed to say. “I don’t suppose you have a crystal ball, do you?”

Fleming chuckled. “No crystal ball. The future is still out of my range. But I may have the next best thing.”

“Which you aren’t going to divulge.”

“As I said, come up here and I’ll show you everything. I can have a ticket waiting for you at Port Columbus International by the time you make the drive. How about it?”

Alan recalled Beth saying that Ron Fleming was wealthy. That he was desperate and willing to pay a king’s ransom to have him take this case. But he wants to meet you yesterday, was how she’d put it.

He had a feeling that Fleming wouldn’t take no for an answer. He also knew that if he turned him down, he would probably regret it. He would always wonder what he might have possibly done to help these innocent children if only he had accepted. Always wonder why Ron Fleming did what he did—the story behind his cause. Always wonder how in the hell Fleming knew what he and Amanda were doing—as if he were some kind of psychic.

He looked over at Amanda. He saw an intelligent, resourceful person who could certainly take over the Wilburn case while he met Fleming to see what this trafficking thing is all about. Couldn’t take more than a day or two. Then he would return to Milldale and take it from there.

“Can I call you back in a few minutes?” he finally said.

“Certainly. I realize that you need to discuss this. I’ll be standing by.”

“Thanks.”

Alan disconnected. “Here’s the deal,” he said. “Fleming has been working on a case involving sex trafficking of young children down in Miami. His partner was evidently shot by this gang just as he was making some serious progress. And guess where some of these kids are being shipped to?”

“Where?”

“Columbus. Which is why he’s so keen on my working this thing. He wants me to meet him up in Massachusetts to go over the particulars. Won’t budge on that. Says he’ll have a plane ticket waiting for me if I leave now. My question to you: what are your thoughts about this and do you truly think you can handle things here until I get back, say in a day or two?”

“Definitely. I’ll continue with my investigation of Blaine and see what I can find out about Sheriff Foley. Shouldn’t be that hard to do.”

“Hold off on Foley. The guy is a trained law officer despite the fact he’s an irrepressible slob. He would very likely find out if you go poking around trying to dig something up on him. It’s just too risky. But what you could do besides scope out Blaine is see if there’s anything important on that memory card. Maybe there’s something worth pursuing. You could also do some follow-up in the event my hacker friend finds anything useful on Jodi’s laptop. That should keep you busy enough.”

“Sounds like a plan. And don’t worry, I’ll let you know if I run into any snags or have any questions.”

“You’d better,” he said. “Want to hear something scary?”

“What’s that?”

“Fleming knows about Jodi’s murder and why we’re down here. I have no idea how he knows, but he does. Creepy, eh?”

“Shit, I’ll say! I wonder how he knows? And he lives up in Massachusetts? Seems impossible.”

“For real. He’s promised to let me in on his little secret when I get there. Gotta say, that’s half the reason I’m actually considering this.”

“But what about his partner getting shot in action? That sounds really dangerous, Alan. You have to promise me you won’t let yourself get talked into doing anything risky, okay?”

“Don’t worry. As much as I want to explore what this is all about, I have zero desire to get myself killed. What I’ll do is listen to what Fleming has to say and take it from there. If it doesn’t feel right, I’m going to pass on it. Period.”

“Just remember you told me that,” she asserted.

“What about your uncle? I have to let him know.”

“Yes, you should call him.”

Alan picked up his iPhone. “Ken, it’s Alan. Something’s come up.”

He proceeded to explain the situation and was relieved that the attorney understood the scope of the situation. Barker’s only request was for Alan to stay in close touch.

He then called Fleming on the burner and told him he would accept the invitation to meet and that he’d be heading for Columbus as soon as possible. Ron Fleming was delighted and clearly relieved.

* * *

Alan pulled into his driveway and parked behind Rachel Warren’s Ford Escort. The front door swung open and out came a frisky border collie mix dashing toward him as fast as her legs could carry her.

“Hey Pan, how are ya, girl?”

He knelt and let his rescue dog give him a big wet kiss on the nose.

“Hi,” Rachel greeted, making her way over to meet him.

“Hi, Rachel.”

“I just got back from giving Pan a walk. How was your trip?”

“Shorter than I though it would be,” he replied. “But like I told you, I’ve got to turn around and leave again.”

“No problem. I’ll house sit as long as you need me to.”

“I appreciate that.”

Alan led the way inside his Clintonville home and made a beeline for the fridge. He got out an ice cold Yeungling, removed the cap and took a hefty swig.

“Has Pan been a good girl?”

She nodded. “Yup. She missed you though, that’s for sure.”

“I missed her, too. She’s the only family I have.”

Rachel’s expression turned glum. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Swansea.”

One of the girl’s endearing traits was her empathy for animals, including the human kind. He now realized that she was apologizing for the loss of his wife, while all he had intended to do was make light of the present situation.

“You don’t need to be sorry—I was just saying that for Pan’s sake. Don’t want her to think she’s not part of the family!”

“Oh, I see,” she replied, laughing.

“I’m going upstairs to get a few things. Have you had dinner?”

“Not yet. I was thinking of having Nicole over for pizza and to watch some videos.”

Alan took out his billfold and handed her a twenty. “Here’s for the pizza.”

“You don’t need to give me that.”

“I know—I want to give you that. You don’t know how much I appreciate your holding down the fort here. Consider it a token of my gratitude.”

“Thanks so much!”

Pan followed Alan up the stairs to the master bedroom. As he picked out some clean clothes for the Boston trip, he felt the same wave of regret he always had whenever he entered this room. Julie had designed the entire floor plan, right down to the king sized mahogany bed and matching nightstands. The bed looked enormous now, so vast and unfilled at night as he slept alone. Years ago, they had made great use of that bed and had planned on starting a family in the near future.

So quickly those plans had been dashed.

He sighed as he stuffed the clothes into his bag and left the room. He went back downstairs to his office, checked the voicemails and snail mail while waiting for his iMac to boot up. He checked his email and saw confirmation for the purchase of a one-way ticket to Logan Airport. He clicked on the link to print out the boarding pass, impressed that Ron Fleming had spared no expense by paying for first class seating. Alan had never flown first class in his life.

His flight boarded in a little over an hour, which would give him just enough time to wolf down a sandwich before heading for the airport. He folded the boarding pass, stuck it in his jacket and grabbed his mini iPad before joining Rachel in the kitchen.

He felt lucky to have found the resourceful teen to look after Pan while he was away and keep the house inhabited. Before now he had always boarded Pan and felt guilty every time he thought of his beloved companion being taken out of her comfort zone. One day he had been walking her and ran into Rachel’s mother outside her home a couple of blocks over. He had stopped to chat and learned that Mrs. Warren’s daughter had just graduated high school and was looking for a way to earn some extra cash over the summer. She added that Rachel loved animals and asked that he keep her in mind if he ever needed a dog sitter. Alan had taken her up on the offer when the Wilburn case came up and he learned that Rachel would be willing to house sit as well.

“I’ll give you a call as soon as I know when I’ll be returning, Rachel,” he said. “I may very well head right back down to Milldale, though. Are you sure you don’t mind staying an extra few days if necessary?”

“Not at all. I really like being here and Pan is super easy to look after. Besides that, I appreciate the opportunity to earn some cash. My parents have told me that I need to start saving up spending money for when I go to college in the fall. I’d much rather be doing this than babysitting.”

“Not so crazy about kids?”

“Not the kids I usually sit for. They drive me nuts!”

Alan chuckled and went about making a ham and cheese sandwich after cuing up the coffeemaker. When he was finished eating, he took out the largest size travel mug he could find and topped it off with fresh Kona before gathering up his things to leave.

“Be a good girl,” he said as he paused to pet Pan. “Take care, Rachel. I’ll call you some time tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mr. Swansea. Goodbye.”

The drive to the airport was surreal. Alan felt a knot in his stomach as he considered how everything had turned on a dime over the last few hours. One moment he was discussing the Wilburn case with Amanda in Milldale and the next heading to Boston to meet a total stranger about another case. Had he made the right decision leaving Amanda so abruptly like this? It had all happened so fast, it made his head spin. How had this all come to be, anyway?

The answer was simple: Ron Fleming. The guy had somehow talked him into this crazy diversion through his remarkable power of persuasion. Ironically, despite the thrumming in his head, Alan was actually looking forward to this meeting. Something—he couldn’t put a finger on it—was telling him to pursue this further.

He just hoped the cost of doing so wouldn’t be too great.

CHAPTER 11

Alan grabbed his bag and exited the plane. He entered the terminal and started looking for the tall, blonde-haired woman who was supposed to be meeting him. He’d been tempted to ask Fleming why he was sending somebody instead of coming himself but he’d held off.

He spotted a rather large but fit woman around thirty with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail waving to him. She walked directly over and held out her hand.

“Mr. Swansea,” she smiled. “I am your ride to the Fleming house.”

“Nice to meet you, um—”

“Natalie. Natalie Slone. How was your flight?”

“Good. Read most of the way.”

“Ah, my favorite pastime. Got any favorite authors?”

“Many of them are long gone. Thomas Hardy, Dostoyevsky, Dickens. But you can only read Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Crime and Punishment so many times without going crazy so I read a lot of Michael Connelly, Stephen King and Ken Follett, to name a few.”

“That’s quite a broad list of genres—do you have any baggage to claim?”

“Nope, travelling light.”

Alan had to hasten his pace to keep up with the woman as she walked briskly toward the elevator.

“I’m parked on the second level. Ron is really looking forward to meeting you,” she said. “Have you been to the area before?”

“Quite a while ago. How far is Mr. Fleming’s place from here?”

“About thirty minutes, providing the traffic cooperates.”

“So he lives in the burbs?”

“He lives in a little town called Nahant that used to be part of Lynn until it was incorporated into a separate town in the nineteenth century. A tiny island that’s actually a peninsula that juts out into the bay southeast of Lynn.”

“I see.”

When they reached the parking area, Natalie led the way over to a shiny black BMW, pressed the remote to unlock the doors and motioned for him to get in.

“This is not mine, by the way. It’s the boss’s,” she said, apparently to make it clear she would never own a Beemer.

“So what may I ask is your relationship to Mr. Fleming?”

“I’m his aide” she replied simply.

“Do you live in Nahant as well?”

“No, Lynn.”

“Just out of curiosity, how did you know that was me coming off the plane?”

“Ron showed me a photo of you.”

“I see. Any idea where he got that?”

“Ron knows everything,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Is that right?”

“He knows a lot—let’s put it that way.”

“How does he know so much?”

“Soon you’ll see.”

Alan wondered what all the hype and mystery was for. Who is this guy, anyway?

And what exactly was the job description for his “aide?”

“What can you tell me about Ron?”

“I’d prefer to let him speak for himself. I will say that he is a very private person and likes to lay low. He’s also a great person to work for and very likeable.”

“What can you say about his partner?”

“He doesn’t have a partner that I know of.”

“But he mentioned a colleague who was working on a case with him. Got shot in the line of duty.”

“Ron doesn’t share his business with me. So I suppose there are plenty of things I don’t know about.”

“I see.”

Alan stared out the window, wondering how this woman could work for Fleming yet know nothing of his business dealings. If she didn’t help him with the paperwork, or schedule appointments or perform tasks of that nature, what the hell did she do to aid him—cook and clean the house?

They were travelling at a decent speed along Route 1A and before long Alan noticed the ocean on his right. He studied their present location on the car’s GPS and saw that they were following the coastline to the north. In another ten minutes Natalie turned onto Nahant Road and entered the town of Nahant. It didn’t take long to realize that this scenic road virtually ran the entire length of the tiny peninsula.

“Here we are,” she announced, pulling into the driveway of an enormous white three-story home. They got out of the car and walked around to the front, which faced the rocky shoreline of the Sound that literally skirted the other side of the two-lane road. He could almost throw a rock and hit the surf from where they stood. Beyond the coastline was a stunning panorama as far as the eye could see.

“Wow, this is beautiful.”

“It is. That’s Castle Rock out there,” Natalie said, pointing over at a large rock formation jutting out from the coast.

“No relation to Stephen King’s Castle Rock?”

“Not hardly.”

She led the way over to the front porch and they entered the house. Alan’s first impression of the interior of Ron Fleming’s home was how classic New England it looked with its antique decor and rustic furnishings. Rich, well-worn hardwood floors ran throughout, illuminated by the natural light pouring in through the uncovered floor-to-ceiling sized windows. The view of the bay was virtually omnipresent from this side of the house and he could only imagine how beautiful the sky must look at daybreak.

Natalie resumed her fast pace through a doorway into the foyer, not allowing him any time to enjoy the view. He did a double-take when he noticed an elevator off to his right. Natalie went over and pressed the UP button and he immediately heard the rumbling sound of an elevator car descending. He stared at Natalie, expecting some kind of explanation.

“Ron is on the third floor,” she said simply.

“I see,” he replied.

The door opened with a whoosh and they entered. Natalie pressed the button for three, the door closed and up they went. Alan tried to recall ever seeing or hearing of a house this old having a built in elevator but couldn’t. He began wondering how many more surprises lay ahead.

The elevator stopped, the door promptly opened. Before him stood a study/computer lab that took up the entire floor. It was like a melding of the nineteenth and twenty-first centuries in a single room—antique chairs with matching desks supporting a staggering array of state-of-the-art electronic equipment. Adjacent to this technological arsenal was a bird’s eye view of the bay through a semi-circular turret window.

Near the turret sat a man at a desk. He looked up from the computer monitor as they emerged from the elevator. The man smiled and came out from behind the desk on an electric wheelchair.

“Greetings, Mr. Swansea. We meet at last!”

Alan walked over to Ron Fleming, joined by Natalie. The man looked to be in his early seventies and wore a plain blue button-down shirt, khakis and house slippers. He shook Alan’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I trust you had a good flight?”

Alan nodded. “Especially the first-class accommodations. Nice touch.”

“My pleasure. Natalie, would you mind getting whatever Mr. Swansea would like to drink? Coffee, a beer?”

“Coffee would be nice if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Ron?” Natalie said.

“I’ll have the same. Thanks.”

As Natalie headed back to the elevator, Fleming gestured toward the picturesque view.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is.”

“I never get tired of it. This house has been in my family for nearly a century and every day I feel blessed to live here.”

“How long have you had the elevator?” Alan asked.

“About as long as I’ve been in this wheelchair,” Fleming replied. “I caught a bullet in my spinal cord ten years ago—paralyzed me from the waist down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Becoming a paraplegic has been a life-altering event. I‘ve tried my best to appreciate the positive aspects of it, and you know what? I can’t think of a single one!” he grinned.

He shrugged. “But once I finally relinquished myself to accept the unfortunate card I’d been dealt, it got a little easier to deal with. I had to make changes of course, adapt to the limitations to my mobility and everything that goes along with it. That’s been the biggest game changer for me. Having to hire somebody to help me with the most basic things I used do for myself has been very difficult. Not to mention humbling. There’s a certain loss of identity that goes along with losing the use of your legs—you feel vulnerable and impotent if you don’t keep your guard up. Living becomes a game of sorts, such as trying to act like this wheelchair doesn’t really exist and I’m not really a cripple. You win some, you lose some.”

“What exactly happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“’Going right for the jugular—I like that! I wish I could tell you some heroic story of how I was trying to escape from a bunch of bad guys and one of them suddenly shot me in the back, but that would be a total lie. It was nothing dramatic like that.

“One day I was I was walking along Forty Steps Beach—that’s the tiny pocket beach right down there—when suddenly I felt a sharp burning in my lower back. An instant later I fell flat on my ass, wondering what in the hell had just happened. Turns out, I’d been shot by somebody with a high-power rifle—the kind a hunter would use. Or a sniper. At any rate, I lay there for quite awhile until a neighbor finally spotted me from the road and called 911. I was lucky they came along when they did. The doctors said I’d be more than just paralyzed from the waist down otherwise, if you know what I mean.”

“Did they ever find out who did it?”

“No, and that’s the strange thing about it. The cops investigated but never found a single trace of a shooter in the area. So they figured it was either a stray bullet from a hunter, which is very unlikely since nobody hunts in Nahant, or somebody onboard a watercraft out in the sound fired the shot. All I knew for sure is that it had to have travelled quite a distance because I never heard a sound. Nor did anybody else in the area.”

“What do you think happened? I mean, do you know anybody who might have wanted to shoot you at the time?”

He shook his head. “I hadn’t a single enemy I could think of. Back then I was just a moderately successful investment banker. I may have made a few bad decisions from time to time but nothing drastic enough to warrant a hit on myself. I think it was just plain bad luck—a random case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“At any rate, becoming a paraplegic suddenly threw my life into a tailspin. While struggling through physical therapy and feeling sorry for myself, I realized that I no longer wanted to continue my career as a banker. To be blunt, I come from a wealthy family and had inherited enough to last me the rest of my life after my father passed so I had the luxury of making such a decision. I never liked my job anyway—commuting to the city every day just to try and make rich people even richer. It was a pointless, unsatisfying way to exist. I did have other interests though, my favorite being software development.

“I have always been fascinated with computers and I learned how to write code as far back as the early eighties. I had developed several programs over the years in my spare time—ranging from video games to investment how-to apps. So while I was sitting around with all of this time on my hands, I decided to quit my job and equip this room with all of the latest technological equipment that suited my needs. Since I’ve always spent most of my time up here and wasn’t about to give the place up just because of my infirmary, I had the elevator installed.”

Fleming reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a photograph and handed it to Alan. It was a photo of a young girl around nine or ten with brown curly hair and big brown eyes.

“This is Gracie Mueller when she was ten years old. Gracie is my closest friend’s granddaughter and an only child. Around five years ago, Gracie was abducted by human traffickers. She had been literally plucked from the street while waiting for her mother to pick her up after school. Shortly after the abduction an Amber Alert was issued and the police began an intense search for the child that ran into the late night. The next day, having had no luck finding her, my friend’s family huddled around the phone with a wiretap, awaiting a call from her abductor demanding a ransom. They were well aware that the alternative to kidnapping was even more frightening, so they half-hoped that would be the case. At least there could be hope for Gracie’s safe return. But nobody ever called. My friend’s son and daughter-in-law then went on live TV and offered a reward of thirty thousand dollars for any information leading to Gracie’s whereabouts or return. The police received a slew of tips afterwards but not a single one panned out at the time.

“Then one day nearly three months later, somebody thought they recognized Gracie riding in the backseat of a car in downtown Boston. They called the cops and gave them the car’s license number. Later that week they were able to track down the owner of the car—a pimp named Darrell who had been working the streets for the last several years. The police arrested him, took him to the station for questioning and eventually worked out a deal with him in exchange for handing Gracie over to them.”

“So they got her back?”

“In the physical sense—yes, but not in spirit. What Gracie’s family got back was a little girl that was a wasted shell of her former self. She weighed only thirty pounds, was addicted to crack cocaine and hadn’t bathed in over a week. She was examined by a doctor who discovered that she had cuts and bruises all over her body, a cracked rib and an STD. Ten years old, and she may just as well be dead.

“The physical harm was nothing compared to the emotional trauma the poor child had endured. She was unable to talk about what she had been subjected to since her abduction. Although she was now safe and would never have to go back to the life she had been living, she was still in mortal fear of her pimp and refused to incriminate him. It was pathetic.

“In the span of just a few months, Gracie had become so damaged she’ll never be able to live a happy normal life. All because of the heartless bastards that stole her from her loving family, imprisoned her, robbed her of her innocence and subjected her to a world of unspeakable atrocities.”

“Jesus,” Alan muttered. He took another look at the photo and handed it back to Fleming.

“I was so appalled by all of this that I felt compelled to do something about it. To do anything in my power to keep other kids from being subjected to this sort of nightmare. It didn’t take me long to realize that I potentially had a powerful weapon to use against these low-lifers right here in this room. It just had to be developed and perfected in order to work.”

Just then they heard the elevator door open and out came Natalie carrying a tray.

“Let’s go over there,” Fleming said, motioning toward the desk he’d been working at.

Alan followed him over to where a pair of long desks came together and made an L formation. Natalie sat the tray on top of the least cluttered desk and poured coffee into two ceramic mugs.

“Please, have a seat,” Fleming said to Alan as he positioned himself before a twenty-six inch computer monitor.

Alan pulled over an office chair and sat down in it.

“Would you like anything else, Ron?” Natalie asked her boss.

“No, thanks. This is fine.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” she said before leaving.

Fleming took a sip of coffee and entered a few keystrokes on the computer. The screen came to life with a display of numbers that looked like URLs, the myriad of web addresses spanning three columns. He scrolled down a few pages, stopped and clicked on one of the site addresses. Alan was as shocked as he was repulsed by what he saw. At the top of the page were several thumbnail images of children engaged in various acts of sex—children with adults, children with other children and combinations of both. A few of these kids were only toddlers, boys and girls alike. The oldest kids appeared to be in their early teens. In bold pink letters below the images was the name of the site: Kiddies Por Vous!

“This is just one of hundreds if not thousands of similar sites currently accessible on the internet. Pedophiles go here in search of kiddie porn to add to their collection. As you can see, there isn’t any discrimination between ages or genders of the victims.”

“How easy is it for somebody to access these sites? How are they able to stay in existence for that matter?”

“It’s actually very difficult to access these sites. And unless you have been cleared by the assholes who host them and paid them a lot of money in advance, they are virtually impossible to access.”

“So how—”

“How am I able to access them?” Fleming interjected. “By way of a software program I’ve been developing for the past five years. I’ve managed to write a program that works in tandem with other programs and search engines that allows me to locate deep websites like this. But simply getting on the site homepage isn’t enough—not by any stretch.”

Fleming scrolled down the page to a link that read, “Members Only.” He clicked on the link and landed on a page stating that he had accessed a page that was unavailable without a valid username and password; and that cookies must be enabled.

“As you can see, the homepage is a dead-end street. So what we have is an index page that is accessible but not navigable or traceable. Law enforcement agencies are able to find these sites as well, but not nearly as many as I can in a single sitting, or as quickly. But finding out who’s hosting these sites and pandering the porn is more often than not a major stumbling block. A stumbling block that I have been able to remove with considerable success.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll show you.”

He closed the page, quit the program he was running and launched another one from his desktop. In the URL window that appeared he typed in several characters and landed on a blank page containing nothing but a single login field. He entered several keystrokes and there was a brief pause before another window appeared. The window simply read, “Welcome to Gracie.”

“Her namesake—I wrote this software in Gracie’s honor,” he explained before clicking on the text. A huge number three appeared in the middle of the page, followed by a two and then a one.

“We’re in,” he said, his face set in satisfaction. “Now I’ll show you what this baby can do.”

He picked up a notebook and began typing furiously, his eyes never leaving the numbers he had scrawled down. He finally stopped, paused a moment and then hit the return button with a note of finality. The screen stalled for a few moments, blinked a couple of times and then suddenly the entire screen was filled with what appeared to be the computer’s desktop.

“Did it crash?” Alan asked.

Fleming shook his head. “Watch this.”

He brought the cursor down to the dock and opened the mail program. Alan realized that the desktop was that of a Macintosh computer and Fleming was using a PC. All of a sudden everything looked very familiar—

This was his own computer!

He stared at his email messages in utter disbelief, realizing that they were older ones, perhaps from a couple of days before.

“How are you able to get into my iMac?” he asked.

“The same way I can get into anybody else’s computer: by hacking.”

“But how can you do that? I mean, I’ve heard of hacking into databases and servers—stuff like that. But to be able to get into my personal computer? I don’t get it.”

“I’m going to level with you. There are plenty of other hackers out there that can do what I’ve done to your computer. Ordinary folks have no idea just how far hacking has come in the last few years. With the advent of GPS and the ability to track everybody’s everyday moves, where they go while internet surfing through a myriad of worms, viruses, and the like, I’m surprised things haven’t gotten more out of hand than they have.

“But finding out what Alan Swansea has been up to is nothing compared to finding out what the people running these kiddie porn sites are up to. That’s because they have been designed to remain anonymous and unsearchable through a thick cloak of firewalls and security precautions. That my friend, is what Gracie is able to accomplish: to cut through the security and expose the goods.”

“So are you saying that you can control my computer from this computer? Right now?”

“Not exactly. What you’re looking at is the state of your iMac three days ago—the day I invaded your hard drive. I planted a little bug that basically duplicated your entire hard disk in a matter of minutes and then transmitted the results back to me. Unfortunately my program can’t hack into a computer that is powered off. The good news is that everything you had on your computer then has probably changed very little in such a short time, so I have plenty of data to search through at will. For example, let’s take a look at your photos.”

He closed the Mail program, located Alan’s Aperture program and opened it up. Like lightening, a small portion of his photo library showed up on the screen in tiny thumbnails. On the left was the directory for every album he had ever created, a vault of no less than a couple of thousand images he’d taken over the years. Photos uploaded from investigations, vacation pix, before and after shots of his house during remodeling, images of him and Julie goofing around.

All of it at this stranger’s fingertips.

“So you do have total control of my computer,” he declared.

“Bascially, yes. Scary, isn’t it? To think that I can sit here at my leisure and examine your life, professionally and personally, at will just by making a few keystrokes.”

Fleming had made his point. Alan was no stranger to computer hacking and he had in fact used the skills of Charlie Ling several times to help him gather info on his cases. But he had never fathomed what it would be like for his own computer to actually be hacked and his life to become an open book for somebody to peruse. He had to admit, he felt very vulnerable right now.

“So this is obviously how you knew I was working a case in Milldale.”

“Correct. You keep a very organized, detailed calendar of your appointments. It’s a virtual journal, I daresay—it didn’t take much effort to find out what you’ve been up to with Ms. Linville. I know you’re not thrilled that I’ve been eavesdropping on your life, and for that I apologize. I only did it to illustrate the potential Gracie has. And to be quite frank, to help win you over and take the case.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed, or that I’m not fascinated with your potential to thwart crime. But what can I possibly do to help you? How do I fit in, other than being a PI who happens to live in Columbus as you have already pointed out.”

“There are a number of reasons why I want you on this case. For one, you obviously have a passion for what you do. I’ve studied in depth your investigation of Yuri Popov and his gang of traffickers. I know that you originally took the case because of your friendship with Beth Lindsay—pro bono, no less—because you were intrigued by what you had discovered about the lost girls. And that once you learned how insidious and widespread human sex trafficking has become abroad and in this country as well, you suddenly became a man with a mission. And as a result of your sleuthing skills and passion, you were able to bust one of the biggest Russian kingpins in the human trafficking industry. And rescue those young girls from being subjected to the same fate as Gracie was.

“I have tried without success to find out who was responsible for kidnapping and exploiting Gracie. Because it happened several years ago, the landscape of sex trafficking in the Boston area has changed. Like rival gangs, the cretins who control trafficking often have turf wars and there is a totally new regime controlling Boston now from what I’ve discovered. It’s not been easy admitting that I may never be able to find out who was responsible for trafficking Gracie, I can tell you that. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other fish out there to fry.

“So I’ve homed in on Miami. I chose to focus on this particular operation after finding out that their victims are exclusively young children and it’s a pretty well established operation there. Now that I’ve learned that Columbus is a key destination for some of these children and my investigator is out of action, you are the perfect man to take over. I want to snuff out this operation, Alan. Not just for Gracie, but for the children that are being exploited right now as we speak, in your very own home town!”

The man delivered a convincing argument, Alan had to admit. Fleming also knew how to tug at the heartstrings by zeroing in on the fact that this atrocity was happening on his own turf. Alan knew he was sold, but unsure of the logistics. He was on a case already and letting Amanda take it over would not only be unprofessional but foolhardy. Things in Milldale could get very dicey with the likes of Sheriff Foley being a player in the case and possibly even the perpetrator.

On the other hand, it wasn’t like he would be leaving the country by taking Fleming’s case. He would only be a couple hours away from Amanda. Would that be enough to warrant letting her take over, if only for a couple of days until he got a feel for what he was getting himself into in Columbus?

“What more can you tell me about this operation?”

Fleming smiled, sensing he had all but won him over.

CHAPTER 12

Amanda held her breath and inserted the SD card Alan had found in the trunk of Jodi Wilburn’s VW into the card reader. She prayed there was something on it that would be useful to the case. The image of the card popped up on the computer screen and she double-clicked it.

It was blank. The card was totally empty.

So much for that, she thought.

She removed the card and set it aside, still staring blankly at her uncle’s laptop screen. What in the hell had made her think she could take over this case while Alan was gone in the first place? She wasn’t a sleuth—she was in marketing with a business major. And here she was playing private eye, pretending she knew what she was doing.

She suddenly recalled what Alan had once told her—how he often had doubts about what he was doing while on a case and how his private investigation classes had been utterly useless. That the truth of it was, having an overwhelming desire to unveil the unknown was the only credential he really needed to do this job.

Well, she certainly had that. She wanted nothing more right now than to find out who murdered Jodi Wilburn and get Nick off the hook.

She sighed and felt a little better. She could do this.

Blaine Evans. That was her next order of business. She needed to find out where he was on the day Jodi was murdered. He’d said he had a lawn maintenance business and she assumed he worked from his home. How could she find out if he really was on the job the morning of May thirtieth?

She had no idea. If he did in fact work out of his home there would be no way to check his records or appointments for that day without breaking and entering. She was not about to do that. So what else could she do?

She snapped her fingers. Facebook! She recalled that Blaine was a habitual social media user—one of those people who posts everything like when they shit last, as if anybody gave a damn. She hadn’t even considered checking to see if he had posted anything on the day of Jodi’s murder—she had only visited his Facebook page to find out what he looked like. She opened the web browser, logged into her Facebook account and typed Blaine Evans into the search field. After his page loaded, she scrolled slowly down through his postings, grateful that his privacy setting was set so that anybody who landed on his page could peruse it without having to friend him.

She clicked on the link for older posts at the bottom of the page, searched his May entries and located the thirtieth. Blaine had made five posts that day, beginning at 8:14 AM:

Must have overdone it last night, feel hungover as shit! Gotta cut some old lady’s grass in fifteen minutes or she’s gonna fire my ass. Would rather stay in bed than have to work at this ungodly hour but what the fuck?

His next entry was at 10:17 AM:

Finished Goldman’s yard and heading to my next one. At least I’m starting to feel half alive.

The next post was at 12:04:

Worked up a sweat so i’m throwing down a cold one at Jack’s. One more job and I’m done for the day. Damn this Bud’s going down good!

His finals posts involved his final lawn job, with Blaine whining about how worn out he was and how he couldn’t wait to get blasted after dinner at McDonalds and a shower.

Unless he had only made up this boring blow-by-blow account of his humdrum life to establish an alibi, Blaine Evans couldn’t have killed Jodi. And since the guy was such a dullard, Amanda seriously doubted he had the foresight to cover his ass in this way.

So now what?

Alan had specifically told her not to investigate Sheriff Foley and she had no intention of defying him. But he had been referring to her tailing him and potentially putting herself in harm’s way. What could be wrong with taking another approach, a safer one?

She hadn’t trusted the fat slob from the very moment she laid eyes on him at Jodi’s house. She couldn’t help but notice the way he had looked her over—the same way middle-aged horny bastards gape at women with their tongues hanging out. As disgusting as the mere thought of it was, she would be willing to bet the good sheriff would let his guard down a little if some chick started flirting with him. Even some chick he wasn’t particularly fond of.

That chick being herself.

Amanda hadn’t told Alan that she had already done a little snooping around after he’d made it clear she didn’t want him to investigate Foley. She figured if she had told him, he might have gotten pissed at her or overly paranoid. But she couldn’t undo what was already done, so what the hell? She had been able to find out among other things where the sheriff lived and that he hung out at the Holiday Inn lounge during his off time on a fairly regular basis. He was divorced, probably lonely and from what she’d heard, quite a womanizer after a few drinks. Why any woman would ever consider shacking up with the overweight redneck was beyond her comprehension, but she knew from experience that anything was possible in this one-horse town.

Her mind made up, she would drop by the Holiday Inn tonight on the off chance that Foley would be there. She had a feeling that without Alan at her side, the creep just might loosen up enough to give her what she wanted from him.

She and Uncle Ken went to dinner at Milldale’s only Mexican restaurant and spent most of the time talking about old times, her job at UrbanGroup and her life in Columbus. There had been little to discuss regarding the case other than what she had learned about Blaine Evans. She sensed that her uncle was disappointed that Alan had left so abruptly despite his insistence that he was fine with it. This had made her want to break the case all that much more and she now found herself anxious to encounter the sheriff.

After brushing her hair and putting on more makeup than usual, Amanda looked herself over in the mirror. She had decided to wear a low cut blouse and designer jeans that accentuated her body curves just for the sheriff. She told her uncle she was going to look up some old friends and told him not to wait up for her.

It was almost ten o’clock when she pulled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn. She looked for Foley’s gray Suburban but didn’t see it. The place was already crowded judging by the packed lot. She finally found a space, parked and headed for the entrance.

The pulsating bass of a live band was the first thing to greet her ears as she made her way into the lounge. Throngs of people were standing around and all of the tables were filled as she fought her way over to the bar. She ordered a Margarita and surveyed the scene while waiting nearly five minutes to get her drink. The band was playing a cover version of Sweet Home Alabama, reminding her of how incredibly backward Milldale was. The song was a moldy oldie back when she had lived here and now seemed like an overly covered relic—a symbol of how nothing ever changed here.

Taking a sip, she decided to get away from the packed bar and move toward the rear of the place. For a town that was economically challenged, the Holiday Inn was an ironic anomaly. It wasn’t even midnight and the place was hopping with half the customers already shit-faced or well on their way.

Amanda headed toward a less congested area in the corner and thought she saw somebody familiar sitting at one of the tables. As she drew closer, she realized that it was Jodi’s old friend, Summer Moore sitting with a couple of other girls.

“Hi Summer,” she greeted.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned—it’s the detective! How the hell are ya?”

“Fine. Small world, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again—hey, have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

“This is Amanda, she’s in town looking into Jodi’s murder.”

“Hi, I’m Carly,” one girl said.

“Nice to meet you,” Amanda said.

“Christine,” said the other. “So where do you live, Amanda?”

“Columbus. I used to live here a long time ago. I was good friends with Nick.”

“Her uncle is Ken Barker, the lawyer,” Summer explained. “He’s Nick’s attorney.”

“Oh, I get it. You think Nick’s innocent and you’re trying to prove it,” Carly said.

“That’s pretty much the gist of it.”

“We know he didn’t do it,” Christine said. “But from what I hear, they got a bunch of evidence that makes him look guilty.”

“I heard that somebody spotted him near Jodi’s house the same morning she was murdered,” Carly said.

“Who told you that?” Amanda asked.

“Oh hell, I don’t know. I just heard it somewhere.”

“All I know is that I miss her an awful lot. She was such a sweetheart,” said Summer.

“Remember that time she took us all out in her new car? God did she ever love that car—wouldn’t even let us smoke in it!”

“That car was her baby,” Carly said. “I think that—”

“What have we here?” Amanda heard behind her. She turned and saw Sheriff Foley standing over her. He suddenly recognized her and his dopey smile turned into an even dopier sneer.

“Well I’ll be, if it’s not the PI from Cowtown!”

“Hello, Sheriff,” Amanda said.

“Where’s your sidekick?” he asked.

“Somewhere else.”

“Hmm, still a smartass—even when you’re by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself, as you can see.”

He laughed heartily. “Don’t think I can’t see these other beautiful women sitting here! How’s it going, girls?”

“Good, Sheriff,” Carly replied.

It became evident to Amanda that this scenario with the sheriff had most likely played itself out before. He seemed to be about half-lit, but she couldn’t tell for sure.

He knelt down beside Amanda and drew close to her face, making her want to vomit.

“Hey, no hard feelings, eh? I’m willin’ to forget our little differences if you are. What do ya say?”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ve gotta go to the lady’s room,” Christine said, getting to her feet.

Foley stood up and said, “I’ll keep your chair warm.”

He eased his girth down in Christine’s place and smiled confidently, as though he was doing everybody a favor.

“Good band,” he said.

“Not bad,” said Summer. “Wish they’d play something that was released within the last twenty years, though.”

Foley laughed. “That’s classic rock they’re playing—best music ever!”

“So who’s your favorite all time rock band, Sheriff?” Amanda asked.

“Hmm, I’d have to think about that. Probably Marshall Tucker.”

Figures he’d choose a southern rock band, she thought.

“I always liked Can’t You See?” she said.

“Is that right? I would’ve never thought you’d say that.”

“I’m full of surprises,” she said, in disbelief that she was actually leading this slob on.

“You’re dry—let me get you another drink,” he offered.

“Why thank-you.”

Foley looked around, spotted one of the servers and whistled at her.

“Hey Janie, how about another round over here?” he hollered.

The woman held up a finger for him to hold on a sec then came over to their table.

“What are we having, Sheriff?”

“A margarita for our beautiful visitor from up north. What you girls drinking?”

“I’m good, sheriff,” Carly said.

“Me too.”

“I’ll take another Jack on the rocks, Janie.”

“How did you know what I was drinking?” Amanda asked.

“Salt on the rim of the glass—a dead giveaway.”

She tried to look impressed. “You’re very observant.”

His eyes travelled down to her breasts. “Very observant.”

Just then a guy wearing a cowboy hat and jeans jacket came over and spoke to Summer.

“We’re going over to the One-Eye. Ya wanna go?”

Summer eyed Carly. “Want to?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

Christine returned, saw that Foley had taken her chair and looked at Summer questioningly.

“The guys are all going to One-Eye’s,” Summer said. “We are too.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Summer picked up her drink, drained it and smiled at Amanda.

“You want to go with us, Mandy?”

She could feel the sheriff’s eyes on her, hoping she would say no.

“Thanks, but I’m turning in early.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where we’ll be. Nice seeing you again.”

“Me too. Nice meeting you guys,” she said.

They took a last sip and left a tip before leaving the table.

“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” the sheriff said.

“Thanks for the drink.”

“So where you staying while you’re in town?”

“At my uncle’s house.”

“Your partner, too?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you something personal?”

“I guess so—not sure I’ll give you an answer, though.”

“Fair enough. Are you and your partner—Swansea, isn’t it? Are you two a number?”

“You mean are we seeing each other?”

“Yeah, whatever you want to call it.”

“Not really. We’re just good friends—after all, we work together. A romantic relationship wouldn’t make for a very professional arrangement, would it?”

“Nope, reckon not.”

“May I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you married?”

“Used to be, but I’m divorced. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

Their drinks came. Foley nearly drained his in a couple of gulps. Amanda wanted to drain hers and try to forget what she was about to do.

“Have any kids?” she asked.

“Yeah, two—a son and a daughter.”

“That’s nice. They still live around here?”

He nodded, a look of surprise on his face that she had even asked the question. “They would never dream of leaving Milldale.”

Amanda caught him staring at her breasts again and was repulsed. She had to force herself not to show it—to act like she was actually enjoying the company of this fucking asshole.

“You by any chance like antiques?” he asked.

Here it comes, she thought. “I do, as a matter of fact. Why?”

He smiled brightly. “I’m a collector of sorts—a hobby of mine. I’ve got some beautiful pieces that go back as far as the early seventeen hundreds.”

“Wow, that’s interesting. I would never have thought of you as an antique collector.”

“Just like you, I’m full of surprises. Would you like to come to over and see my collection?”

“I don’t know, sheriff. It’s getting late and I really should be going.”

“It won’t take long. Tell you what, let me take you to my place just long enough for you see my stuff and then I’ll bring you back the second you say you want to go.”

“Well. . . Okay, I guess so. But I can’t stay long, remember.”

“Fair enough. We’ll leave as soon as you finish that drink.”

Amanda chugged it down effortlessly. “I’m finished.”

He guffawed and managed to heave his ungodly mass out of the chair. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the table. Amanda followed him out of the bar, feeling the eyes of everybody in the place upon her.

“I can just follow you,” Amanda said when they were outside.

“Be a lot simpler if I just drive. Only take ten minutes.”

She walked along side the sheriff, feeling like a slut. What in the hell am I doing? Alan would shit a golden brick if he could see her now.

It wasn’t until he opened the door to his Suburban and she got inside that she actually starting feeling apprehensive. Although this huge, gross bastard was a lawman, he could also be a serial killer for all she knew. When he got in and started up the engine, she drew in a deep breath in an effort to compose herself, making a silent vow to quit watching so many crime documentaries on TV.

He backed out of the parking space, reached into the console and pulled out a pint of Jack Daniels. When he noticed Amanda staring at him, he cast her a sheepish grin as he removed the cap and took a gulp.

“One of the perks of being sheriff,” he said. “Nobody would ever bust my ass for DUI in this town. They’d burn in hell.”

All Amanda could think at that moment was if the sheriff could so blatantly break the open container law without fear of any consequences, what would keep him from robbing and murdering Jodi Wilburn? The man apparently thought himself invincible.

“Want a snort?” he offered.

“No thanks.”

He turned on the stereo and tuned in a country station. The nasal whine of Randy Travis filled the SUV for about five seconds before Foley promptly changed stations.

“Can’t stand that little twerp,” he declared.

He found a classic rock station and left it there. They were heading east on Route 52 toward the outskirts of Milldale. She recalled from the Google satellite image that he lived on a good-sized plot of land about three miles from the highway. The sheriff spoke very little along the way, seemingly in his own world, no doubt with visions of a sexual conquest dancing in his bald head.

When they arrived at Foley’s home, Amanda was impressed by the layout of the property. The house had obviously been built very recently and had a modern look to it. She could see an in-ground pool in the side yard as well as a natural wood gazebo and massive greenhouse occupying the grounds, which were now bathed in bright floodlights. She realized that real estate was cheap in this struggling town but she seriously doubted that what she saw could be built on just a small town sheriff’s salary.

He pulled into the driveway outside the three-car garage and shut off the engine.

“Welcome to my abode.”

“Very nice,” Amanda replied.

“Thank-you.”

He stuck the Jack back into the console before getting out and leading the way to the sprawling split-level home. He held the door open for her as she stepped inside. The first thing to catch her eye was a beautiful baby grand piano visible through the atrium.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” he said, following her eyes. “That actually belonged to Wolfgang Mozart.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

He chuckled. “I am, but you wouldn’t believe how many yahoos around here have fallen for that!”

The pot calling the kettle black, she thought.

“How about a drink before we begin the tour?”

“Maybe just a short one,” Amanda replied, walking over to the piano. “So how old is this?”

“Actually it’s old enough to have been Mozart’s—it was built in Vienna in 1786. See how small the keyboard is? It’s two octaves shy of a modern grand.”

As she admired the instrument, Amanda had to admit she was impressed with Foley’s apparent knowledge of antiques. She looked around the room in awe of the beautiful pieces: what looked to be a Louis XIV bureau, a pair of matching chairs and a giltwood center table. Seeing such elegant pieces of French furniture in the home of an overweight, overbearing county sheriff in southern Ohio was nothing short of surreal.

She followed the sheriff into the kitchen and looked around while he fixed their drinks. The kitchen was clean and modern with all stainless steel appliances and granite counters. If she didn’t know better, the cabinets could be antiques with their richly detailed accents and crafted ebony wood.

Foley produced a bottle each of Tequila and Triple Sec and began preparing a margarita, winking at Amanda as he rubbed the rim of the glass with a lime slice before adding the rock salt.

“I always keep a fully stocked bar—just in case a pretty girl like you shows up,” he explained.

If she didn’t despise him so much, she would have allowed herself to be impressed with how much he was doting on her. He had so far been a perfect host.

After mixing the drinks he handed Amanda her margarita and tapped her glass.

“To my guest, one of Milldale’s most beautiful losses.”

It took her a moment to decipher what he had just said before she got it. “How should I respond to that, sheriff?”

“No need to. Just know I meant it.”

“Thanks, then.”

“Follow me—I’ll show you my most prized possession.”

Thus began the tour. For the next fifteen minutes the sheriff led her through his home to share his collection of antiques, which was stunning. Amanda wasn’t knowledgeable of what the market value of such an array of antique pieces would be but it didn’t take a genius to realize that it had to be a small fortune. When the sheriff had first mentioned an antique collection she envisioned something like stuff from the thirties or forties or maybe even dating back to the early nineteen hundreds. Instead what she was seeing were museum quality pieces of exceptional value and rarity.

Furthermore, her host was quite knowledgeable about history and how each piece reflected the time period in which it was built. She would never have guessed she’d admit it, but the sheriff was not quite the redneck boor he appeared to be; but rather he was a well educated, nearly likeable individual.

One thing bothered her though. How in the hell was he able to acquire what appeared to be a priceless collection of antiques on a public servant’s salary? Not to mention this custom built house?

Unless he came from a wealthy family—which she doubted based on what she had found in her research—the sheriff was involved in something to boost his income. Probably illegal too, like drugs, extortion, or something as simple as burglary. Like Jodi Wilburn’s inheritance, for example, which had included several valuable pieces of antiquity and precious jewelry.

Could Sheriff Foley have robbed Jodi to help finance his passion for antiquity?

They had returned to the kitchen for another drink. Amanda let him talk her into one more only because she needed to buy some more time. After he handed her a drink, she decided to cut to the chase.

“How can you be so sure that Nick Wilburn murdered his wife, sheriff?”

The question caught him off guard and for a moment she thought he was going to go off on her. But he didn’t.

“I should have known this was going too well,” he complained. “Can’t you just forget about business for a change and relax, woman? That’s the problem with all you big-city folks. You never take the time to just have a good time.”

She forced a laugh. “I am relaxed, sheriff—probably too much in fact. I just really care about Nick and don’t believe he killed his wife. But you seem to be dead set on convicting him based on what can only be considered circumstantial evidence. You have no proof.”

“You’re shitting me, right? Everything points to Wilburn’s guilt—the coins in his car, the call to his ex-wife on his cellphone; plus he had motive, opportunity, everything! And you know what they say, if its quacks like a duck—”

“But you haven’t even considered the possibility it could be somebody else.”

“And how could you possibly know that?”

“Well, I don’t know for certain. But it sure seems that way from what I’ve heard.”

“So you believe all the gossip you hear?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that I’ve read the police reports and there hasn’t been a single mention of anybody else being considered as a suspect. It’s like it has to be Nick Wilburn and can’t possibly be anybody else. You call that good police work?”

“What you’ve read is the city’s side of the story. You don’t know what all my department has done in this case, now do you?”

“No, I don’t,” she admitted. “If you’ll just answer one more question for me, I promise to drop this whole conversation.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Okay, what’s the question?”

“Is it really true that somebody saw Nick near Jodi’s house the morning of the murder?”

He paused a moment and grinned like a fox. “What’s it worth to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what’s it worth for me to answer? What will you give me in return?”

She gathered every ounce of resolve she could muster before responding. Then she cast her finest coquettish smile. “You’ll see.”

The sheriff beamed, confident that his conquest with this chick from the big city would be successful.

“Nobody has reported seeing Nick in the area that morning. Now you see why you should never believe any of the gossip you hear in this town.”

Amanda’s relief was palpable. This is huge, she thought. Without an eyewitness, there was still a chance Nick could be exonerated.

“Thank you, sheriff. For your honesty.”

“Anytime. Now, let’s see what my honesty has earned me.”

“I’m afraid it’s going to have to wait. I’m really tired and need to go. But I won’t go back on my word. How about us getting together again tomorrow night?”

“But you said—”

“I told you that you’d see—and now you’ve seen. We will continue where we left off tomorrow. That’s the best I can give you.”

“How do I know you won’t welch on your promise?”

“I am a woman of my word.”

“I think I’m being shanghaied is what I think. I need some collateral. How about a little down payment, just to seal the deal?”

“Like what?”

Amanda held her breath. She didn’t like the way this conversation was heading and it was obvious that the sheriff was getting hot and bothered now that she’d gotten him primed up. The liquor was coming into play, too—his perfect host persona was slipping swiftly.

“A look at those,” he replied, eying her breasts hungrily.

Amanda was mortified—an embrace or even a kiss she may have been able to deliver—she would have just closed her eyes and pretended that this insidious slob was anything other than what he was. Afterwards she would be free to leave and never be in a room alone with him again.

But not that!

“Can’t we just wait until tomorrow?”

“That’s not a down payment,” he replied, his voice thick.

Jesus, Amanda! What in the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

She could almost imagine his penis hardening right now as a bead of sweat trickled down his brow.

“Give me a second,” she said, as an attempt to stall.

She tried to imagine grasping her top, pulling it up and exposing her breasts, feeling an icy coolness against her skin. She looked over at Foley, who was now literally gaping at her, a huge stupid grin on his face.

She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t do it. He would just have to accept it.

As if he had read her mind he suddenly grabbed at her with both hands. She shot up, trapped his wrists, brought an elbow up and broke his grip before hammering him in the jaw with her other elbow. He let out a howl, reeling from surprise at the attack. Amanda stood back, poised to strike again. Foley stared at her in utter disbelief.

“What the fuck?”

“You asked for it, Sheriff. So you got it.”

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Self defense class,” Amanda replied. “We’re leaving now, sheriff. I have half a mind to report you for attempted sexual assault—I’ll have to think about it. If I decide not to report you, you should thank your lucky stars. Either way, I definitely won’t be keeping that date with you tomorrow. You totally blew that.”

“No one will believe you,” he replied matter-of-factly, his hand nursing the bruise on his jaw.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

She reached in her back pocket and pulled out her iPhone. She hit the stop button and played back a portion of the night’s conversation she had recorded. Sheriff Foley’s face turned beet red and he lunged toward her.

“You goddamn—”

Just then they both heard the front door open. Foley froze in his tracks and a moment later a man in his mid-twenties entered the kitchen carrying a can of beer and smoking a cigarette.

“Hey, pops—oh, you have company!”

The sudden appearance of his son threw the sheriff off guard as he struggled to compose himself.

“What have I told you about busting in here like this, Mark?”

“Just stopped by to snag a couple of beers. So who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

“This is Amanda Linville. This is my rude son.”

Mark offered his hand to Amanda. “Nice to meet you.”

Amanda nodded and shook his hand. “Same to you.”

Mark Foley looked a lot like his father, if you shaved off a hundred pounds or so. His eyes were bloodshot and Amanda could smell a mixture of alcohol and pot on his breath.

“You don’t look familiar,” he said.

“I live in Columbus—I’m just visiting,” she replied. “You father was just getting ready to take me to my car.”

“You don’t have to stop whatever you’re doing on my account. I’ll just get those beers and be on my way.”

“Lock the door behind you, son,” the sheriff said, obviously wanting this conversation to end immediately. “Let’s go, Amanda.”

“Whatever,” his son said. “Hey, what happened to your face? You look like you just got clocked, Dad!”

“Had an accident at work,” the sheriff replied lamely before leading the way out of the kitchen.

“Right, pops!” Amanda heard him say as she followed Foley to the front door.

On the way to the Suburban, Amanda noticed a sheriff’s department patrol car parked beside it.

“Your son works for you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He’s not with the department. His car’s been in the shop so I’m letting him borrow one of the cruisers until it’s done.”

“Is that legal?”

“It is when your father’s the county sheriff.”

Apparently the earlier incident had done little to stifle the sheriff’s pompousness. Amanda wondered if reporting him for attempted sexual assault would knock that arrogance down a notch or two.

As she got into the Suburban Amanda realized that this man could in fact do her some serious harm to her now if he chose to. Although he had just tried to assault her and it was recorded as evidence, she wondered how far it would go if she actually did file a report. She had only set up the sting for something to hang over Foley’s head if necessary; now she doubted it had done any good. Was the sheriff truly as omnipotent as he thought he was?

She didn’t plan on finding out. The important thing was that she now had his word that nobody had seen Nick in the area when Jodi was murdered. Assuming he was telling the truth, it would seem that Nick still had a chance of avoiding arrest, at least for the time being.

Foley reached into the console, got out his bottle of Jack Daniels and took a big swig. Neither spoke during the entire ride until they approached the Holiday Inn and the sheriff broke the silence.

“A word of warning, little lady: don’t even think about saying a thing to anybody about what happened at my place or you will seriously regret it. You hear me?”

“I hear you, sheriff. And what happens if I defy you? Would you shoot me? Rape me?”

He chuckled menacingly. “Oh, nothing like that. Let’s just say you don’t want to find out and leave it at that.”

“We’ll just do that then,” she replied.

He pulled up behind her uncle’s Jeep and she opened the door. “Thanks for the memories, sheriff. It’s been an enlightening experience.”

“Don’t forget what I said.”

She shut the door.

Foley spun out as he pulled away. Amanda found her keys, opened the door and got in before realizing that she was trembling. She stuck the key into the ignition but didn’t start the engine. Instead she merely sat there, staring straight ahead.

What in the hell had she just done? Not only had she gone against Alan’s advice not to mess with the sheriff—there would be no way of fudging her way out of that by mincing words—she had actually put herself in serious danger on purpose, for chrissakes! Yes, she’d been a stellar student in her self-defense classes but that didn’t make her Jackie Chan. Plus, Foley was at least three times her size. Yet there she was, egging him on, practically begging him to make a move on her so she could show off her ability to stave off an attack. All so she could frame him if need be.

Pretty damn stupid, Amanda.

She couldn’t tell Alan what happened. He would fire her—after reaming her out for taking such extreme measures just to get info about the case. Against his orders, no less.

She started the car and backed out, looking forward to going to her uncle’s and hitting the sack. All she wanted was to put this all behind her.

It wasn’t until she pulled into her uncle’s driveway that she recalled something Alan had told her before leaving for Columbus. That one of Jodi’s neighbors had seen a sheriff’s department patrol car around the same time Jodi had been murdered. That the sheriff had reacted strangely when she had told him that.

Could the sheriff’s son been the driver of that patrol car?

Tomorrow she would have to find out more about Mark Foley and where he had been on the morning Jodi was murdered.

CHAPTER 13

Alan stared at the computer screen as Ron Fleming began punching a long series of keystrokes. When he stopped typing, there was a long pause before the screen came to life. The page contained what looked like a series of text messages in a single screenshot.

“I intercepted this thread of text messages not long before Jim began his investigation of the Miami trafficking operation. The messages are from one of the ring’s operators to the man whom I believe is one of the principles in the gang.”

Alan read the thread:

Mia: bringing u a newbie.

Col: a?

Mia: 9

Col: g?

Mia: y

Col: r?

Mia: whte

Col: eta?

Mia: mon-late

Col: c u then

“As you can see, Columbus is asking Miami the age of the new victim that is being transported. Miami replies nine years old, that it’s a girl and that her race is white. Then he asks the estimated time of arrival and Miami replies late Monday.”

“So your program is able to hack phone texts?”

“Indirectly. I actually hacked this from one of the cellphone carriers—it was in fact the last text thread I was able to obtain. The operation has since switched to burners to avoid detection.”

“How long have you been chasing this operation, anyway?”

“Four months. And three of those months were spent just finding out where they were operating out of and where they’re sending the kids.”

“But this thread suggests you already knew they were in Miami and Columbus.”

“No, I just typed the locations in later to clarify which party said what. At any rate, you get the gist of what we’re dealing with here. Some of the victims are being held in Miami until they’re eventually transported to Columbus. What I don’t know is how many kids we’re talking about and what happens to the others that don’t get sent up to Ohio. Cordale estimated that there are no less than a dozen victims being stowed away in Miami. So if some of the kids are being transported to Columbus, where are the others ending up? I don’t know yet but right now my priority is to investigate the one destination I’m sure of. And that’s where you come in.”

“What do you have I can work with? More than this, I hope.”

“Not much more, unfortunately. There are two ways we could approach this and I’d like to hear your thoughts. Jim had been in the process of tailing a vehicle that was transporting one of the abducted girls to Columbus when he got whacked. We think he was set up because a couple of their goons were following him at the same time. He never suspected they were on to him until a car suddenly pulled up beside him with a man aiming a 9 mm Glock at him. Jim slammed on his brakes but not soon enough—he was shot in the jaw. He was barely able to get the car under control before becoming unconscious. Fortunately another driver pulled over and called 911. He was very lucky he wasn’t killed. The Miami police investigated the incident but so far haven’t found the driver of the car.

“So one option would be for you to take over where Cordale left off. Case out the operation until they make a run to Columbus again and then tail them. That would be the most efficient way to find their hub, but also the most risky. No doubt they will be on the lookout for somebody resuming the investigation.”

“Doesn’t sound particularly promising. Especially since I don’t feel like sticking my neck out like that. What’s the other option?”

“The other option would be less risky but take more time. I was able to hack an image of one of the victims I believe they have recently transported to Columbus. Your job would be to track her down.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. Like I told you, I don’t have a hell of a lot to go on but at least it’s a place to start. And you’ll have to move quickly—who knows how long this child will be around?”

“As in alive?”

“Yes, to be blunt. The average lifespan of a child being used for sex in an operation like this is pathetically short. The scumbags that pimp the children know this and it’s one of the reasons they demand so much money for their services. They want to be assured that their investment is profitable before it disappears.”

“Christ, I didn’t realize—”

“That this racket is so horrific? Sexual exploitation of children is probably the lowest form of human depravity in the modern world.”

Alan was beginning to actually feel Fleming’s obsessive desire to rid the world of this heinous activity. He had learned quite a bit about the sex trafficking trade while on the Russian mafia case and it had been a real eye opener. But imagining that sort of thing going on with children barely out of the womb was more than just disturbing—it proved that human beings were capable of being that depraved.

“I’ll go to Columbus. Let me see the photo.”

Fleming closed the program he was in and booted up the program he had used to view Alan’s hacked iMac. He navigated to a folder on his hard disk, opened it and soon a phantom PC desktop appeared on the screen.

“Gracie got me into one of the main player’s PC a couple of weeks ago,” he explained as he opened a file on the new desktop named “May.”

“This guy works out of Miami and apparently is the one who keeps inventory of the victims. The problem is that this guy is very careful what he leaves on his computer and routinely deletes files immediately after they have served his purpose. He’s aware that he could be hacked at any time and therefore wants to minimize the loss in that event. He has also created a number of different firewalls that he regularly uses, switching from day to day, so it has not been easy or consistent getting into this thing. It’s one of the problems I’ve been working on.”

The file opened up in an image storage app that Alan had never heard of. Suddenly a dozen thumbnail images appeared in a grid on the screen. Alan felt his heart sink.

A couple of the images were of toddlers no older than three or so. The images were stark, the babies on the verge of crying. It was heartbreaking to think what horror these poor tiny beings had been subjected to just to be photographed for this trafficking ring. In both images large hairy arms held the children in place for the camera.

The remainder of the children in the photo array were aged from around six to early teens he estimated. All of the children were nude and wore frightened, hollow expressions on their faces. Most of the children were girls but there were also a couple of boys.

Fleming double clicked one of the thumbnails and an enlarged view appeared on the screen. A caption under the image read “Gabriela, 9” The girl was Hispanic with long black hair framing a small round face. She was a cute kid, although this would be more evident if she were smiling. Her eyes were big and round and all Alan could think was how devastated her parents would be if they could see what had happened to their precious little daughter.

“This is who I believe is one of the most recent Columbus recruits.” Fleming said.

“How do you know?”

“As I said, this guy is very cautious and it took me several invasions of his hard drive to figure out his system.”

He closed the window and returned to the thumbnail images. “When you look at these images, the order appears to be random—girls and guys spread out instead of together, ages not grouped together and so on. I wondered about this because it didn’t make much sense why the guy would arrange them that way. Then I realized what was happening.”

Fleming opened three screen shots of what appeared to be the same photo array and grouped them side by side on the screen.

“Tell me the difference you see between these groupings,” he said.

Alan studied the images carefully. All of the images were of the same children and the order was the same in all three groupings. Except for one thing—Gabriela. She was in the first row, middle position in the first group; second row, second from the left in the next group, and third row, first position in the last group. In each case, the child whose position was being replaced with Gabriela was switched out to her former position.

“Gabriela’s position changes rows numerically,” he said.

“Right. Now check out this from the most recent scan of this guy’s drive.”

He opened another photo array, dragged it to the lower corner and Alan examined it. Gabriela’s image was gone. All of the remaining images were the same as the first grouping except for a new child now residing in the middle of the first row.

“Gabriela’s gone. Do you think the child in the middle of the first row will be the next one to go?”

“Could be—we’ll have to wait and see.”

Alan tried to imagine the madman who had devised this game of tic-tac-toe with children’s lives. He could almost see him grinning to himself as he shuffled the images around to suit this demented form of human slavery—the power he must feel over the lives and fates of these innocent souls.

What he wouldn’t give to clock the son of a bitch.

“When did you get this data?” Alan asked.

“Just a few days ago. That’s why we have to move quickly or you may never find her. I’ve devised a plan that could potentially enable you to be in a position of discovering where they’re keeping Gabriela. If my plan works, there’s a possibility we can infiltrate this operation and crush it, as well as rescue the victims.”

“One question keeps coming to mind—have you reported any of this to the authorities? I’m seeing an awfully strong collection of damning evidence here.”

“I knew you would eventually ask and the answer is no, I have not.”

“Why in the hell not?”

“I have a number of reasons, but the most obvious one is culpability. What I am doing is illegal—a serious felony. The authorities would arrest me before I even had a chance to explain what I’ve collected and why. Secondly, even after they investigated what I’ve gleaned through my illegal activity and thrown me in jail, not a shred of it would be admissible in court. I am not about to stick my neck out for nothing. For that reason, I made a vow to myself when I started doing this that I would never report my findings to the police unless I’m in a position to turn it over to them without penalty. The bottom line is I want results, Alan—I owe that to Gracie, and these kids you see here on this screen. There would be no results, otherwise.”

Alan considered what he just heard and it made sense, as ironic as it was. The irony being the fact that an ordinary citizen like Ron Fleming could potentially do much more damage to these criminals than the police or FBI ever could. The catch being that the law had to be broken in order for him to be successful.

Vigilantism? Most certainly.

Did Alan mind being an accomplice? Nope. Not for something like this.

He was stoked now. Fleming had done his job well and Alan was anxious to get to work on this case. He looked out the window and realized that it was getting dark out. It had been a long day and he was tired in spite of himself.

As though he could read his mind, Fleming closed out of the program and put the computer to sleep. “What would you say to dinner? I don’t know about you but I’m famished.”

“Me, too.”

He glanced at the clock and said, “Natalie will be expecting us about now. I hope you’re not vegetarian—I already took the liberty of choosing steak and lobster.”

“Definitely not a vegetarian and if I were, I would have to seriously reconsider with that menu.”

Fleming chuckled. “Excellent. You’re in for a treat—Natalie is, among other things, an excellent chef.”

Alan followed his host to the elevator.

CHAPTER 14

The morning after her tour of Sheriff Foley’s antiques, Amanda sat at her uncle’s kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. Earlier she had given Ken her account of what had happened and realized in the process that she would have to level with Alan as well. Although Alan would no doubt be pissed that she’d gone against his order not to mess with the sheriff, he would be even angrier with her for holding back on him and not being truthful. Not a good way to begin their new partnership.

Her uncle had been shocked and vengeful after hearing of Foley’s attempted assault on her. His first impulse had been to report Foley and “make the bastard pay for trying to molest my niece.” But Amanda pointed out that having the incident to hold over the sheriff’s head would be much more valuable and that the case could potentially be compromised if she reported the incident. Her uncle had reluctantly agreed.

Amanda started to call Alan with her report but decided to put it off until after she phoned Nick. She hadn’t spoken to him since their first meeting and was curious how he was holding up. She picked up her phone and punched in his cell number. She got his voicemail and left a message for him to call her.

Heaving a sigh, she called Alan.

“I was just getting ready to call you,” he answered.

“How’s it going in Massachusetts?”

“Pretty well. I’m heading back to Columbus actually—my flight’s in twenty minutes. Got a lot to tell you, but first you tell me how the case is going.”

“Well, I think Blaine is a bust. I found out that he was in fact mowing lawns the morning of Jodi’s murder. That is if we can believe his Facebook posts.”

“That’s how you corroborated his alibi—social media?” Alan said, the cynicism obvious in his voice.

“Well, yes—I did. You don’t think that’s viable? Do you want me to use a more traditional method instead?”

Amanda knew she sounded defensive because she was.

“Oh, no—that’s fine. Just a little subject to uh, some doubt. I mean, the guy could just as easily have posted that the world was going to end at midnight. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I guess you’re right. But I just don’t think that Blaine—”

“Is bright enough to fake his whereabouts on Facebook in order to create a solid alibi? I agree—the guy’s a freaking dimwit. In fact, I think you probably just saved a lot of time by going that route.”

“I’m glad you said that. For a minute I thought you were making fun of me. And I was going to remind you that using Facebook was how I found out what he looks like. That saved a lot of time, too.”

“It no doubt did. So what else have you been up to?”

“Well, I checked out the memory card you found in Jodi’s trunk and it was blank. Another dead-end, I’m afraid.”

“Shit. Oh well, anything else?”

“You’re gonna be mad at me.”

There was a brief pause. “Why’s that?”

“I sort of did a little investigation of the sheriff.”

“Don’t tell me he found you out,” Alan said dismally.

“Oh, nothing like that. I didn’t tail him or anything—I just sort of happened to run into him at one of the local night clubs.”

She proceeded to tell Alan all that had happened, up to the appearance of the sheriff’s son, before they had left Foley’s house.

“Brilliant!” he said. “So you practically threw yourself at the guy just to pump him for information? Don’t you think that was a little risky, Amanda?”

“Maybe a little. At least I found out that he has no eyewitnesses who saw Nick around Jodi’s that morning. It was just a rumor after all. That’s pretty important if you ask me.”

“I agree—assuming that Foley is telling the truth. But even if he is, you shouldn’t have put yourself in harm’s way like that—especially after I specifically told you not to get mixed up with him.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth, first of all. He has no reason not to when you think about it. What would he have to gain? Secondly, yes I went against your orders and I apologize for that. But I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think I could handle myself. The man is gargantuan, and therefore incredibly slow on his feet—especially after a few drinks. I knew I could handle him and I did. It’s all good, Alan.”

“Okay, I’m not gonna make a big deal out of this. And I’d be lying if I said that what you found out isn’t important. But you have to promise me that you’ll lay off and let things cool down with the sheriff, okay? He could give you a real hard time, trust me—especially now that you have basically emasculated him.”

“I promise, I’m done with the sheriff. Now for the interesting part. Right before we left his home, his son suddenly showed up. Name’s Mark. Mark said he’d just dropped by to pick up some beer and it was quite obvious that the sheriff was not pleased with his lousy timing. Now guess what his son was driving.”

“What?”

“A sheriff’s department patrol car—and he is not on the force.”

“Hmm. So you think he could be a suspect.”

“Could be. I mean, we know that there was a cruiser in the area of the Wilburn home that morning and that the sheriff seemed put off when he’d heard that. Maybe his son has something to do with all of this.”

“Sounds like a long shot. But on the other hand, not a total impossibility. You going to follow up on it?”

“Yup. I’ve already found out where Mark lives. But before I do anything else I’m going to see what I can find out about him. Uncle Ken told me he’s pretty sure that Foley is a realtor. Works for Chapter/Palmer Realty on the hilltop. I think I’ll go do a little snooping around their office.”

“Sounds good. But be careful if you tail him—if he sees you he might mention it to Daddy.”

“I sort of doubt he’d do that. The two don’t seem to get along very well. In fact, I don’t think they’re particularly fond of one another from what I saw.”

“Well, keep me informed. Without going into details, I’m going to do the job for Ron Fleming. I’ll tell you more but I can’t right now.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’ve sworn to not speak about it on your iPhone?”

“Because you’d be absolutely right. Since I’m now working for the man, I have to abide by his rules.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what?”

“Do you really think I can handle this case? Or are you just letting me go through the motions until you can come back down and take over?”

“That’s ridiculous—of course I think you can handle it or I wouldn’t have left you there. In fact, I’m impressed with how much you have accomplished in just twenty-four hours. I’ll admit I was a hesitant at first about doing this, but now I truly feel that the case is in capable hands.”

Amanda wondered if he could tell she was beaming right now. “Thanks for saying that, Alan. It really means a lot to me. And I promise I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. I do miss you, though.”

“I miss you, too. So hurry up and do whatever you have to do for Fleming and get your ass back down here to God’s country, okay?”

“You got it. Better go now. I’ll call you when I’m back in Columbus. Take care.”

“Okay, bye.”

Amanda took a sip of coffee, relieved that Alan hadn’t raked her over the coals about the sheriff incident. She felt that part of the reason he hadn’t been overly angry was because he already knew first hand that she was capable of defending herself. She could still see the shocked look on his face after she had overpowered the murderer in his last big case. Those self-defense courses had saved the day—and quite possibly her life.

No time to gloat, she thought guiltily. After draining her coffee she showered, got dressed and started up Ken’s Jeep.

After ending the call from Amanda, Alan stood up, awaiting the call for first class passengers to board. It had been a whirlwind morning from the moment he had awakened to the sound of waves crashing the shore through Ron Fleming’s open spare bedroom window. He had no sooner arisen to scope out the view than there was a knock on the door. It was Natalie calling him down to breakfast.

The meal, consisting of eggs Benedict, English muffins, crisp bacon, hash browns and freshly ground gourmet coffee had been delicious but brief. As they ate, Fleming had apologized for ending Alan’s visit so hastily and promised to invite him back after he had completed his work in Columbus. Alan expressed his regret for not having more time to stay and agreed to return to make up for it.

Half and hour later Natalie had driven him to the airport and wished him well. On his way to the terminal he wondered if there was more going on between her and Fleming beyond her caregiver/housekeeping relationship. He sort of doubted it, but one never knows.

He boarded the plane and throughout the flight reflected on the game plan Fleming had devised and focused on what he was to do when he arrived in Columbus. The first thing on the agenda was to make contact with some of the people who were actively using children for sex—the clients, so to speak. Fleming had hacked his way into a deep web chat room where local participants traded stories about their sexual escapades with kids as if they were discussing their best game of golf on the links. In the transcript Fleming showed him, the dialogue was detailed and disgusting, nearly making him sick to his stomach. To read in detail the blow-by-blow account of an adult man sexually assaulting a child as young as seven years old had been mind-numbing. Then reading another man’s reply that he had had an even better experience doing this and that with yet another child had left Alan’s heart heavy and filled with anger.

Somehow he was to mingle with the likes of this subhuman species in this chat room and act as though he was as demented as they were. Alan’s first thought was that he couldn’t do it. He was no actor by any stretch of the imagination and they would be on to him as soon as he typed his first text. Fleming promptly countered; telling him that all he had to do was remember what he was doing this for and that would be sufficient to get him through.

Alan still had his doubts.

At any rate, if and when it seemed he had been accepted as one of the group, he was to attempt to find out the source for these exploited children. Fleming informed him that contact info regarding the suppliers was never discussed on the chat line and would therefore have to be initiated in person. It was Fleming’s hope that after Alan gained their trust he could set up a meeting with these people. Then he would attempt to find out how to go about procuring a victim for his own use. He would “place his order,” so to speak and hope to hit pay dirt.

Alan knew this plan was rife with potential problems. To present himself as a pedophile in search of some action would be difficult enough. Then to do it convincingly enough for somebody to share his source of child victims was even more of a stretch. Furthermore, this all had to be carried out as quickly as possible, before the trail went cold.

But there was yet another problem. Due to recent local media coverage resulting from a couple of his cases, there was a good chance he would be recognized and the whole case would be compromised. When he had mentioned this possibility to Fleming, Alan’s client had simply smiled and replied, “then just do whatever it takes to make yourself unrecognizable.”

Right.

This had set Alan’s wheels turning into overdrive.

CHAPTER 15

Amanda had rethought her strategy: instead of stopping by Mark Foley’s real estate office she would case out his home first and see what she could find out. She realized that a stranger in town dropping in just to ask questions about one of the company’s realtors would immediately raise suspicions.

She was able to find out where the sheriff’s son lived by simply doing a Google search on her phone. His home was located on the other side of town from his father’s in one of Milldale’s oldest neighborhoods. As she drove by, she noticed the sheriff cruiser parked in the driveway and wondered how long his own car had been in the shop. If she found out that it had been taken in after Jodi’s murder she could save herself some time. That would virtually eliminate Mark as a suspect. The only problem was how to find out.

As she circled the block, she stopped at a stop sign long enough to Google body shops in the area and found listings for three. One was located not far from where she now was and the other two were downtown. She decided she would check out the nearest one on the off chance she could spot a light blue 1973 Corvette on site after she was done here. She’d discovered the make of his car from Uncle Ken, who happened to know what Foley drove.

She pulled onto Foley’s street again and parked a few houses away from his home. Just as she started to turn off the ignition she saw the sheriff cruiser back out of the driveway. Foley was headed in the other direction so she pulled out onto the street and followed him.

The man had no idea what kind of car she drove so as long as she kept back far enough to avoid being recognized she would be safe tailing him. With luck, maybe he was going to check on his wrecked ‘Vette, but that would probably be asking too much.

Maintaining several car lengths between them, Amanda followed the sheriff’s son half way across town. Shortly after he pulled away from a stop street, he suddenly sped up for a block or so and then came to a screeching stop. Amanda knew the moment that his door flew open and he ran back toward the Jeep she had blown it.

“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Linville from Columbus,” he hollered, smiling as he strode swiftly toward her. Amanda had little choice but to stomp on the brakes to avoid hitting him. “You aren’t by any chance following me are you?”

With a groan, Amanda pulled over to the curb and waited for him to come over.

“You’re blocking the road,” she said.

“I know. But if I pull over, you’ll take off and then we won’t be able to chat.”

She thought for a moment. “I won’t pull out.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don’t. You’ll just have to chance it.”

He grinned and said, “Guess I will.”

He jogged back to the cruiser, backed up and parked in front of Amanda. He put it into park, got out and walked directly to the passenger side door of the Jeep and hopped in.

“Nice Jeep—your uncle’s, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a tiny town where everybody knows what everybody else drives. I saw this baby in my rear view mirror and it didn’t take a genius to see that it wasn’t Ken Barker behind the wheel.”

“But how did you know he’s my uncle?”

“Deductive reasoning. I ran into Summer and her buddies last night at One Eye’s and she told me they’d left you at the Holiday Inn with Pops earlier. Mentioned that you were Barker’s niece.”

“I’ve forgotten how fast word travels in this tiny town,” she said drily.

“Sorry I couldn’t stay longer when I saw you last night, by the way. Pops wasn’t exactly giving off the vibe that I should stick around. What were you doing there, if you don’t mind my asking? Or is that a sensitive question?”

“If you’re wondering if I was there for any sort of romantic interlude with your father the answer is no. He had invited me to his home to see his antique collection—that’s all.”

“I see. And did he just so happen to slip and hit his head against one of his rare pieces to get that welt on his jaw or did he really get injured at work? Or maybe it was something else?”

“What are you driving at?”

“Listen, Miss Linville—Amanda, isn’t it? Everybody in this town knows my dad likes hitting on the young women and this wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten himself a battle scar. You’d think the old fart would start learning that no one wants his fat ass.”

“You apparently aren’t too fond of your father.”

He laughed. “How can you tell?”

“To borrow your phrase, it doesn’t take a genius. So tell me, do you often just pop into your dad’s house to pick up a beer and then leave like that?”

“That was a lie—obviously. Truth be told, I went over to the Holiday after I heard that Pops was there with you. One of the servers told me he’d just left with some beautiful chick that nobody had ever seen before. So I decided to go check out what the old man was up to.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Two reasons, really. One was, I was kinda curious about this strange new woman in town. The other was, just to annoy the old fart.”

“Isn’t that a little childish—dropping in on your dad while he’s entertaining somebody just to piss him off?”

“Okay, I’ll level with you. I wanted to see what you looked like.”

“And why is that?”

“Curious, that’s all.”

“Summer didn’t tell you why I’m in town?”

“She told me that you and some guy are investigating Jodi Wilburn’s murder.”

“So isn’t that the real reason why you dropped by your father’s last night? To find out about the case?”

“Of course not. I mean, I’m a little curious, yeah. But more curious about you then the case.”

He’s so full of shit, Amanda thought. None of this made any sense.

“Let me get this straight. You go to a bar and find out that your father is at the Holiday Inn lounge with a private investigator from Columbus. But you aren’t really concerned about that until you find out that the investigator happens to be some attractive woman and all of a sudden you can’t wait to check her out? Is that what I’m supposed to believe?”

“Jesus, when you put it like that, it sounds like I’m some kinda psycho! Like all I care about is chasing tail.”

“That’s why this doesn’t make any sense. I think you came solely for the purpose of finding out about the case. But before you could get anywhere, your father ran you off.”

“Not true.”

“I’m not believing you for a second. So level with me, Mark. You are very curious about this case, aren’t you? And it just so happens that since you and your dad don’t get along you figured you’d work around him with hopes that I might give something up about the case in the process. Isn’t that what really was going on last night?”

“Why in the hell would you think that?”

“Tell me this: when did you wreck your car?”

“A couple of weeks ago. How did you know I wrecked it?”

“Your dad told me—after I asked him why you were driving one of the sheriff department’s patrol cars.”

“I see. I guess that would be a reasonable question. So now that you know why I’m driving it, why do I have a feeling there’s more to this?”

“Were you by any chance driving this patrol car out on the west side the morning that Jodi Wilburn was murdered?”

“Hell no! Is that what this is all about? You think I might have killed her? That’s ridiculous!”

“I didn’t say that. I was just asking you a question. Your reaction is rather interesting, however.”

“Listen here. I was not driving this car anywhere near the Wilburn’s that day and I did not kill her. Period. What else was I supposed to think when you asked that question? My reaction was what anybody’s would be after being falsely accused.”

“But I didn’t ask if you were out by the Wilburns that day, Mark. I just asked if you were out on the west side. You’re the one who filled in the blanks. And frankly, that’s a problem.”

“You’re worse than some lawyer with your fancy talk. Shouldn’t be surprised, your uncle being a big time lawyer and all. What if I told you I can prove I was no where around the Wilburn’s that day? Would that satisfy you?”

“It wouldn’t hurt. I’m listening.”

“I was showing a house that morning. In town. I have a client who can vouch for me.”

“Wonderful. And how long were you with this client?”

“From about 10:00 AM until 11:00 or so.”

“And after that?”

“I went home. So there’s no way I could have murdered Jodi Wilburn.”

“How can you be so sure? Do you know what time she was murdered?”

“Not exactly, but definitely before I’d have enough time to drive out there to do it.”

“What if I told you the estimated time of death was between ten and noon? That would give you enough time to drive out after you left your client to murder Jodi.”

“Jesus, you sound like my goddamn father!”

“What do you mean by that?”

Amanda immediately sensed that he regretted his outburst.

“I mean, the bastard never believes a fucking thing I say! Just one of the many reasons I hate him.”

“Are you saying he thinks you may have murdered Jodi?”

Foley didn’t reply right away. Amanda thought he might be debating whether or not to give up something he was holding back.

“Yeah,” he finally said.

He drew in a deep breath. “Ain’t that a bitch? To think that my own father could actually believe I robbed and murdered somebody? He’s pathetic, but there you go. And no matter how hard I’ve tried to convince him I didn’t do it, he fucking won’t believe me. Screw him.”

“Why is he so convinced you did it? He must have some reason to think that.”

“It all started when one of the Wilburn’s neighbors told him they spotted a sheriff patrol car around the time of the murder. Dad thought this was unlikely so he checked with the deputies working that day and not a one of them had been on patrol out there. So he immediately thinks it was me who the neighbor had seen, since I’ve been borrowing this cruiser. And after I denied it was me, that started the ball rolling.

“I have a gambling problem, or at least he thinks I have a gambling problem. Like everything else with Pops, that’s bullshit, too. At any rate, he figures in his infinite wisdom that I needed money to pay off my supposed huge gambling debts so that’s why I went to the Wilburn house—to steal this small fortune that was stashed away in her house. So I asked him how in the hell he thinks I could have known she had all that loot there when nobody else in this whole town knew about it? Well, he didn’t have an answer for that. But he thinks I somehow found out and that was my motive.

“So I said to him, ‘what about Nick Wilburn, Pops? He’s the only other one who knew about that money and there’s a ton of other evidence that proves he’s the one who did this. And you even keep insisting to everybody that Nick’s the one who did it. So what gives?’ That’s when he told me that he’s been accusing Nick to help save my ass. When he told me that, I about cracked up. I told him ‘you don’t need to do me any favors, Pops because I didn’t do it.’”

Amanda’s wheels were turning. Suddenly it all made sense. Why the sheriff was so hell-bent on arresting Nick for this crime. Why he was doing everything in his power to keep anybody from discovering the truth. To cover for his son, whom he believes is the real culprit.

Blood is thicker than water.

What wasn’t clear was why the sheriff was so worried about his son being caught. There wasn’t a shred of evidence Amanda knew of that incriminated him, except for his shaky alibi and the fact that one of the neighbors had spotted a sheriff’s department patrol car in the area around the same time Jodi was murdered. Has the sheriff been tampering with the evidence all this time to avoid something incriminating being found? That might explain why he kept showing up at the scene of the murder. He knows his son did it and has been making damn sure that nobody finds out.

“So how bad is your gambling problem, Mark?”

“Not bad enough to make me a murderer,” he replied. “I’ll admit I owe some money to some people. But it’s nothing that can’t be worked out eventually. Pops is just pissed off with me and won’t front me any more money. That’s what this is all about. He says he’s been enabling my gambling addiction by bailing me out all those times in the past. Then the bastard suddenly cuts me off. And now he thinks I can’t handle this myself so I’ve decided to rob and kill to pay off my debts before somebody puts out a death warrant on my ass if I don’t pay them back. Shit, he doesn’t have an ounce of faith in me.”

“How well did you know Jodi Wilburn?”

“Never met the woman in my life, and that’s the god’s honest truth. She was at least ten years older than me and living with her husband all that time. I never ran into her in town and didn’t even know what she looked like until the story ran in the newspaper. She lived in the sticks—I never go out to the west side unless I’m going fishing in the lake out there. Nope, didn’t know her at all.”

“If you didn’t know Jodi, then how do you know her friends so well?”

“Oh, you mean Summer and them? I used to go out with Summer’s younger sister in high school so I knew her from that. Summer and her friends are pretty much regulars in the bar scene so I doubt there’s anyone in this town that doesn’t know them.”

“And all this time you never once met Jodi in the bars?”

“Nope.”

Although this seemed hard to believe, Amanda supposed it was possible. From what she’d learned, Jodi didn’t go bar hopping nearly as often as the rest of the girls did.

“What about Nick? Did you know him?”

“Met him at King’s Toyota when I was car shopping a while back, but that’s it. Tried to talk me into trading in my classic ‘Vette for one of those rice-burning Jap cars if you can believe that. Told him I wasn’t interested.”

“What I’m having trouble wrapping my head around is why your father seems so sure you committed this crime, Mark. If everything you say is true, it doesn’t appear he has much to go on. How do you explain that?”

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but what the hell? When you’re innocent, you have nothing to hide, right? Come with me and I’ll show you something.”

He opened the jeep door and got out and Amanda followed suit. He walked around to the front of the patrol car and waited for her to catch up.

“See that?” he said. He was pointing to a dent on the right side of the bumper.

“That dent? What about it?”

“Look close and tell me what you see.”

Amanda knelt down and examined the bump.

“Looks like gray paint,” she said.

“What color is Jodi Wilburn’s house?”

Amanda thought back. “Gray—similar to this.”

“My father thinks it’s an exact match. And that it got there when I hit the side of the Wilburn house during my alleged crime.”

“But that’s not what happened?”

“Of course not. That dent was already there when he loaned this car to me. He says it wasn’t. So then I told him to check and see if the color matches up to the paint on the Wilburn house since he didn’t believe me. We went out there together and compared them side-by-side. I thought the color of the house was at least a shade darker; he of course disagreed and thought they matched. He even pointed out the place where I probably hit the house—an area where the wood was all really scuffed up. Shit, the whole edge of the house had dings and scrapes all over it, so that didn’t prove nothin.’ But try telling my old man that.”

“So why does your father have it out for you, then? Because if everything you’ve told me is true, he must have some major reason for his refusal to believe you.”

“It’s always been this way. Ever since I was in middle school Pops has thought of me as the black sheep in the family. I got into a lot of trouble with the law back then—breaking and entering, drinking, shoplifting, vandalism—that sort of thing. So I was an embarrassment to him. I was Mark Foley, the sheriff’s juvenile delinquent son.

“My big sister on the other hand was another story altogether. Made straight A’s, never got in any trouble and was the apple of the old man’s eye. The sun rose and set in her—still does for that matter. So there you go. I was cursed from the moment I became an adolescent.”

“Hmm. Does anybody else know he suspects you in this case?”

“No way—this is just between him and me. He has done a great job of keeping me out of the investigation altogether.”

“I’m wondering, why are you telling me all of this, Mark?”

“I don’t know, I guess I thought you might want to know that Nick Wilburn isn’t the only suspect in this case. And that my father is a corrupt cop. And if this somehow backfires on me, maybe you’ll testify on my behalf that we had this little conversation.”

Amanda wasn’t sure what to say. She already knew that his father was a self-righteous, dishonest law officer but he was no idiot. The fact he was convinced that his own son robbed and murdered Jodi Wilburn was compelling and not something to take lightly. It was possible that Mark was diluting the facts in an attempt to appear innocent when he was in fact guilty. There was more than he was letting on. Otherwise it just didn’t make sense that a father would accuse his son of such a heinous crime without being convinced it was true.

Funny thing was, Amanda almost believed Mark Foley. She wasn’t sure why, but there was something so unusual and unbelievable about this whole situation that it might actually be true. One thing was for certain: Mark had nothing to gain and everything to lose by telling her what she had just heard.

“Can you think of anyone who may have murdered Jodi, Mark?”

He snickered. “Sure—Nick did it. The ex-husband is always the guilty one. It’s a no-brainer.”

Amanda wanted to punch him for saying that. She somehow managed to remain cool as she drew in a deep breath.

“I have to go,” she said.

And with that she turned and walked away, got into the Jeep and left Mark Foley standing there in the middle of the road.

CHAPTER 16

Alan paid Rachel for house-sitting, made a pot of strong coffee and plopped down on the recliner. Pan jumped up and joined him, happy to have her master back home.

He picked up his iPad and began reading the new ebook he had recently downloaded. Five minutes later he shut it off, realizing that he was totally unable to concentrate. He stared at the device and thought of how much the world had changed in the last decade or so since technology had taken the driver’s seat and now dictated how the world turned and people lived. Virtually gone were the days of payphones, a real human voice at the other end of the line at Sears, and warm, fuzzy chats with the neighbors. Smart phones and the internet had put an end to all of that. Humans continued drifting further and further away from each other while the world became smaller and smaller. The irony was almost comical.

And as much as he appreciated the good things that technology afforded, it seemed the bad things outnumbered them by a margin of at least two to one. Bad news from any place on the globe popped up on the screen within seconds of inception thanks to a battery of satellites orbiting the earth and an infinite number of invisible “wireless” signals darting all around. Good news on the other hand traveled much slower with a lot less frequency. The old saying, “no news is good news,” was now the journalist’s credo. No one was particularly interested in hearing the good news going on in the world. But bad news? It got lapped up quicker than desert sand sucks up a drop of water.

He thought of today’s youth and how much their worlds differed from his own when he was a kid. He grew up with a clunky three-pound landline phone, a square-screened TV with maybe a dozen channels to choose from and spent most of his quality time outdoors, tooling around the neighborhood on his bike. The kids today seemed to emerge from the womb clutching a Kindle or a smart phone in their tiny hands. They preferred pecking a miniscule simulated keyboard on a tiny screen to actually speaking into a phone to their friends. You’d think the phone had been invented before the telegraph. Like, why talk when you can tap out Morse code instead?

Alan sighed, fully aware of what had brought on this grim outlook on today’s society. Ever since Ron Fleming had told him Gracie’s story, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have a child swept away by some scumbag to be rented out or sold as a sex slave to perverted old men. Or women. Or to be forced into sex acts while some sick fuck videotaped the action and sold it to a bunch of insatiable pedophiles.

The limitless growth in technology was to blame for much of this activity. The internet was an enormous enabler. With its seemingly endless multimedia offerings the monsters who controlled the sex market had a worldwide forum in which to pander and sell their products. Innocent kids became helpless victims by engaging in social media and opening the door to predators in search of raw materials for their trade.

And because the online sex market was so profitable, predators stopped at nothing to snatch up fresh young bodies to stock their warehouses. Young kids like Gracie Mueller.

If he had a young daughter and something similar happened to her, what would he do? Would he be able to just stand by while the police searched the streets trying to locate her before it was too late? Hell no. He’d draw his final breath trying to find her. Do everything in his power to get her back safe and alive.

So was it any wonder why Ron Fleming did what he did? He knew that the authorities couldn’t possibly move quick enough to save an abducted child. It wasn’t their fault, it was just the way things go in our bureaucratic world. Fleming didn’t give a rat’s ass if what he was doing was illegal or that he was invading some asshole’s right to privacy. What mattered was to get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible to save a child. Period.

Now Alan was in a position to be a part of Fleming’s crusade. And he was looking forward to it.

He checked the time. Just past noon. He decided to take Pan for a walk to clear his head. He got to his feet, and stared down at his furry little friend.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

Pan barked and excitedly led Alan to her leash.

It was sunny and comfortable so he opted to take the long route. Breathing in the fresh air, he wondered how Amanda was doing in Milldale and if she had found out any more about the sheriff’s son. He wasn’t thrilled that she had crossed him by casing out the sheriff but he couldn’t really be angry with her. She was a big girl and could take care of herself. And the last thing he wanted was for her to feel suffocated in their budding partnership.

He resisted the urge to take out his cell to call her and realized he hadn’t heard from Charlie since he’d sent him Jodi’s laptop computer. He would call them both when he got home. Right now he needed to forget all of these distractions and enjoy his walk.

Later that evening he finished dinner, rinsed off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. After pouring himself a cup of fresh Kona, he went into the office and sat down in front of his iMac. Taking out the flash drive Ron Fleming had given him, he plugged it into his keyboard and waited for the computer to boot up.

He had called Amanda and learned about her conversation with Mark Foley. Like Amanda, he doubted that Foley was the one who had murdered Jodi. It just didn’t fit, despite the fact that Foley’s old man thought otherwise. Either there was a more to the story than the younger Foley knew about or he was holding something back.

Whatever the situation was, Alan was not feeling any better about the Wilburn case. If the sheriff’s son was indeed not guilty, the evidence pointed back to Nick. In his frustration, he gave Charlie a call, hoping to hear some promising news. As it turned out, Charlie had not yet had enough time to give Jodi’s laptop a thorough going over. He promised to finish it tonight and contact Alan the moment he was done.

When his desktop appeared, Alan double clicked the flash drive icon. Fleming had given him a copy of what he referred to as his “Gracie Lite” program. Once installed, Alan would be able to access and enter the chat room where Fleming knew the Columbus men would be sharing their latest child rape exploits.

A window came up telling him that he was about to install a program that could “seriously damage (his) hard drive if not installed properly.” He was tempted to call Fleming about that but decided to go ahead and install anyway. He clicked OK and felt his heart sink as the screen went pitch black.

Nearly thirty seconds later the screen came back to life as the software began installing on his hard drive. He stared at the installation icon, wondering if he’d be able to pull this off. He opened his notebook and studied the notes he had taken while Fleming went over what he was to do after the software was finished installing and he was logged on.

It took nearly forty-five minutes for the installation to be completed. After taking another sip of his second cup of coffee, Alan opened the app and double-clicked it. Seconds later, he was taken to a log-in window on the screen.

Referring to his notes, he typed in the info:

Username: Padwinkle1

Password: youngandsweet38

He hit the sign-in button, held his breath and waited for the command to be accepted.

Then the screen disappeared and was replaced by an ordinary-looking blue and white chat window.

He was in.

He peered at the far right column and saw four names listed, presumably the members currently logged into the room. They were Bobbi, Marco, Zorro and Gumbo. His own username suddenly popped up on the top of the list in bold letters and a line of text appeared in the chat box. It was Bobbi.

“Hey-hey, Padwinkle!”

Before replying, Alan quickly glanced at his notebook. Fleming had recently invented the fictitious Padwinkle so that Alan would already be established as the newest member of the chat room. He had informed the others that he was fairly new to the Columbus area and looking forward to being a member of their little club. He had also indicated that he had a preference for pre-pubescent girls and hoped he could find some action soon.

Alan noted that Padwinkle used the word “yo” a lot and had confessed he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He had claimed that he was on the shy side and that he hoped the others would be patient with his reticence. A couple of them called him Paddy, apparently to help him feel accepted and more at ease.

Alan brought his fingers to the keyboard and typed, “Yo, Bobbi.”

“Hey, what’s Paddy up to tonight?”

“About five-nine,” he joked, hoping he wasn’t being too clever.

“LOL, I’m cracking up here!”

“Don’t quit your day job,” Gumbo chimed in.

“Tough crowd,” Alan typed. “So what’s happening?”

“Gumbo’s got a confession to make.”

“I think I’m in love.” Gumbo said.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Alan typed, and immediately regretted it. All he could do was cross his fingers and pray that Gumbo didn’t prefer boys instead.

“Lidia. Isn’t that the sweetest name? She’s so special!”

“Tell Paddy what you did last night.”

“I told her I wanted to read her a story and asked her to sit on my lap. At first she was shy so I told her to just pretend I was Santa Claus. She finally hopped up on my leg and I read to her about an old man who’s lonely until he meets a sweet little girl who’s just like her. The girl becomes his friend and wants to make him happy because she feels sorry for him. Well, you can imagine the rest of the story. It was awesome!”

Alan wanted to jump through the computer screen and strangle the demented bastard. It took all his resolve to refrain.

“Doesn’t that sound absolutely precious, Paddy?” Marco typed.

“For sure,” Alan chatted. “Must be nice.”

“Now don’t get all down. I promised we’d find somebody for you, but you’ll just have to be patient.”

“That’s right,” Gumbo said. “These things take some time when you’re the new kid in town.”

“Which reminds me,” Zorro said. “When are we gonna meet you, Paddy?”

“Just say when and where,” Alan typed.

“How about Busters? It’s a little bar on the north side,” Bobbi said.

“When?” Marco asked.

“How about tomorrow?” Bobbi replied.

“OK,” said Marco.

“Can’t make it then,” Gumbo said. “How about Saturday?”

“Not good,” said Bobbi. “Got a prior commitment.”

“I can’t do Saturday, either,” Zorro said.

“Looks like I’ll have to meet you another time,” Gumbo said. “Sorry, Paddy.”

“No problem,” Alan said.

“So what time’s good for you, Paddy?”

Alan paused to gather his thoughts. This was moving much faster than he’d thought it would. Apparently this crew of creeps wanted to get to know who they’re talking to in short order. He wondered if that was because they were suspicious of him. He also wondered if he was being too hasty meeting them so soon. He really had no choice. This could be his only chance to move forward in this case and he didn’t want to blow it.

“Ten?” he typed.

“Good with me,” Bobbi said.

“I’m good.”

“Fine with me.”

“Then ten it is,” Bobbi typed. “Ever heard of Buster’s?”

“No.”

“It’s out near Westerville—Wait. Here’s the link—”

A moment later, a link popped up on the screen. Alan clicked on it and was taken to a website for Buster’s Bar and Grill. He quickly bookmarked it and returned to the chat room.

“Yo, got it. How will I be able to spot you guys?”

Bobbi replied, “We’ll be hanging out near the pool table. I’ll be wearing my Clippers jersey. Lucky number ten.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“First beer’s on me!” Marco said.

“Sounds good. Bye.”

Alan logged out, his relief palpable.

He’d done it.

And although he was now in a position to get moving on the case, he felt uncomfortable. This had been way too easy. Was it some kind of set up? He recalled Fleming mentioning he was pretty sure these guys were legit, but that one could never be absolutely certain. Fleming had been unable to hack into their computers to confirm their legitimacy but from his experience they appeared to be on the up-and-up. He went on to say there was slim chance that were actually undercover vice officers posing as a group of child rapists.

After Fleming had seen the shock on Alan’s face he assured him he was ninety-nine per cent certain that they weren’t undercover agents and that everything should go as planned. But if for some reason Alan thought something seemed suspicious, he was to bail out and call Fleming immediately.

His anxiety mounting, Alan quit Gracie Lite, shut down his iMac and reached for the phone.

CHAPTER 17

Amanda climbed out of bed, crept over to the window and gazed out at the brilliant morning sun. It was a glorious Friday morning. She threw on a pair of sweats before going downstairs to pour herself a cup of coffee. Uncle Ken came into the kitchen and sat down across from her at the table.

“Sleep well last night?” he asked.

“Like a rock. Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.”

“And what are your plans for this beautiful day?”

“Got to follow up on Mark Foley. One thing I need to do is check out that gray paint mark on his fender—see if it looks like he actually could have hit the corner of Jodi’s house like the sheriff believes. I’m really frustrated, Uncle Ken. As much as I want the sheriff’s son to be the perp, I have my doubts. I think his father is over-reacting and jumping to conclusions about Mark. I don’t know why I think he’s innocent but I do. There’s just something that doesn’t make sense—like how he could know Jodi had all that money in the first place and why he would rob and murder her instead of just waiting until she was away from her house and breaking in to take the loot instead. You know what I mean?”

Barker nodded. “Yes I do. I’ve known Mark since he was a kid and although he was a troublemaker, I can’t see him murdering somebody to pay off his debts. I think whoever killed Jodi had a reason that went beyond simply eliminating her as a witness. Something personal.

“The other thing I can’t understand is the sheriff’s stand on Nick’s guilt. Sure, he may be trying to save his son’s ass by putting all of his cards on Nick, but I don’t think he’s totally ruled Nick out. I think he suspects them both.”

“You’re probably right. Mark Foley may be giving his father more credit than he deserves in this—he’s not fully convinced his son did this. He’s just trying to cover all bases.”

“Which leads us to—”

Barker’s landline suddenly rang. He went to the phone mounted on the wall and checked the caller ID before answering it.

“Ken Barker,” he said.

There was a long pause as Barker listened to the caller. His face grew grave.

“When exactly is the last time you spoke to him, Marge?”

“I see. And you just got his voicemail?”

“Any idea at all where he may have gone?”

“Don’t worry, Marge. It’s too soon to go into panic mode. I’ll see what we can find out from our end and call you back.”

Ken hung up and looked at Amanda. “That was Nick’s mother. They haven’t seen Nick since yesterday evening.”

“Oh, no! Where do they think he went?”

“They have no idea. Maybe back to Richmond. He’s not answering his cellphone or returning their calls. His parents are quite upset, to say the least.”

“This isn’t good, is it?”

“Not at all. If the sheriff finds out he’s AWOL, there will be hell to pay. If Nick has actually left town, they might serve a warrant for his arrest. Damn it, I told him not to leave town until this gets resolved!”

“How could he be so stupid? This is not what we need now—it just makes him look even more guilty!”

“It certainly does. We need to find him, pronto. Maybe he’s still in town. We need to check his friends and the local night spots. See if anyone has seen him.”

“And if nobody has, I’m going to Richmond,” Amanda declared.

“That’s probably a good idea. Shouldn’t you call Alan?”

“Definitely.”

Amanda went over and dialed Alan’s number. After five rings, she got his voicemail.

“Alan, I need to talk to you. Please pick up!” she spoke into the receiver.

When there was no response, she said. “Call me ASAP. We’ve got a major problem down here.”

She hung up and scowled. “I think that’s the first time he hasn’t answered his phone since I’ve known him. I can’t believe it!”

“He’ll call back soon, I’m sure. In the meantime, we need to get moving. I’m going to have to take care of a couple of things at the office first. You want to hit the bars and restaurants in the meantime?”

“Okay. Looks like my shower is going to have to wait.”

“Go ahead and shower, honey. And get some breakfast. Like I told Nick’s mom, we don’t need to start panicking yet. We’re just on high alert.”

“Well, maybe just a quickie, then I’m out of here.”

“I’m leaving now—I’ll call you later.”

Alan was speaking to Charlie Ling when Amanda’s call had clicked in. He wanted to hear the rest of what Charlie had to say so he didn’t pick up.

“Run that by me again. You found an email Jodi had deleted and what?”

“It was from Nick, the ex-husband. He sent it to her a couple of weeks ago. Very interesting, actually.”

“What do you mean, interesting?”

“Here, I’ll read it to you.”

There was a brief pause before Charlie continued.

Hey Babe, I know you’re probably getting ready to delete this but please hear me out first. I’ve spent all day thinking about us and I’ve decided to tell you my thoughts. I can’t go on like this any longer. I’ve tried for the past year to move on with my life since the divorce but it’s not happening. I’m miserable, babe. Every day I think about what a great life we had when we were together and how I fucked it all up. I know it was the biggest mistake of my life, going out on you like that and I don’t blame you for being pissed with me. But had I known that you were going to leave me forever I would have NEVER done what I did! That girl meant nothing to me and you know I love you more than anything else in the world. So I guess what I’m saying is, can’t you just give me one more chance? I can’t live another day without you. All I want is to be with you and make it all up to you. Surely you could at least give me one more chance, can’t you?

You don’t have to answer now. Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay? Take as long as you need, then let me know what you decide. I can wait. I’ll wait forever if that’s what it takes but PLEASE GIVE ME ANOTHER CHANCE!

LOVE ALWAYS,

NICK

“You ready for the response?” Charlie asked.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“First of all, her answer was immediate and to the point. Here goes:

Nick,

I’m sorry but there is no way we can ever get back together. I’ve moved on with my life and you need to, too. Whatever we had is gone. You blew it. Sorry to be so blunt but that’s just the way I feel. I suggest you forget me and find somebody else. I am happy the way things are in my life now so please don’t bother me again. You really need to get a life, Nick.

Jodi

“Hmm, probably not what Nick wanted to hear,” Alan said.

“There’s more. Nick responded about an hour later. Listen to this:

Hey Jodi,

I just read your reply and all I can say is FUCK YOU! Really, that’s all you can say after I pour out my heart trying to get your ass back? After all I did for you when we were still together? You have no compassion for anybody but yourself, Jodi.

One of these days somebody’s gonna knock you off that high horse of yours. And I’m gonna laugh my ass off when it happens. You are an uncaring, ungrateful bitch. Get a life, you say? We’ll see about that.

See you in Hell, bitch!

“Whoa!” Alan exclaimed.

“Sounds a little salty, doesn’t he?”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. Jesus, I can’t believe this. There is so much rage in his words that it sounds like he could kill her and not even bat an eye. This is not good. Not good at all.”

“I thought you might feel that way. How do you think your girlfriend-slash-new partner is going to react to this?”

“First she’ll be shocked. Then she’ll try to read something into what he wrote. Eventually she’ll get past her denial and have to admit that her old friend isn’t quite the super nice guy she thought he was.”

“So you think he murdered her?”

“If he didn’t murder her, it would only be because somebody else beat him to it. Seriously, there’s a slim chance this could be just Nick venting all his anger to Jodi after hitting the bottle hard. The next day he may have woken up sober, wondering what in the hell he’d done. Did she respond back to him?”

“If she did, it’s not anywhere on her hard drive.”

“In other words, probably not.”

“Probably not.”

“What’s the exact date these emails were sent?”

“Let’s see—the first one was sent on Monday, May 28, 8:35 PM. Jodi replied at 11:05 PM. The husband’s last one was sent at 12:02 AM, May 29. ”

Alan jotted the times down. “And no other correspondence from Nick later on?”

“Nope.”

“Shit. He just may have done it—unbelievable.”

“May have done it? How could you think anything else? I mean, this is none of my business but from what you’ve told me about this case, everything points to this guy as the perp. This just ices it, I would think.”

“It doesn’t help, that’s for sure. But I’m going to try to keep an open mind. Hard as that may be. Like I said, there’s always a chance that this was just Nick having a bad night and running off his mouth. End of story.”

“I guess that’s possible. But I sure wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Did you find anything else, Charlie?”

“Not really. The only thing that may be of interest of you is that I detected a worm in her system.”

“A worm?”

“Yeah, you know—like a virus or some other invasive thing. Not sure what the bug is but there’s a chance that somebody hacked into her computer. Or at least was able to access some of her data.”

“But there’s no way to know for sure?”

“Not yet, anyway. If you want, I can examine it further and see what I can find. It’s up to you. But you’re going to have to be patient—it’s the sort of thing that is labor intensive and I don’t have any time to do it now.”

“What do you think I should do? I mean, do you think something could come of it if she had this worm?”

“It’s a long shot, but it is possible that if it’s the right kind of bug, it would suggest that somebody has been in her laptop and tampered with her files. Either copied some or planted some. That might have a bearing on your case, I don’t know.”

“I see what you’re getting at. Yeah, go ahead and see what you can find out. And if there’s any chance at all that you can put a rush on it, I’ll make it worth your while.”

“If there was some way to make a day longer than twenty-four hours I would be a rich man, my friend. But I’ll see what I can do—can’t promise anything, though.”

“I appreciate it. Can you shoot me a copy of what you just read me?”

“It’s on the way.”

“Great, thanks, Charlie.”

“See you.”

Shit!

At least the authorities never saw this. Had they searched Jodi’s hard drive as thoroughly as they should have, Nick would already be in jail. This email correspondence was not only damning to Nick’s claim of innocence but it could be perceived as having an undertone of threat to Jodi’s life.

Get a life, you say? We’ll see about that. See you in Hell, bitch!

Nick’s word could just as well as said, I’m going to take your life and join you in Hell after I kill myself, too.

Jesus, and all of this happened on the night of May 28—just two days before Jodi was murdered. The timeline of the email exchanges couldn’t be any more incriminating.

Nick was probably sober when he wrote the first one at 8:35 and then had a couple of hours of drinking before receiving Jodi’s reply at 11:05. An hour and a few drinks later, after pondering his ex-wife’s total rejection of him and any future with him, he sent back his scathing response. A day later, he takes off for Milldale, a man on a mission to murder his ex-wife.

Alan wondered how much more could happen to point to Nick’s guilt? All of these things were piling up. Piling up into a big mass of crap.

He groaned and recalled Amanda’s call and noticed that she’d left a voicemail. He played it back:

“Alan, I need to talk to you. Please pick up!” A pause and then, “Call me ASAP. We’ve got a major problem down here.”

Now what? he thought and returned her call.

“What’s up?” he said when she answered.

“Nick’s been missing since yesterday,” she replied.

“You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not. The last time his parents saw him was yesterday evening. He’s not answering his phone and so far not a soul has seen him since.”

“Man, I can’t believe this! I just got done talking to my computer hacker friend. You aren’t gonna believe what he found on Jodi’s laptop.”

Alan told her about the email exchange that Jodi had deleted and Charlie had been able to retrieve.

“Fuck!” she cried. “And now he’s probably blown town! What do you make of this?”

“Hell, anybody with half a brain is going to think he’s guilty, he’s gotten paranoid that he’s gonna get thrown in jail so now he’s gotten the hell out of Dodge.”

“And you think that, too?”

“Gee, at least give me credit for having half a brain! Seriously, it doesn’t look good at all. Between the damning evidence on Jodi’s laptop, the circumstantial evidence that’s already been found and now his sudden disappearance I think he’s already cooked his own goose. And even if he didn’t murder Jodi, no jury is going to believe it. That’s what I think.”

“Unless we find another suspect,” Amanda said.

“Unless we find another suspect that can be proven beyond a reasonable doubt that he’s the one who robbed and murdered Jodi Wilburn, not Nick Wilburn. That’s not looking too likely so far.”

“This is so screwed up, Alan. What are we going to do if I can’t find Nick before the sheriff discovers he’s missing?”

“We can’t let that happen. You need to find him, and I mean real soon.”

“That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to ask around town if anybody’s seen him in the last twelve hours. If I don’t have any luck, I’m driving to Richmond.”

“Don’t waste your time in Milldale. Go to Richmond now. Not only is that the most likely place he would have gone, there’s no problem if he’s still in Milldale. Maybe your uncle could be looking in town in the meantime.”

“You’re right—why didn’t I think of that?”

“You’re not looking at this from another perspective, that’s all.”

“Guess that’s why we make such a good pair, eh?”

“There you go.”

“I’m going to call Uncle Ken and get Nick’s home address in Richmond. Then I’m heading there. I’ll call you if I have any luck.”

“Be sure to. Good luck, kiddo.”

“Thanks, I’ll need it.”

Alan felt a huge wave of anxiety as he disconnected. The Wilburn case was swiftly heading even further south. He regretted thinking it, but Amanda may have to start getting used to the idea that her old friend murdered his ex-wife. The evidence is overwhelming and Nick’s quite aware of it. So there’s nothing left for him to do but either turn himself in or run away.

He’s apparently chosen the latter.

CHAPTER 18

At two o’clock Amanda pulled onto the exit ramp for Richmond. Although the town was only a couple of hours west of Columbus it had taken her over three hours to make the trip all the way from Milldale.

Before leaving she had informed Uncle Ken of Alan’s insistence that she immediately drive to the Indiana border town to search for Nick. Although her uncle had questioned why she wasn’t searching Milldale before embarking on a road trip that might be a red herring, he relented and agreed to continue the search at home in the meantime.

Now Amanda was beginning to feel that Alan’s advice was sound—Ken had had no luck at all in the past three hours. He hadn’t come across a single person who had seen Nick in the last eighteen hours.

She entered the city limits and referred to the Jeep’s GPS to find Nick’s home. He lived on North Twentieth Street not far from Glen Miller Park so she proceeded west on Main Street. Minutes later she slowed down as she approached the park and found North Twentieth a couple blocks further.

Hanging a right hand turn, she crept along, noting that the neighborhood appeared to be pretty worn down. This was evidently not one of the better parts of town. She held her breath as she approached Nick’s house and didn’t see his car parked along the curb. She could only hope it was parked in the driveway. She pulled over and anxiously glanced to her right. There it sat—Nick’s blue RAV4 parked outside his garage. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief.

She darted up to the front door and rang the doorbell. When there was no answer, she knocked on the door persistently. She then ran around to the rear of the house, went up to the back door and pounded on it, feeling a mounting sense of anger and frustration. Was he ignoring her? He had to be—there was no way he hadn’t heard her. The house wasn’t that big.

She decided to take a peek in his SUV. The door was unlocked so she opened it and looked around. Besides a cardboard box sitting on the backseat, the car was empty. She dialed his number on her cell and let it ring until the voicemail kicked in. As expected, no reply.

Suddenly she felt a fit of panic. What if he was in there and had done something foolish? Like killing himself. Without thinking, she ran over and tried opening the back door. It was locked. She picked up an empty flowerpot off the porch and smashed it into the window. Reaching her hand in through the broken glass she unlocked the door and entered.

She was in the kitchen. There were no lights on and the place looked as though it hadn’t been touched in days. There were no signs of any dishes being used, the stove and coffee maker were cold to the touch.

Amanda felt her heart pounding hard in her chest as she traversed the kitchen and entered the living room. The place was neat but smelled musty. Had Nick ever thought to open a window to let in some fresh air?

She had expected to see some sign of Nick’s presence but there was nothing. The place was dead quiet. She entered a small room but there wasn’t a stick of furniture in it—just a bicycle and a few boxes piled up against the wall. She went over to the front door and paused before climbing the stairs to the second floor.

Halfway up she thought she heard a squeaking noise coming from one of the rooms. When she reached the top she approached the bedroom and stuck her head in. A small lamp on the nightstand was turned on and at the foot of the bed sat a travel bag.

She felt a huge rush of relief and smiled. Nick was okay.

As Amanda headed toward the end of the hall she heard the sound of running water coming through one of the doors. She went over and knocked on it.

“Nick, you in there?”

“Mandy?” she heard him say.

The door swung open and Nick stood there with a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was still wet from a shower.

“I’m so glad to see you!” Amanda cried. “Why did you leave town without telling anybody? And why haven’t you answered your phone?”

“I couldn’t take it any longer. So I left.”

“What do you mean, Nick?”

“I just couldn’t stay there any longer. I heard what’s been going on with the investigation and they are definitely going to nail my ass. It’s useless! Then I started thinking about Jodi and how much I miss her. Jesus, how I miss her! And now she’s gone, and I’m the one everybody in that fucking town thinks killed her!”

The rage she saw in his eyes startled her. She thought back to the email he had sent Jodi and it dawned on her that maybe Nick wasn’t above being angry enough to become violent.

But violent enough to murder his ex-wife? She hoped not.

“Calm down, Nick! First of all, you can’t believe everything you hear in that stupid town. It’s nothing but a big rumor mill and you know it. Second of all, not everybody thinks you did this. I for one, and practically everybody else who knows how much you loved Jodi.”

“I appreciate that, but the folks that really matter are the ones who are convinced I did it. Like the sheriff and the rest of them. I am so screwed.”

“They haven’t even charged you with anything—or have you forgotten that? And I happen to know that you’re not their only suspect.”

His eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right? Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Who?”

“Look, why don’t you finish getting dressed and then we’ll talk.”

He looked down at himself as if noticing for the first time he was dripping wet wearing only a towel.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Amanda returned to the kitchen, found a glass in one of the cabinets and filled it with tap water. Half of her was relieved that she’d found Nick. The other half was beginning to have serious doubts about him.

That frightened her.

She wasn’t sure what it was that all of a sudden made her feel that way. Part of it no doubt stemmed from hearing about the horrible email he had sent Jodi only a couple of days before she was murdered. Now that it had had time to settle in, she discovered that a side of Nick she had never known existed before. Anger. Anger at the fact that his ex-wife had refused to take him back and that she had told him to leave her alone forever.

And just a moment ago she had seen what that anger looked like in his eyes. For a split second she had actually thought he might strike something when his anger raged, maybe even her. For that split second she was afraid of him and what he might do.

She swallowed a gulp of water and tried to rationalize. This was Nick she was talking about. Her childhood friend who had been so funny and kind to everyone he knew. The man who had fallen in love with the love of his life in the seventh grade and whom he had been happily married to all those years.

And, the man who had once told his wife that she, Amanda Linville, had actually been his first girlfriend. When Summer Moore had told her that, Amanda hadn’t believed it because it didn’t make any sense. She and Nick had always been nothing more than just friends. Never once had he so much as hinted that he ever liked her in a romantic way.

Yet, for some reason he had told Jodi something different—probably because he wanted to make Jodi jealous. Or so she thought. Had that been the case or was there something else to it? Anything seemed possible now that she had glimpsed the dark side of Nick Wilburn.

“A cold beer would taste a lot better than that shitty water,” he said as he burst into the kitchen.

Amanda nearly jumped out of her skin. “Jesus, you scared me Nick!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Would you like something else to drink?”

“No, this is fine.”

“Suit yourself. I’m having an ice cold Bud.”

He went over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer.

“So let’s talk,” he said, screwing off the cap. “Who’s the other suspect?”

Amanda was still trying to collect herself after Nick’s abrupt entry. Why did she think he had done that on purpose?

“I found out that the sheriff thinks his son could have done it.”

“You’re shitting me—Mark Foley, you mean?”

She nodded. “Yes. Apparently Mark has a gambling addiction and his old man thinks he robbed Jodi to pay off some debts.”

He laughed. “That’s ridiculous! First of all, how would Mark even know Jodi had her entire inheritance locked up in a safe in our house? There’s no way—no one knew that but her and me. Plus, why would he kill Jodi if all he wanted was to rob her? Doesn’t make sense. And his old man actually believes this?”

“He does. And whether he’s wrong or not, now you know that he’s not putting all of his cards on you. That should make you feel better.”

“Well it doesn’t, because I think it’s total bullshit. I’m sorry, but he must have made all of this crap up for some reason—who knows what that might be. All I know is that Sheriff Foley is just trying to get you to think things might be looking better for me in this nightmare. Maybe to get you to back off your own investigation. You ever think of that?”

“No, I haven’t. Because that’s not what all of this is about. I truly believe he’s telling the truth.”

“And why hasn’t any other soul in town ever said something about this?”

“Because he’s trying to keep it a secret. He doesn’t want it to get around for obvious reasons.”

“And why are you the privileged one?”

“Because Mark told me. The sheriff sure didn’t. ”

“This is getting crazier by the minute! Why in the hell would Mark of all people admit to you that his dad thinks he murdered my wife? That’s ridiculous!”

“I honestly don’t know why. All I know is that he told me, and I believe him.”

Nick took several slugs of Bud, nearly draining it.

“It’s bullshit.”

“Whether you want to believe it or not, you need to go back to Milldale, Nick. If the sheriff finds out you left town, he will not hesitate to lock you up. Uncle Ken is absolutely beside himself that you took off. All this will do is make you look even guiltier—and that’s certainly not what you need right now.”

“Mandy, I appreciate your faith in the system—I really do. But I can tell you right now that I’m the one who’s gonna fry for this. Can’t you see? It’s useless to think that I’m going to somehow be magically pardoned. I don’t give a shit if the sheriff thinks Mark did it or not—there’s no way he’s going to charge his own son with murder. So it comes right back to my ass. I lose, no matter what.”

Amanda knew there was a good possibility that what Nick was saying was true. She was losing faith in him and everything else at the moment. She had to know if Nick was guilty or not, if for no other reason to restore her faith in mankind.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Sure.”

“Did you ever discuss with Jodi about getting back together?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I did. All the time. I tried everything I could think of to get her to give me another chance. But she just flat wouldn’t do it.”

“Did you ever threaten her?”

“Threaten her? What do you mean?”

“Like say something to the effect that if she didn’t take you back, she would regret it.”

His expression changed dramatically. His indifference suddenly gave way to suspicion. “What are you getting at, Mandy? Why all these questions?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Sounds to me like you’re changing your mind. Like you don’t believe I didn’t do this.”

“That’s not it at all. It’s just that we haven’t really even spoken about this—just the two of us. I’m curious about how your relationship with Jodi was after you guy’s split up. That’s all.”

“All I can say is that she flat refused to forgive me for going out on her. I mean, she wouldn’t budge an inch. That drove me crazy because I figured that maybe things would cool down after a while and she’d change her mind—take me back. Give me a chance to redeem myself. But she couldn’t see it. She was like a fucking rock.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Not happy, that’s for sure. I mean, it pissed me off that she was being so fucking close-minded about everything. Like we had never had a great life together up until that time, or that I’d always treated her with respect. So I fuck up and all of that is suddenly water under the bridge. Fucking just like that! Didn’t matter how fucking hard I tried, she was done with me lock, stock and barrel. So yeah, it pissed me off.”

“Enough to threaten her?”

“Here we go again. Why do you keep asking me that? You know something I don’t know?”

She could tell that he suspected something—he just wasn’t sure what it was.

“These are the kinds of questions they would ask you in court, that’s all. They would try to determine if you had any sort of motive to kill Jodi. I guess you could say I’m playing the devil’s advocate. So what do you say?”

“I may have threatened her a few times. Nothing serious, like I was going to hurt her or anything like that. More like she would regret her decision—that if she didn’t at least give me one chance she was making a big mistake. You know, shit like that.”

He was lying and Amanda knew it. Why wouldn’t he tell her the truth? Unless he was afraid it might make him look guilty.

“When was the last time you asked her to take you back, Nick?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“It’s important. Was it a long time ago or recently?”

“What would you consider ‘recently?’”

“Like in the last few weeks, say.”

He knew what she was driving at now—it clearly showed in his face. And he was not happy about it. He was going over it in his mind, wondering what she had found out and how much she really knew. He in fact looked like the cat who had swallowed the canary.

“What is this bullshit, Mandy? What difference does it make?”

“It makes a lot of difference if it had been only a day or two before she was murdered.”

“Fucking shit! Tell me why you are asking me this. Right now! No more fucking beating around the bush!”

Amanda wasn’t sure if she should divulge anymore than she already had. She should ask her uncle beforehand—or at least Alan. She decided to take the plunge anyway.

“We found the emails you and Jodi exchanged two days before she was murdered.”

Now she had really let the cat out of the bag.

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“Fuck.”

Suddenly Nick fell silent. He realized how damaging those emails would be in court and that a jury would see them as a possible motive for murder. Amanda could almost see his wheels turning.

“Well that’s it. I’m fucked for sure now. I was drunk as a skunk the night I wrote those emails to Jodi—feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t mean what I said, but you can bet nobody will ever believe that. I’m totally screwed, but good.”

“No, Nick—you mustn’t think that way. If you didn’t do it, you have nothing to worry about.”

“We know that’s not true. Jesus, I really wish you wouldn’t have come here, Mandy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s going to make it harder to do what I need to do.”

“And what is that?”

“End it.”

“What do you mean? End what?”

“All of this. I’m checking out, Amanda. There’s nothing worth living for.”

“You are not going to kill yourself!” she cried. “That won’t solve anything!”

“Wrong. It will solve everything.”

“Nick, please listen to me. Killing yourself will only make everybody think you are guilty. Don’t you see that? And all you will have done is destroyed your life in the process. And what about those who love you—your parents, friends. It’s not fair to take the selfish way out of this.”

“That’s all very comforting but it doesn’t change a thing. I’ll level with you, Mandy. I left town on a mission and I intend to complete that mission. And that mission is to kill myself. Not you or anybody else on this planet is going to stop me. So please do me a favor and leave. Leave now—go back to Milldale.”

“I am not going to leave. I won’t let you do this, Nick.”

“Oh yes you will.”

He drew a pistol out from his back pocket and pointed it at Amanda’s face.

“What are you doing, Nick!” she cried.

“Leave, Mandy. Or I swear to God I’ll use this.”

He smiled oddly, then placed the end of the barrel to his temple and cocked the trigger.

“Leave now or I pull the trigger.”

“Nick, please! Let’s talk about it.”

“Nothing more to talk about. All I thought about while driving back here was how nice it will be to put an end to all of this shit. You know what’s really funny? I realized that I wanted to be clean when they found me. So I took the liberty of taking one final shower before following through with my plan. But then you had to come along and interrupt my game plan. I wish you wouldn’t have done that, Mandy. But what’s done is done. And now all I want you to do is respect my final wishes and let me go in peace. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get to see Jodi again.”

“This is crazy, Nick! Just give me one minute and then I’ll leave you. Fair enough?”

“Whatever. Go ahead, I’m counting it down.”

“Jodi loved you, Nick. I know that for a fact. And no matter what went down, she never really ruled out you two getting back together.”

“Right—and I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Yes, you are. I talked to her friends and they all said the same thing. That she never really got over you. That she never quit talking about you and how she wanted your baby. It’s true, Nick! Everybody thinks she was just too stubborn for her own good. And you know how stubborn Jodi could be. Time may have changed all of that.”

“I would love to believe this, but I don’t. You’re just making all this up to save my ass.”

“Absolutely not! You have known me since we were just little kids, Nick. Have you ever known me to lie about something like this?”

“Well, no. But if you’re desperate enough—”

“This is not desperation—it’s the god’s honest truth! And for you to destroy yourself would be a slap in the face to Jodi. Put yourself in her place, Nick. Would you ever want Jodi to kill herself over you?”

“No, of course not. But I am not about to spend the rest of my life in prison for something I didn’t do!”

“So we won’t let that happen. We will go back to Milldale and work together to see that you are exonerated. That’s what Jodi would want you to do. To be strong. To win this thing!”

“No way I’m going back to Milldale, I can tell you that.”

Amanda suddenly thought there might be some hope. This was a start.

“The only way we can win this fight is for you to do what an innocent man would do. And that would include your coming back to Milldale to continue fighting. We can do it, Nick. I’ll admit that until a minute ago I was having my doubts about your innocence. But as soon as you said you didn’t want to go to prison for something you didn’t do, those doubts went away. It was the first time I’ve seen you show some fight through all of this—to show that you really want to see that you are vindicated of this crime you didn’t commit. It made me proud.”

He paused a moment before speaking.

“I guess I did get a little defensive there,” he smiled.

“You sure as hell did, Bucko! And that’s what you got to keep on doing. Don’t let these fuckers win, Nick—you need to show them that they’ve got the wrong guy. What do you say?”

He slowly lowered the gun and laid it on the table.

“Okay, you win. You always have had a way with words, Mandy. Like that time you talked me out of stealing Timmy Grant’s football. I wanted that thing so bad—a brand new Wilson just lying there out in front of his house. Like he didn’t even care about it or he wouldn’t have left it there. But you told me not to take it—to pick it up and throw it back into his yard instead so it wouldn’t get stolen by somebody else. You remember that?”

Amanda smiled at the memory. “I do. And I knew how hard it was for you to pitch it into his yard once you had it in your grubby little hand! I remember that you had hinted to your dad that you wanted a new football for your birthday but he didn’t get one for you. You felt so let down by that, which wasn’t making this any easier. So I gave you the old Golden Rule spiel since nothing else was working. And at last, you gave in. I know how hard that was to do and I was so proud of you for doing the right thing.”

“That’s just one of the many memories I have of our childhood. Those were such awesome, carefree days, weren’t they? Not a care in the world. You want to hear something funny?”

“What?”

“I loved you back then. I mean, not just as a friend—but as a girlfriend. You don’t know how excited I used to get whenever we touched, and that one time you kissed me on the cheek. I know I acted like I hated it but that was just a big put-on. I was ecstatic that day!”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?” Amanda said.

“I was afraid to—afraid you’d laugh at me. Or worse yet, turn me down. Even back then I had some insecurities, I guess. Anyway, as time went on I realized that we could never be boyfriend and girlfriend—it would never seem right because we were such good friends—you know what I mean?”

Amanda nodded. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, Nick. I feel honored that you felt that way.”

“Just thought I’d let you know,” he replied. “Thanks, Mandy.”

“For what?”

“For saving my life. For being the best friend anyone could ever have.”

“And I want to keep it that way. Once this is all worked out, let’s stay in touch, okay?”

“Definitely.”

“You ready to go back now?”

“Yeah. Back to reality.”

CHAPTER 19

They had finally gotten their first break in the Wilburn case—or at least something of a break. When Amanda had called to say that she had found Nick at his Richmond home, Alan had been incredibly relieved. Disaster averted.

And then she’d told him what else had happened, how Nick had almost blown his brains out and had it not been for her coaxing him out of it, this whole case would have been over by default. Not only had she managed to persuade him not to do it, but Amanda had gone an extra step and convinced Nick to return to Milldale to continue the fight for his life.

Back in the saddle again.

Alan had praised Amanda for her excellent handling of Nick in Richmond and the whole case in general. She had proven herself to be a formidable figure when faced with adversity. She had of course been humble after his compliments and even apologized again for disobeying him earlier by pursuing the sheriff. The girl was not one to rest on her laurels.

Amanda had done something he could never have done. She had managed to use her perceptive attributes and gift of gab to stop a man from ending his own life. No small feat by any standards. Had Amanda not been there, Nick Wilburn would be a dead man now.

Alan’s thoughts shifted to the present as he continued the short drive to Buster’s. The bar was located just off Route 161, only minutes from his home in Clintonville. He’d never seen it before and discovered that it was located off the beaten path in a tiny strip mall that also had a Chinese restaurant, a Swan cleaners and a Jiffy Lube.

He pulled in the parking lot and looked at the time. It was 9:45. In fifteen minutes he would be meeting a group of sexual deviants—men who got their rocks off by raping children. The mere reality of it was revolting and he knew that no matter how it all went down, it was going to be a rocky road.

He instinctively felt for his phone in the inside breast pocket of his light jacket before getting out of the Pilot. He headed for the door of the club, his heart beating like a jackhammer.

He stepped inside and with a glance saw that the place was clean and well maintained. The three or four people seated nearby were well dressed and in fact looked as though they had just come from their office jobs. A long bar took up much of the center of the area and extended twenty feet or so toward the rear. There was a lone bartender serving the few patrons seated at the bar—a middle aged man and a couple of women in their late thirties.

Alan ordered a Yeungling lager and moved down the bar a couple of seats where he would have an unobstructed view of the rear area. Taking a sip of beer, he glanced at the pool table, searching for a man wearing a Columbus Clippers jersey. All he saw was a couple playing pool.

He noticed a pair of men pass by across the other side of the bar and spotted the Clippers jersey. Lucky number ten; that would be Bobbi, presumably arriving with one of the others from the chat room.

Alan looked on as they sat down at a table near the pool table. Bobbi looked to be in his mid-fifties with shortly cropped salt and pepper hair and a large paunch. Along with the jersey he wore a Clipper’s ball cap that made him look even more idiotic. There was something about the man’s physicality that conflicted with his sports attire. Maybe it was the beer gut and double chin.

The other man was a CEO type. He wore a light blue button down shirt, a tie and dress pants. He too was probably in his mid-fifties or a little older. The pair looked odd seated there together—sort of like Oscar and Felix from the Odd Couple.

Moments later another man joined them. Alan assumed that this was Zorro although he couldn’t be certain. The chat room handle seemed to fit him, though.

The stage was set; his welcoming party of three was in place. Alan carefully scanned the area, looking for a possible fourth party who might be keeping a watchful eye on things. If this were a sting, there would most likely be an undercover cop nearby observing the proceedings, waiting for a cue to jump into action.

And if this wasn’t a sting, there could be a fourth party nearby working for the source of the exploited children. Perhaps the chat room members had already told their supplier of a potential new client they had been in communication with. The source may want to take a good look at this newbie—to see if he looked suspicious and might actually be a plant set up by the authorities.

There wasn’t a single person sitting or standing in the proximity of the chat room table period, except for the man and woman playing pool. They were already pretty drunk and seemed oblivious to everything but their game. Alan made one more scan of the entire place and saw nothing suspicious. Everyone appeared to be minding his or her own business.

He removed his iPhone from his breast pocket, pretended to check for something like an incoming call alert on the screen and snapped a couple of quick shots of the chat room buddies. He replaced the phone in his pocket while keeping a careful eye on the group to make sure he wasn’t noticed. Then he picked up his beer and took a swig before speaking.

“Let’s do it,” he whispered into the Bluetooth device concealed in his eyeglasses.

“On my way,” he heard through the tiny hole in the eyeglass frame near his left temple.

This was only the second time Alan had used the custom designed eyeglasses. They had cost him a bundle but were worth their weight in gold in situations like this. They looked like ordinary glasses with lenses tinted just enough that his eyes were imperceptible in the dark bar. Embedded in the bridge was a tiny microphone. As long as he spoke in a whisper and shielded his mouth, nobody could tell he was speaking except for the person at the other end of the wireless signal. That person was Doug Salyers, Alan’s stand-in for Padwinkle.

“I’m in,” Doug announced.

“They’re back by the pool table, as planned,” Alan whispered.

Alan saw Doug’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar as he passed by. A moment later he heard Doug’s voice again at a normal speaking volume.

“You by any chance Bobbi?”

“I am. And you must be Padwinkle. A pleasure to meet you.”

Alan glanced over and saw the man in the Clippers jersey shake Doug’s hand. He had an accent that he could almost swear was Russian.

“This is Marco,” Bobbi said, and the CEO-looking guy also shook his hand. “And this is Zorro.”

The younger man gestured toward the empty chair. “Have a seat, Paddy.”

Doug sat down across the table from Bobbi.

“Seems like a nice place,” Doug commented.

Bobbi replied, “One of C-bus’s best kept secrets. I’ve been coming here for years and never seen a fight or a warm beer. Good sandwiches, too.”

Alan had briefed Doug on the situation and forewarned him that he would be prompting him as little as possible to avoid drawing suspicion. Not only did Doug have an excellent memory, he was an experienced actor who could take on the identity of virtually anybody convincingly. Like Alan, he wore a pair of eyeglasses capable of receiving and transmitting. Both pairs of glasses were individually powered and paired via Bluetooth through an app on their respective cellphones.

“Speaking of beer, what will you have?” Marco said.

“A Sam Adams,” Doug replied.

Marco called over a nearby server and ordered everybody drinks.

“So Paddy, what do you think of our fair city now that you’re all settled in?”

Bobbi asked.

“I really like it. I came from a small town in Wisconsin so it’s a bit more exciting than what I’m used to.”

“Most people who come here end up liking it,” Zorro said. “Visitors seems to think that Ohio State football is all we’re about until they’ve taken in the art, culture and other wonderful offerings. Then they realize that there’s a lot more here than just Buckeyes.”

“I was a Badger and came to a couple of games at the Horseshoe. The fan base here is unreal.”

“I don’t think there’s an NCAA team with a greater following anywhere in the country.”

“I’m going to cut to the chase, Paddy,” Bobbi said, his voice dropping considerably. “There are a few things I need to know before we start discussing specifics. You cool with that?”

“Sure,” Doug replied.

“Good. There are two issues of utmost importance that must be considered before we go any further with this. One is discretion and the other is money. I’ll level with you—I work for somebody who is very particular who he deals with. He relies on me to ascertain whether or not a potential client is trustworthy and able to come up with the fees for services. Marco, Zorro and Gumbo are established clients who have gained trust with my boss. It is our hope that you too will be worthy of that status.

“I must warn you up front what you’re getting yourself into, Paddy. If my boss ever finds out that you have contacted anybody regarding our services—and I mean even your best friends—you will be tracked down and let’s say, in serious trouble. That clear?”

There was a brief pause.

“Of course,” Alan said, prompting Doug.

“Of course,” Doug echoed.

Alan knew that the gravity of Bobbi’s threat had thrown Doug off for a moment. It wasn’t every day somebody threatens to hunt you down and murder you for being a rat.

“Very well,” Bobbi said. “Now for the fees. There is nothing cheap about the services we offer. What we will be providing you with is something unique and therefore a premium fee is warranted. Along with this uniqueness comes great risk to my employer. So if you don’t have a healthy financial base, we might as well end this now.”

“Tell him money’s not a problem and that you understand,” Alan prompted.

“You needn’t worry about that—money’s not a factor. And I already expect this to be expensive.”

“Excellent. So tell me Paddy, what would you like us to provide for you?”

“A girl. Not yet a teen. The smaller the better.”

“Any particular ethnicity?”

“I prefer Hispanic, but she would have to speak English. I don’t really care where she comes from as long as she knows the language.”

“I see. Anything else?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How much experience would a girl like this have? I mean, will she know what to do or will I have to show her?”

They all three laughed in unison.

“Did you really ask that?” Marco chuckled.

“Uh, yeah. What’s so funny?”

“Let me ask you the same question and you think about it. How innocent would you expect her to be? What would your guess be?’

“I see what you mean. It’s just that it sounded like Gumbo’s girl—the one he played Santa with—was well, you know. Pretty innocent. So I thought—”

“So what you’re telling me is that you want a virgin? Is that it?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so.”

“Have you any idea how much that would set you back? I mean, anything is possible, but it all comes at a price. And getting a girl who hasn’t been fully broken in, so to speak, is not only very rare but very pricey. Gumbo is worth millions. And that’s how he has been able to find the love of his life. I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but I have a feeling you’re not quite in the same ballpark financially. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

The waiter suddenly showed up with their drinks. After they were served and the waiter left, Alan spoke into his hand. “Remind him that you already said money is no object.”

“As I said before, money is no object,” Doug said.

“Oh, then I stand corrected. My bad. May I ask what line of work you are in, just for the record?”

“I own a string of restaurants.”

“I see, very well. So assuming that we can come up with the goods, would you be able to pay in advance in cash?”

“Of course,” replied Doug.

“Very well. I’ll pass this on to my boss and see what he says. I must say that you seem more self-confident in person than you do in the chat room, Paddy. I’m both surprised and impressed.”

“Thanks, Bobbi. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“A couple more things before we’re through with business here. Assuming that your request is confirmed, this is how it works. First you will be contacted and you will then tell me what days and times will work best for you for our services. A specific date will be established and on that day you will bring whatever amount is required in cash—no bills larger than twenties— to a specified place a few hours prior to your appointment. After payment is made, you’ll be informed of where you are to go to receive our services. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“If for some reason you fail to comply with these instructions, you will forfeit your payment. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now reach out your hand under the table and I’ll hand you an unregistered phone. You are to use it for all communication with me.”

Alan saw Doug slip his hand under the table and then stuff the burner into his jacket pocket.

“One other thing. You must carry that phone with you at all times until you have heard back from me. You got it?”

“Got it.”

Okay. I’m a pretty good judge of character Paddy, and I feel good about you. I’ll be sure to pass that on.”

“I appreciate that.”

Alan whispered, “Ask him when you’ll be hearing back from him.”

“May I ask when I’ll hear back from you?”

“Can’t say for sure. Could be a day, could be a week. Or longer. You’ll just have to be patient.”

“I see.”

“I’d like you to leave now, Paddy. No offense, but I like to keep things as brief as possible. Surely you understand.”

“Of course.”

Doug took one last slug of his beer and stood up.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Alan watched as Doug headed for the front of the bar and left. He resumed watching the table where Bobbi was now chatting it up with his chat line cohorts. The cat was out of the bag now: Bobbi was not like the others and was in fact the pimp. It was he who supplied the goods while the others were simply clients paying a lot of money to have sex with children.

He remained at the bar long enough to finish his beer and then quietly slipped away.

CHAPTER 20

A little more than two weeks had passed since the morning Deputy Sheriff Dan Canter had stood on her porch, patiently awaiting a response to his relentless knocking. Finally he heard her approach.

“Who is it?” a small, muffled voice asked from behind the door.

“Sheriff’s department, ma’am,” he replied.

There was the clack of a deadbolt and the door opened a few inches. Mrs. Wilburn peered out through the crack.

“What’s wrong?” she asked nervously.

“I just need to ask you a couple of questions—nothing to get alarmed about.”

She sighed in relief and swung the door open. Mrs. Wilburn was wearing a powder blue terrycloth robe and her hair was still wet from the shower she had just taken. She was in her early thirties and very attractive. Not exactly what he would consider beautiful, but a far cry from shabby.

She looked him over from head to toe, clearly not expecting to see a deputy sheriff wearing jeans and a hoodie. The only clue that he was legit, besides the patrol car parked outside in the driveway, was the black tee shirt he wore that simply read “SHERIFF” in bold gold letters, visible through the V of his partially zipped sweatshirt.

“Can I see some I.D?” she asked. “I’m sorry, but you know—you can never be too careful nowadays.”

She smiled apologetically as she spoke—as if to make it seem like her request was a mere formality.

“Of course,” he said.

He pulled out his badge case, flipped it open and held it up to the screen so she could see it.

“I’ve been working undercover, ma’am. Deputy Sheriff Dan Canter.”

She scrutinized the badge. “Thanks, officer. Would you like to come inside?”

He nodded. “If you don’t mind. I won’t take much of your time.”

He opened the screen door and stepped inside. The smell of fresh coffee greeted him and his stomach growled. She led him into the living room and motioned for him to sit down on the sofa. He shook his head.

“No thanks, this will only take a moment. We’ve been investigating a person we believe to be running a methamphetamine lab in the area. Do you by any chance know a Clarence Mason?”

“Never heard of him. Does he live around here?”

“No, but we think he has a partner living in this vicinity who’s part of the operation Mason runs. We’re trying to locate their lab, which we believe is operating in fairly close proximity to this area. Have you ever seen any suspicious activity or noticed the strong odor of ammonia at any time?”

“No, not really.”

“What do you mean, ‘not really?’”

“Well, I’ve smelled ammonia outside before, but it could have been cat pee or a skunk. I can’t say that it was definitely an ammonia smell, you know?”

“I see. How about an excessive amount of plastic soda bottles, antifreeze or paint thinner containers in any of your neighbor’s trash?”

“No, can’t say as I have. There are only a couple of neighbors nearby, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t into making drugs.”

He nodded and then reached into his pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to her. “Okay, then. Would you mind giving me a call if you suspect anything?”

“Not at all, officer,” she replied, looking the card over.

He started heading for the door, stopped suddenly and turned around.

“Oh, just one more thing,” he said, smiling.

“Yes?”

He whisked a hunting knife out from behind his back, seized the startled woman by the arm, held her from behind and brought the blade to her throat.

“I’d like a cup of that wonderful smelling coffee.”

“What the—” she cried.

He spun her around and faced her, still grinning. “No lip—just do as I say and nobody will get hurt. Understood?”

“Who are you?”

He backhanded her hard. “The boss,” he snapped. “Now, about that coffee?”

She touched her cheek where he’d struck her, a look of mortal fear in her eyes.

Now we’re getting somewhere, he thought.

He gave her a push and she started moving. He followed closely behind until they entered the kitchen where he plopped down on a chair at the table.

“I take it black,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “You have any cookies to go with it?”

Mrs. Wilburn walked over to a cabinet and took out a coffee mug.

“I’m afraid not,” she replied weakly.

“Shit, figures. Pour yourself a cup too, Jodi. We need to take care of a little business.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Oh, I know quite a lot about you. Probably more than you could ever guess.”

She fell silent and tried to keep her hand steady enough to pour the coffee. Then she carried the cup over and set it in front of him.

He took a sip. “Um, that’s good. Maxwell House?” he asked, the cynicism in his voice not lost to Mrs. Wilburn.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Now sit down, Jodi,” he commanded.

She pulled up a chair and reluctantly sat down. She stared past him, unable to look him directly in the eyes. She did not like the way he was looking at her.

“Check this out,” he said.

She watched in horror as he pulled out a small caliber gun from a shoulder holster concealed under his hoodie. He pointed it directly at the center of her chest.

“This makes me the boss. You are going to do exactly as I tell you to do without question or resistance. Got it?”

“Y-yes,” she whimpered.

“Good. First of all, I want to take a good look at what you’ve got under that robe. I’d like you to remove it now—slowly—without getting out of your chair.”

“No, please don’t!”

“Huh-uh. That’s not gonna cut it. Remember what I said?”

“But why—”

He pulled back the hammer of the revolver. It made a resounding click. “Do you really want to die, Jodi?”

The sound of the gun being cocked brought her to her senses. It always did, he thought to himself.

Hesitantly, Jodi brought her hands to the collar of her robe and pulled it off her shoulders. As she did, she could feel the officer’s menacing eyes upon her, burning into her very soul. She let the robe fall to her waist. The air felt icy cold upon her exposed breasts, making her shiver even more.

The deputy let out a long sigh.

“Lookin’ sweet!” he murmured, nearly a whisper. “Now take them in your hands and squeeze ‘em.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I’m the boss, remember? Now, do as I say.”

Reluctantly, she squeezed her breasts for him. Her mind was already racing ahead, wondering what he would force her to do next.

“Very nice. Keep doing that.”

She continued fondling her breasts, trying hard to distance herself from the reality of the situation. It wasn’t working. When it suddenly dawned on her that this man was most likely going to kill her, her thoughts switched over to her family and how much they would grieve for her. She was too young to die. If only he would let her live after he was done playing this game—

“Stand up, now,” he commanded.

She stopped touching herself and stood up. His eyes were trained on her midriff.

“Take it all the way off.”

She untied the belt and let the robe fall to her feet. She was relieved she had put on panties after her shower.

“Perfect! Now come around here so I can take a really good look at you.”

Jodi winced at the sickening thought of him touching her. She was frozen in place.

“Now!” he shouted.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Jodi stepped around the table and stood beside the officer. He arose, kept the gun pointed at her with one hand and brought his other hand to her breast. She flinched at his touch and felt the urge to break away, but the gun made it clear that this would be a bad move.

As if on cue, he brought the barrel of the gun to her left breast and prodded it repeatedly. Aware that she was only the minute distance between hammer and firing pin from certain death, she began trembling uncontrollably.

“On your knees,” he ordered, his voice now taking on a guttural quality. “I believe I’m ready now.”

He removed the gun from her breast and watched Jodi go down on her knees. Seized by a mixture of terror and nausea, she awaited his next command.

“Pull down my pants—easy now. And put this on.”

He handed her a condom. It took all she had left to unfasten his belt, undo his pants and do as she was told. Then she suddenly felt a hand come from behind her head and press her toward him.

“Good. Now do it, bitch.”

The minutes seemed like hours to Jodi. Finally he started panting faster as she fought back the urge to bite down on him as hard as she could to make him pay for what he’d forced her to do.

But the loaded gun pressed against her temple advised her to refrain.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted as he came. Jodi was thankful for the condom he had made her put on him but at the same time was all too aware of what that was all about: to avoid any collectible DNA evidence at her autopsy.

He made a couple more quick thrusts into her face before withdrawing himself from her mouth. She avoided looking up at him and instead stared vacantly down at the floor, enormously relieved that it was finally over.

“Get up,” he commanded.

Jodi arose slowly, the gun never leaving her head.

“Gotta say, that felt really good,” he said. He removed the condom from his limp penis, fastened his jeans and stuffed the condom into the pocket of his hoodie.

“I’ll keep this as a souvenir,” he smiled. “Now that we’ve had our fun, it’s time to get down to business. I understand that your dear grandmother left you a sizeable inheritance last year. I also know that you have stashed it somewhere in this house—you have little or no faith in the banks. What I want you to do now is take me to where it is.”

Jodi was speechless. How could he know this? It just wasn’t possible. Without thinking it through, she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He backhanded her so hard she was certain he’d broken her jaw.

“You’re shitting me, right?” he snapped. “You must have some kind of death wish, woman! Let’s not forget who the boss is here and don’t even think you’re gonna bullshit me like that again! Show me where that fucking loot is now!”

Reeling from the blow, Jodi leaned down to pick up her robe and started to put it on.

“You’re not wearing that—drop it and lead the way.”

The grim reality of what was happening and what still might be in store for her seized Jodi like a vice. Fifteen minutes ago she had just finished her morning shower and brewed a pot of fresh coffee. Now she was a prisoner in her own home, totally at the mercy of an evil, demented officer of the law. He had forced her to give him a blowjob and now he was going to take all of her money. And after that, he was going to take her life—she was certain of that now.

“It’s downstairs,” she said, barely a whisper.

She circled the kitchen table and crossed the room to a door in the far corner. Deputy Dan Canter followed closely behind and stood by as she opened the door. He reached around her and switched on the basement lights.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Jodi led the way down the rickety stairway and stopped when she reached the bottom. “How do you know about my inheritance?”

“Let’s just say that being a law officer has its perks and leave it at that. And if that money isn’t somewhere in this fucking dungeon, you’re going to really be regretting it. Now lead the way.”

Jodi glanced over at the utility room, making a quick scan of the basement, searching hysterically for anything she might use as a weapon or means of distraction along the way.

Like she was somehow going to be able to overpower this nut case holding a gun to the back of her head? Seriously?

As she led the way to the utility room, Jodi wondered if Nick was somehow behind this. He was the only person who knew about her hatred of banks since they had screwed up her credit years ago. There had supposedly been some kind of computer glitch that resulted in a sizable deposit she had made never being credited to her account. Subsequently, a half dozen checks had bounced for lack of sufficient funds. When the bank realized it had screwed up, they didn’t even inform her creditors what had happened, making her look like some kind of deadbeat.

Ever since then, she had refused to put any of her money in a bank again, opting to hold onto it and use either cash or money orders for purchases. She had eventually asked Nick to install a safe to help keep her savings safe and secure.

But if Nick were behind this, she thought, he would most likely have told this creep where the safe was hidden. The deputy apparently didn’t have a clue.

As certain as Jodi was that she was going to be killed, a small part of her told her not to let this asshole know where she kept her valuables. It was the only trump card she had and she was certain he would never be able to find the hidden safe himself—never in a million years. And then, if she somehow survived this, long shot that it was, she would still have her nest egg.

Maybe she could make a deal . . .

“Can I just ask you one more thing?”

“Make it snappy—I don’t have all day.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He chuckled. It gave her goose bumps. “Of course not, Jodi! Why in the hell would I want to go and do that? After all, you’ve been nothing but the perfect hostess, serving me fresh coffee, stripping down to your gorgeous nakedness and giving me one helluva great blowjob. I wouldn’t be a gracious guest if I were to kill you after all this generosity! So I can assure you that once you’ve handed over the loot, I’ll simply bid you good morning and be on my merry way.”

And pigs fly, she thought.

“I wish I could believe you, but I can’t. All I want is some assurance that you won’t kill me, so maybe we could make a little deal?”

The contorted expression that suddenly appeared on his face scared Jodi out of her wits. His face had become beet red, his mouth hideously agape and his eyes bore into her like a hot poker.

“No fucking deals, you stupid bitch! I’m the boss here! And for that little stunt I am most certainly going to kill you—tear you apart limb by fucking limb. You have ten seconds to show me the goods!”

Angry at herself for her stupidity and sobbing hysterically, she walked over to the far end of the utility room and moved a laundry basket, an ironing board and a small table away from the wall. The deputy stood close-by, curious about her actions as she pulled a chair over, stood on top of it and began running her hand along the upstairs floor joists overhead. Suddenly he heard a loud metal clank and a thud from something he couldn’t see that had apparently dropped from behind the wall.

Jodi stepped over, grabbed a water valve handle with both hands and pulled it out from the wall. Suddenly the entire wall started to move and glided outward as she continued pulling on the valve. Deputy Canter had to step out of her way until the section of wall came to rest.

He walked around the open wall and stared in disbelief at a tiny room hidden behind it. Smack dab in the middle of the floor sat a solid steel safe.

“Wow, this is sure worth the price of admission! Very impressive!”

Officer Canter walked over to the safe and stood beside it. “Now open this baby up.”

Jodi went over and knelt down before the safe. With trembling hands, she turned the knob clockwise a few times then worked the combination. After several turns she grasped the steel handle and cranked it clockwise until it stopped with a resolute click. She paused a moment before opening the door.

The deputy glanced inside the safe and removed his sweatshirt, zipped it all the way up, and tied the arms together. He held open the makeshift bag and prodded Jodi in the back of her head with his gun.

“Put everything in here.”

Jodi Wilburn did as she was told.

CHAPTER 21

“You did great, Doug.”

“Thanks, Alan. I have to say that I was nervous as hell. Those guys gave me the creeps.”

“That’s because they are creeps. Pedophiles and a pimp—how much creepier can you get? But no one could tell you were nervous, and that’s the important thing. You spoke your lines like a pro.”

“Must be all the improv I’ve done. So what do we do next?”

“Just what Bobbi said to do—you keep that phone within earshot until you hear back from him. Assuming that everything moves forward, you’ll do as he says, make the payment and then show up for your appointment. In the process of all of this, we’ll hopefully be able to get a bead on where these kids are being kept and eventually rescue them as well as shut down this whole operation.”

“What about the money? He made it sound like this could cost a king’s ransom. And cash on the barrel, no less. How we going to come up with that?”

“I’ve got it covered. And trust me, it won’t be coming from my account!”

“Sorta figured that. Anything else I need to know?”

“No, that’s it. Just give me a call the second after you’ve heard from Bobbi. And thanks a million, Doug. I owe you big-time.”

“No you don’t—I’m just returning a favor.”

“And I appreciate that. Later, dude.”

As he disconnected, Alan was impressed with how well Doug Salyers had handled his role as the new perv in town, Padwinkle. The meeting had gone flawlessly and Doug had managed to convince Bobbi and the others that we was a well-to-do man on the up and up in search of a very young virgin to spend some time with. Who could ask for more?

He had known Doug for several years—since the time Doug had hired him to investigate his live-in girlfriend, Maria. Doug had been madly in love with Maria but started suspecting her of being less than faithful to him after she’d suddenly begun spending too many late nights out with “the girls.” Alan discovered that Maria had been having a steamy affair with Doug’s best friend for months.

When Alan had shown Doug the photos he’d taken of a couple of their trysts, Doug had been absolutely devastated. Doug then promptly vowed to murder Maria first and his best friend second. Alan advised him to just suck it up, write it off as a learning experience and move on with life in lieu of writing himself a one-way ticket to prison. Doug wisely relented and despite his pain, was grateful to Alan for having exposed the “lecherous couple.” As he paid Alan for his services, Doug mentioned that if there ever came a time he could help him on a case in some way, to let him know. Alan had decided to do just that when the chat room meeting had come up.

Alan opened the text message app on his burner and clicked on the icon for Ron Fleming. He typed the following message:

“Had a meeting with the chat gang tonight. A very reliable person stood in for me and stated his special request to one of them who is in fact a pimp. Stand-in was given a burner to be used for future contact. No problems. May need $$$ very soon.

Alan would have preferred speaking to Fleming instead of texting but he’d been instructed by the eccentric software whiz not to call until he was told to. Alan still had trouble dealing with Fleming’s paranoia of being hacked but since he was the man calling the shots, he had to comply.

The phone suddenly chimed as Fleming’s reply appeared on the screen.

“Good work. Which one of the chatters is the pimp? Did you get a photo?”

Alan texted, “It’s the one who goes by Bobbi. I got a shot of the whole group minus Gumbo.”

“Send it to me.”

“Hold on.”

The shot he had taken of the chat room members was still on his iPhone. He went into the kitchen, took the phone from his jacket and clicked on the photo app. After selecting the shot, he transferred the image to the burner through the special uploading app Fleming had provided him.

He attached the image to his next text message to Fleming and typed:

“Left to right: Bobbi, Marco and Zorro.”

He hit send and awaited notification it had been received.

“Got it. Any idea when your stand-in will hear back?”

“No, but it could be very soon,” Alan typed.

“Go to ARL Investments, Inc. in Dublin tomorrow at noon. Ask for Chuck Parnel—he will be expecting you. He will give you cash whenever needed.”

“OK.”

“Let me know of any new developments ASAP. Good Night.”

“Bye.”

Alan closed out, wondering how much cash Fleming would authorize for this venture. It was anyone’s guess what the charges would be for this sort of “service.” The only thing certain was that it would be a bundle. He’d just have to wait and see.

This was the part he hated most about cases like this: waiting around indefinitely until something happened. He also didn’t like the idea of potentially putting Doug Salyers in harm’s way. The man was a former client and an amateur actor, not Dirty Harry. Alan would never be able to forgive himself it this scheme somehow went south and Doug got hurt. He would have much rather attended the meeting himself but that would have been out of the question. And on such short notice, Doug had been the only person Alan could think to play the part of Padwinkle the Perv.

Alan went back into the kitchen and got himself a beer. It had been a long, stressful day. Taking his beer into the den, he plopped down on the recliner, and tuned in the television to a rerun of the Late Show. David Letterman was just beginning the Top Ten List as Pan jumped up on his lap and snuggled in between his legs.

He was awakened the next morning by the hideous sound of his burner vibrating on the nightstand. He turned on his side, checked the screen and saw that it was Doug Salyers. He groggily pressed the answer button.

“What’s up?”

“Got some bad news. The deal is off.”

Alan’s heart sped up like a machine gun. “What do you mean?”

“Just got a call from Bobbi. He told me in so many words that I had lied to him and therefore cannot be trusted. Any future dealings are hereby terminated. He added that if he had the time to spare, he would find out who I was working for and liquidate all of us—those were his exact words. Then he said that this was my lucky day because he was too busy now to fuck with it but added that if he ever sees my face again he won’t hesitate to mess it up.”

“Shit, what did he say you lied about? What did he find out?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure someone tailed me last night after I left the bar because Bobbi knew exactly where I live. He said that I’m not living in the sort of neighborhood where anyone would expect the wealthy owner of a string of restaurants to live. I tried to give him some lame excuse why my digs were so modest but he wasn’t interested. Guess we should have thought of that, eh?”

“Jesus, I really screwed this up. I’m so fucking stupid!” Alan lamented.

“It’s not your fault. I should have realized I was being tailed last night but it never crossed my mind to check my rear view mirror.”

“No, this is all on me, Doug. I fucked up and I can’t believe my incompetence. I had checked the bar for anybody who might be watching the proceedings and saw nothing suspicious. I never even thought to keep an eye out for somebody who might be parked outside the place that could follow you. Fuck!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You can’t think of everything. Plus you didn’t exactly have a lot of time to think all of this through from what you told me.”

He had known all along this had seemed too easy. First the quickly set-up meeting at Buster’s and then the deceptively promising results of the meeting. He was going to have to call Fleming right away and tell him. His client was not going to be pleased at all. In fact, Alan wouldn’t be surprised if he fired his ass on the spot. He wouldn’t blame him for a second if he did, either.

Fuck!

“Did he say anything else, Doug?”

“Nothing other than I am to destroy this phone right away. It was a very brief conversation.”

“Go ahead and do as he says. Turn the thing off, pull out the battery and throw everything into the Olentangy River. Do it as soon as we get off. And if you ever hear back from Bobbi or feel that you’re being followed, let me know right away. These guys can play hardball, Doug, and the last thing I want is for you to get in any more shit over this. Okay?”

“Got it. And if you need me for anything else, don’t hesitate to call. I mean it, Alan. Last night was not only exciting as hell but I would love to be a part of the team that puts these sick bastards behind bars.”

“Thanks for the offer—I appreciate it. Don’t forget what I said and take care.”

“You, too.”

As he disconnected Alan wanted to hurl the phone at the wall. He had made mistakes before but this was a fucking lulu. How could he screw this up so soon?

Hell if he knew. All he was certain of was that he would beg Fleming to keep him on if he had to. He was fighting mad now and wanted these fuckers to fry.

He wasn’t looking forward to telling Fleming the news at all.

CHAPTER 22

Clark Royer hated his job. All he did was stare at a computer screen all day inputting data into his company’s database. The accounting company he worked for specialized in estate planning. Their job was to enable folks—particularly wealthy folks—to keep the federal government from robbing their assets before their family ever got a dime after they passed.

How boring.

But there was one thing Clark liked about his job—one major perk that helped him keep his sanity while juggling names and numbers all day: the ability to control.

He had zero control here, to be sure—hell, he was nothing but a lackey at this place. A lowly peon. He was expected to do his thing, keep everything he heard and read strictly confidential and not give anybody any shit. Do this fucking hackwork for a salary that was about the equivalent of minimum wage while the rest of the staff earned major bucks with copious benefits.

Clark’s ability to control was elsewhere, far removed from this place, out there in the real world. He had found a comfortable niche for himself where he was the one calling the shots—the chief, the big cheese, the main fucking honcho. When he spoke, people listened and did what they were told, period. Or else.

Now that’s control.

Control had its benefits. It wasn’t just about getting his way and seeing folks beg for mercy at his feet. There were the pecuniary awards as well, as in a sizable, non-taxable income. If the assholes working at Davidson and Associates Accounting knew of his personal wealth, they would be impressed. He would be respected around this place instead of being at everybody’s beck and call all the time. They would call him Sir, not Clarky Boy.

But no one could ever know of his assets or what he did on his own time when he wasn’t working at this place. It wasn’t any of their business and frankly, they might not particularly appreciate the other side of Clark Royer.

One of the listings suddenly caught his eye. Mabel Louise Stokes, aged 94. Net worth: 2.7 million dollars. One heir: a daughter, Martha Goode, aged 62. Abstract: Mrs. Stokes has terminal cancer and is expected to expire before the end of the year. With the exception of her bank account and a few certificates of deposit, the bulk of her worth is based upon a collection of jewelry and precious stones she has acquired through the years. . .

Clark smiled as he read the remainder of the listing. He casually leaned back in his chair and glanced around the office to see if anybody was looking in his direction. Carrie’s face was glued to her screen as usual and Martin was on the phone talking to a client. In a single fluid motion he picked up his cellphone, accessed the camera and took a quick shot of the screen. Replacing the phone, he continued scrolling down the page and resumed the tedious work he was being paid to do.

Later that day he sat at his kitchen table, opened the screen image he had taken and zoomed in on it. The enlarged text revealed that Mabel Stokes lived in a very expensive nursing home, having been forced to vacate her home on Rose Hollow Lane in Fulway, West Virginia. Gabe Dorsey, Mrs. Stokes accountant, noted that Mabel’s sister, Ruth, aged 84, was still living in her elder sister’s home.

Clark opened up Chrome and did a Google search of the address. He switched over to satellite view and scanned the nearby area. Just as he had hoped, the closest residence to the old woman’s home was nearly a quarter mile away. Her home was a huge three-story brick structure and looked to be at least seventy or eighty years old. It sat on three acres of land surrounded by the West Virginia foothills.

And laughably accessible. Clark had learned from experience that super-elderly, well-to-do women like Mabel Stokes rarely invested any of their precious millions in security measures that might actually deter burglars from robbing them blind. These old hens were incredibly tight with their money and never seemed to embrace the expression “you can’t take it with you.” They held onto their wealth for one single reason: to leave it to their loving family upon death.

There was one other important tidbit Clark had learned from his on-the-job experience. These old women weren’t particularly keen on storing their valuables in safety deposit boxes, either. Instead, they simply hoarded everything away in some place they felt was secure but in reality was anything but.

That’s where Clark entered the picture. Unlike most burglars, he liked to do things in his own special, unique way. Most burglars would simply knock on the door, point a gun at an old lady and enter her home by force. Clark thought this was unimaginative and much too simple. He liked a challenge.

Clark had dreamed of being a cop since he was a young boy. He not only admired what cops did to serve and protect, he appreciated the respect they demanded and more often than not received from the public. When a cop motioned you to pull your car over, you by God pulled over. And when he demanded to see your driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance, you gave it to him. He was running the show. He was the boss, the big cheese at that moment in time. And you obeyed him without question, or there would be hell to pay.

Clark could think of no greater authority figure in the world than a cop. Cops had the power and the legal right to basically tell people, rich or poor, male or female, sober or wasted to do as they ordered at any given moment. What other job afforded that kind of control?

As a child, Clark had been painfully shy, reserved and introverted. A lot of the kids at school made fun of him because of his social shortcomings and inability to make friends. He was a loner, and it wasn’t until he became a teen that the tiny chip on his shoulder had become a massive boulder. He was suddenly sick and tired of being bullied and pushed around all the time, feeling like a worm at the end of everybody’s fishing line. Even his parents bossed him around incessantly because he never challenged or back-talked them, no matter how unfair their demands might be.

So at thirteen years old he decided he was through being a nobody and a loser. He was going to start taking the world by the balls and show everybody what he was really made of. This transition was gradual at first, and later accelerated by alcohol and drug abuse. Finally he decided one fateful day to turn his pent-up anger and frustration into a life lesson for the rest of the world to learn.

He broke into his high school. Entering the place had been a snap—all he had to do was break the glass on the door with a hammer, pull the handle and he was in. He recalled the thudding of his heart in his chest as he slinked through the dark, quiet halls, lighting his way with a cheap penlight.

He randomly entered the classrooms and offices at will, empowered by the fact that he could do anything he pleased and nobody could stop him. It had been an incredibly cathartic experience.

After twenty minutes, he left the school by the same way he’d entered it. In his backpack was an iBook laptop, a laser pointer, a graphing calculator and about three bucks in change from one of the teacher’s desk drawers. He felt wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. And more in control than he’d ever felt in his little life.

He had no sooner exited the school grounds when he was suddenly bathed in a blast of brilliant light. He looked to his left in terror as a police cruiser pulled over to the curb, the spotlight crisply trained on him.

Clark took off in the opposite direction and heard the policeman holler “halt, police!” as he tore down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. Seconds later he heard loud footsteps and heavy panting directly behind him. He turned around just as the officer tripped him up and threw him to the ground.

The next thing Clark knew he was in the back of the cruiser headed for the police station. He was questioned and his parents were notified that their son had been caught breaking and entering McKinley High School.

When he saw his father show up at the station and saw the look of pure anger on his face he had nearly laughed out loud. His only son had just broken the law and was now in the custody of the police. His father was thinking, where have I gone wrong?

Well Dad, let me tell you where you went wrong. Instead of treating me like a piece of shit all my life, maybe you should have tried a radically different approach. Like showing me some respect and caring about my well-being in this fucked up world. Teaching me how to stand up for myself instead of letting me be a pussy and a wimp. Now look what you’ve created!

That was the turning point in Clark’s life. He had discovered a way to get the attention he so longed for. And learned how to take control of a situation. No more putting up with all the shit the world was dealing him. He’d discovered an outlet—a way by which he could become a real person for a change.

Because his father was considered one of the pillars of the community and because he was a juvenile with no prior run-ins with the law, Clark got off with little more than a slap on the wrist. He was grateful for that because he was spared a criminal record, which would have seriously jeopardized his future. He graduated high school with honors, went to college and earned a degree and eventually landed this lame job at Davidson and Associates.

What nobody knew was that he had managed to accrue a substantial income through his life of crime over the years. He had socked most of it away, appearing to be living a simple life, while in fact he was living la dolce vita. And not once had he been caught again.

At twenty-six years old he owned a second home out in the sticks that very few folks in the city even knew about. It was his retreat. He never went there during the week, choosing only to go on the weekends, spending the majority of his time in this modest apartment. That was the key to success—laying low and staying low.

His pride and joy was his collection of vintage cars he had amassed through the years. Besides his skills as a burglar, Clark knew how to work on cars. He could take a junked ’67 GTO and turn it into a masterpiece. He had learned auto body repair work while working part time in high school. He had always been handy with engines from observing his uncle as a child, who was an excellent mechanic and the only relative he had ever been fond of.

Clark decided he would smoke a joint and take it easy tonight. It was Friday and time to let loose a little. Maybe scope out the new chick that just moved in on the fifth floor. What a fucking body! What he wouldn’t give to hop on top of that.

But first thing’s first. He typed in Fulway, West Virginia and read the Wikipedia description of the town. It was located in Humboldt County with a population of 4,643. Most of the area was rural; the Humboldt County Sheriff’s department kept the law.

He clicked a link and was taken to the Humboldt County Sheriffs Department website. The Sheriff’s name was Dwayne Gifford and there were a half dozen deputies working under him. Clark studied the site and took screenshots of their uniforms, badges and anything else he felt was relevant.

Clark then went back and clicked the images tab on his browser and a hundred thumbnail images of sheriff’s patrol cars filled the screen. He examined the Humboldt County vehicles and took a few more screenshots. It appeared as though their patrol cars were late model white Ford Crown Vics with gold stripes and navy blue lettering. He knew that these images could be outdated so just to be on the safe side he would do a little more research on that.

Satisfied that he had done all he could at this point, he shut down his computer and rolled a joint. He fired it up and inhaled deeply, a big smile on his face. Life is good, he thought. Tonight he would celebrate his success by getting high and watching the tube. The girl on the fifth would have to wait for another time.

Tomorrow he would pack up the car and head for Fulway, West Virginia. There was a lot of work to be done and he was fucking stoked, baby.

CHAPTER 23

Amanda turned on the tap, tested the water and stepped into the shower. For a moment she simply stood there luxuriating in the calming effect of the hot water as it ran down her body. She eventually found herself doing what she often did when she showered—reflecting and collecting her thoughts.

Before she had gone to bed the night before, she recalled thinking how relieved she was that Nick had listened to her and agreed to return to Milldale. Now she truly felt she could move forward with the case, knowing that Nick was willing to stand firm and be cooperative as the investigation proceeded.

She had followed behind Nick for the three-hour drive. Upon their arrival in town, they had eaten supper at the Blue Plate Diner. They talked about a lot of things including old times, her life in Columbus and of course, the case. While in the process of telling Nick about Sheriff Foley’s suspicion of his son, she suddenly realized she had been overlooking what could be an important detail in the case. Sheriff Foley had told his son that he had checked and there had been no deputies patrolling the area around Jodi’s home the morning of her murder. So if Mark Foley had not been the one driving the cruiser, who could it have been?

Was it possible that the murderer and the person driving the patrol car were one in the same? Possible, yes—but how likely was it? Not very. Another thought came to mind. Could the driver of the patrol car actually have been an imposter? Somebody who had been impersonating an officer of the law?

That would help explain how the murderer had gained access to Jodi’s home prior to robbing and murdering her. A stretch perhaps, but she couldn’t rule it out.

She thought of some other aspects of the case that needed to be investigated. Like who, besides Nick and close family members, could possibly have known that Jodi had stashed her inheritance in a hidden safe? This had been a stumbling block so far because nobody seemed keen on looking beyond Nick as the perp. Could somebody else have known about the safe?

But was this detail really relevant? The murderer didn’t necessarily have to know where the safe was hidden to pull off the crime. All he had to do was threaten Jodi to give up her valuables or else, and she would have proceeded to show him where the safe was. What would be more relevant was finding out who had known Jodi had inherited a small fortune from her grandmother and that it was stashed away in her home, not in a bank vault.

And what about Jodi being the main beneficiary of the inheritance in the first place? Somebody might assume Jodi’s wealthy grandmother would leave a small fortune to her granddaughter, but how likely was that? Wouldn’t her grandmother have more likely bequeathed the bulk of her estate to her son or daughter instead? Jodi’s parents were both alive, so it would seem that one of them would be the main beneficiary of their mother’s estate—not Jodi.

As she shampooed her hair, Amanda tried to recall Jodi’s grandparents. She remembered that her father’s parents had lived across town in a modest home. She had a feeling that this hadn’t been the wealthy side of Jodi’s family.

So that left her mother’s parents. Amanda needed to give Hank and Nancy Brooks a call. Find out what she could about the conditions of Nancy’s mother’s inheritance.

She finished her shower and dressed. Although it was Saturday, Uncle Ken was meeting a client and didn’t expect to be back until later that day. After a light breakfast, she gave the Brooks a call and asked Nancy if she would mind answering a few questions. Nancy responded by inviting her over to her home. Amanda promised she would be there in ten minutes.

Upon her arrival, Amanda filled Nancy in on the latest details of the case, omitting the part about Nick’s near suicide. There was no sense in upsetting the poor woman any more than she already was.

“I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about Jodi’s inheritance. I know her grandmother left her a sizable sum, but I’m curious why Jodi was the primary benefactor of her estate. Or is that not true?”

Nancy smiled. “No, it’s true. My parents absolutely adored Jodi. She was, after all, their only grandchild—just as I was their only child. The problem was that they lived up in Cleveland so they weren’t able to see Jodi nearly as often as they would have liked to. My father was part owner of a pharmaceutical company and a very busy man, so my folks had to settle on driving down here whenever time allowed so they could spend time with their little princess.

“Before my father passed away some years ago, he and Mom had decided to set aside a trust fund for Jodi, which was quite considerable. After Dad died, Mom had me ask Jodi if she wanted her trust fund yet. Jodi had been funny about that trust fund all along—for some reason she always refused to cash in on it. I think she wanted to see if she and Nick could make it on their own without any sort of financial assistance. Anyway, she told me to tell my mother to just continue holding onto it, which she did.

“Well, after Mom died last year and the matter of settling the estate came up, we were in for quite a surprise. The trust fund was no more.”

“What do you mean?” Amanda said.

“There was no trust fund for Jodi—at least not in the same form as it had been previously set up. Instead, Mom had invested that money into things that could be considered gifts to avoid excessive state and federal taxation. She had been advised by her accountant to re-distribute the trust funds in such a way so that Jodi would be able to net what she was entitled to instead of giving half of it away to the government.”

“I see. Do you by any chance know who your mother’s accountant was?”

“Not offhand. But I could find out if you’d like me to.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Wait a moment. I’ll be back.”

Nancy left the room. Amanda was fairly tax savvy, having earned a marketing degree plus her experience at UrbanGroup. She was aware that one could substantially lessen the tax burden on his or her inheritance by carefully planning ahead, usually under the direction of a reputable accountant. Although Amanda wasn’t familiar with death taxes per se, it was apparent that Jodi’s grandmother had been advised of what she could and could not do legally to maximize her assets.

Nancy returned moments later, carrying a manila folder. She handed Amanda a document.

“Here’s a copy of Mom’s will. Clipped to the top is a business card for the accounting firm.”

Amanda read the business card and saw that the firm was located in Cleveland. She got out her iPhone and took a close-up shot of the card.

“Thanks,” she said, handing the document back to Nancy.

“No problem.”

“So besides Jodi, Nick, your attorney, and this accounting firm, can you think of anybody else who might have known of Jodi’s inheritance?”

Nancy shook her head. “Not off hand. I guess that Jodi or Nick could have told their friends about it, but that’s not very likely.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Jodi was actually embarrassed about it. When she learned the actual value of her inheritance, which was around ninety-five thousand dollars, she was absolutely flabbergasted. As I said before, she had always been sort of funny about her trust fund. Maybe because she thought of it as some kind of hand-out. Jodi was a strong believer that folks should provide for themselves instead of relying on others—I think she got that from her father.

“Fact is, Jodi wanted us to have it instead. We of course refused. I explained that her grandparents wanted her to have that money and they would turn in their graves if she didn’t accept it. She finally listened to reason.”

“What about Nick? Could he have told anybody?”

“It’s even less likely that Nick would have told anybody about it. He was worried sick that someone might try to rip Jodi off if they found out about it—especially after he’d learned of her refusal to deposit it in the bank. He told her that she was a sitting duck with all of that loot in the house.”

“It’s ironic isn’t it? That Nick, who had been so concerned about this inheritance putting his ex-wife at risk, is now the prime suspect of robbing and murdering her.”

“I’ll say. They couldn’t be more off the mark,” Nancy sighed.

“Well, I’m going to do what I can to set the record straight. Please give me a call if you think of anything at all that might help with the case, okay?”

“I will certainly do that.”

Amanda arose and gave Jodi’s mother a hug. “We’re going to find out who did this, Mrs. Brooks. I promise.”

“Thanks, Mandy. I sure hope so.”

As she got in the Jeep, Amanda realized she had made a huge mistake by promising Mrs. Brooks she would solve this case. Alan would have a cow if he knew she’d said that! And who in the hell did she think she was making such a bold statement, anyway? Nancy Drew?

Feeling frustration and regret welling inside, she started the engine and headed back to Uncle Ken’s house. As angry as she was for making the promise in the first place, she was all the more determined to see that it wouldn’t be broken.

Uncle Ken was just getting out of his car when she arrived. He came over to open the door for her.

“Great timing!” he smiled.

“You got back sooner than I thought you would,” she replied.

“My appointment was a no-show. Where have you been?”

Amanda told him about her visit with Jodi’s mother and what she had found out. Uncle Ken brewed a fresh pot of coffee, poured his niece a cup and joined her at the kitchen table.

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You are looking for anybody who not only knew of Jodi’s inheritance but that it was stashed away in her house.”

“Right. It’s the only thing that fits.”

“And you think that this was the only motive for this crime?”

“I do. What else could it be?”

“But why would this person murder Jodi? I mean, yes, the guy may have not wanted her to be able to identify him so he killed her, but that doesn’t fit the usual pattern of a burglary. Most burglars don’t want to murder their victims unless they absolutely have to. I would think that somebody planning on burglarizing the Wilburn house would either have done it while she was away from the house or disguise himself so he wouldn’t be recognized if she were present. You see what I’m saying?”

“I do. But what if the perp wanted more than just to steal Jodi’s inheritance?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, like sex. Just because there were no signs of sexual assault doesn’t mean there wasn’t something going on. I mean, it’s possible isn’t it?”

“Yes, I guess so. But again, the odds seem against it based on the forensic evidence.”

“Then maybe there was something else he wanted. Like—I don’t know—something he got out of doing it—something we don’t know about. He did bodily assault Jodi—she had a cut and bruises on her face. Maybe the guy hates women and simply wanted to make her suffer before killing her.”

“I agree that anything’s possible, Mandy. But you have to admit that these theories are quite a stretch. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I know. But what else could it have been? If you eliminate Nick and Mark Foley as suspects, it doesn’t leave much else to run with. Which brings me to something else that could be important to this case. The patrol car that the neighbor saw that day. The one that Sheriff Foley knows was not supposed to be out there at that time. The one that makes him think that maybe his own son was the one who did it. What if guy who was driving that patrol car wasn’t Mark but is the still person who murdered Jodi? That would put a whole new light on this.”

“That doesn’t make much sense. If neither the sheriff’s son nor any of the deputies was driving that patrol car, then maybe what the neighbor thought she saw wasn’t really a patrol car in the first place. Isn’t that a possibility?”

“Yes, but it also could have been a patrol car from another county with somebody pretending to be a cop driving it.”

Ken chuckled. “Now that’s really a stretch!”

He saw that his niece was not smiling. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did. But honey, you have to admit that even if any of these theories were true, it would be next to impossible to prove anything. You’re talking about a stranger-on-stranger murder, which are the most difficult cases to prosecute. That’s because unless there is an eyewitness or some solid evidence such as DNA, the odds are slim to nil of proving such a crime ever occurred.”

“I know, and you’re absolutely right. But what else is there to go on? If we assume that Nick and Mark are innocent as well as Blaine and the sheriff, there’s nothing left.”

“I’m afraid you’re right about that.”

“Well, I’m still going to move forward with my theories and pray for a miracle.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m going to contact the accounting firm that handled Jodi’s grandmother’s inheritance. See if that goes anywhere.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“Whatever happens, Mandy, I admire your resolve. And I truly believe if there’s anybody who can solve this thing, it’s you. You’re just like your mother—smart, stubborn and determined.”

Amanda smiled. “I’ll take all of that as a compliment.”

He warmed up her coffee. “As you should.”

“I’ll take that with me. I’m going to do some Googling.”

She went up to the bedroom and did a search for Davidson and Associates Accounting in Cleveland. She visited their website and learned that it was a large firm and part of a network of national firms serving the country. She wasn’t able to find a roster of employees but did find out that the company was closed on weekends. She would have to wait until Monday to go any further.

She decided to give Alan a call, hoping he could suggest what she should do.

“Hey, how are you?” he greeted.

“Frustrated.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Long story short, I’m trying to find out who all knew about Jodi’s inheritance and that she was sitting on it at her home. I just met with Mrs. Brooks and found out that her mother had hired an accountant who showed her how to maximize her assets so that Jodi’s inheritance wouldn’t be death-taxed to the hilt. So I’m thinking maybe, just maybe, somebody who works at that accounting company may have used privileged information to make themselves or somebody else ninety-five thousand dollars richer at Jodi’s expense.”

“You’re not serious, right?”

“Yes, I’m serious! What’s wrong with that?” Amanda snapped.

“Whoa, don’t get all bent out of shape! I realize that you’re working a tough case and that you need to explore every possible lead, but don’t you think that’s a little far-fetched? I mean, what are the odds?”

“They’re horrible! But it’s all I have to go on, Alan. I’m down here with my best friend wanting to kill himself over all of this and there isn’t one damn thing stopping the locals from arresting him for a crime he didn’t commit. Unless you want to factor in the sheriff’s son, who sure as hell isn’t going to be turned in by his own father even if he was guilty. None of this is getting me any closer to discovering what really happened to Jodi that day. So I’m going with the only thing I got. And I don’t give a shit if it is a dead-end—at least I’m doing something other than sitting here on my fricking hands!”

“I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right and I apologize for being so negative. And I admire your determination. I would probably do the exact same thing if it were me, in fact. I think I’m letting my own case get the best of me.”

“Can you talk about it?”

“You know I can’t on this phone. But I will say that I’ve already managed to mess this case up and I certainly have no right criticizing you and your case.”

“How bad did you mess it up? I mean, is it fixable?”

“Don’t know yet. I was just getting ready to report to my client. Not feeling too good about it, though”

“Aren’t we something else? Neither of us seems to be on track now, do we?”

“Nope, not at all.”

“Maybe that means we’re at a turning point of some kind. A positive one.”

“God, I hope so. So, go ahead with what you were saying about this accounting firm.”

“Well, I went to their website and didn’t learn much of anything except that they’re closed on the weekends. I don’t want to wait until Monday to get any answers, so I was wondering if you have any suggestions on what to do.”

“I’ll call Charlie. Maybe he can hack into their database. What’s the name of the company?”

“Davidson and Associates Accounting. They’re in Cleveland.”

“Got it. I’ll give Charlie a ring and see if he can find out anything. The problem is that he’s busy as hell, so don’t get your hopes up too much. Tell you what—I’ll give you his number and you call him instead. Maybe hearing from a beautiful chick instead of my ugly ass will get him moving quicker on this.”

“How in the hell would he be able to tell what I look like?”

“Oh, he already knows. Trust me.” Alan laughed.

“So you’ve told him about us. Didn’t realize you were more than just business associates with this Charlie character.”

“Oh, Charlie and I go way back. We’re actually old friends. And he’s always giving me advice on my love life, I might add.”

“That’s kinda scary. Okay, so what’s his number?”

Alan read it off to her. “Don’t hesitate to sweet talk him if need be. That will go a long way.”

“I’ll do my best. When will I hear back from you?”

“I’ll call you first chance I have something good to report.”

“Let’s hope that isn’t too long.”

“Let’s hope. Good luck with Charlie.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Amanda had cooled down some but was still angry with Alan. What she didn’t need was for him to make fun of how she was handling this case. It was one thing to give her helpful advice and constructive criticism but not cool to make her feel like some sort of idiot. She needed his support right now, not negative criticism.

She had planned on telling him about her cop impersonation theory until he squelched her other theory so she had abstained. He probably would have had a field day with that, too.

In his defense though, he had apologized and explained why he had been so negative. It sounded as though he was having his own problems and wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic at the moment.

With a sigh she punched in Charlie Ling’s number.

CHAPTER 24

Alan anxiously waited for the burner to buzz. After ending Amanda’s call he had texted Ron Fleming informing him that Doug had been found out and Fleming had in turn texted him to stand by and await his call.

As disappointed as he was at how poorly he had handled things, Alan seriously doubted that Fleming was the type of person to just throw up his hands and call him off the case. The man seemed too determined to catch this gang and wouldn’t let a slip like this deter him from continuing the investigation.

The phone suddenly buzzed. Alan connected.

“Swansea,” he said.

“So tell me what happened, from the beginning,” Fleming said.

Alan recounted everything, growing increasingly nervous since Fleming didn’t say a thing until after he was finished.

“That’s unfortunate,” he said. “But not surprising. This outfit is very shrewd, with a lot of experience at what they do. Even if you had thought to check if somebody was tailing your accomplice, it couldn’t have been avoided.”

“But still, I screwed up. And I apologize for that—it won’t happen again.”

“No need for an apology. In fact, I have some good news. I’ve been able to dig up some very interesting info on two of the characters in the photo you sent. We are not out of business on this case. Quite the contrary.”

Alan’s relief was palpable. “What did you find out?”

“For starters, the man referring to himself as ‘Bobbie’ is actually a man the FBI has been hunting for quite some time. He’s changed his appearance radically, but there’s no doubt in my mind who ‘Bobbie’ really is. His name is Isaac Mansky, a Russian ex-pat who has been trafficking in the U.S. for years. What’s especially interesting is his mention of being a subordinate—implying that somebody higher up the food chain is running the show there. This is big, Alan. We may have an opportunity to snuff out one of the biggest trafficking operations in the country.”

“Any idea who Mansky’s boss might be?”

“No, but I intend to find out. One of the other men in the photo—the one referring to himself as ‘Marco’—is actually Brock Matthews. He lives in New Albany and is worth several million dollars.”

“New Albany has become quite an upscale suburb in the last few years so that would make sense. What’s he do?”

“Brock comes from a wealthy family in New York and probably hasn’t worked a day in his life. He has a wife and two children who are no doubt clueless that he’s a practicing pedophile. My thoughts are that if we can catch Mr. Matthews in the act of procuring one of the victims, we might have some serious leverage in bringing down the house. That’s where you come in.”

“You want me to tail him.”

“Precisely. If we can find out where Matthews gets the children, we might be in business. But it’s not going to be easy. Isaac Mansky’s very cautious, as you have already witnessed first hand. It’s safe to assume that his boss is even more so. So it would not be implausible for one of their men to keep close tabs on their clients while partaking their services, just to be on the safe side. That way they’ll know if that client is being investigated by the authorities or involving any third parties in their festivities.”

“I see what you mean. So I’ll have to find some way to tail Matthews without either him or the bad guys knowing is what you’re saying.”

“Correct.”

“There are ways of doing that—like planting a GPS tracking device of some kind in his car. Then I could tell where he’s heading without being right on his ass.”

“If you could find a way to do that, yes. But if you have to react quickly for some reason, remote tracking isn’t going to cut it. You could lose him at the very last moment. Any ideas how you might get around that?”

“I’ll have to give it some thought. But tell me this: how will I know exactly when Matthews is going to use Mansky’s services? I can’t be tailing this guy 24/7 until he finally decides to rent one of the victims.”

“Yes, that’s another problem. Got any ideas?”

“Not off hand—but I’ll think of something. What’s Matthews’ address and phone number?”

“I’ll text all of that to you after we get off. We’re going to have to move quickly on this, Alan. I suggest you tell your stand-in to lay low for a few days, just in case Mansky decides to call on him and pump him for info. It sounds like they don’t really suspect any foul play yet, but that could change. We don’t want to give them a chance to think about it. Hopefully Matthews will make a move sooner than later.”

“I’d better get going, then. I’ll let you know when I have something,” Alan said.

“Good enough. Stand by for the text. Good day.”

Alan disconnected, his head spinning like a top. What Fleming had just told him left him exhilarated and stressed-out in equal measure. To think that there were big players in town and that he had a chance to bring them down was exciting. But actually succeeding in doing it was another thing altogether. How in the hell was he going to pull this off? He had no clue.

No time for brooding—time to move forward.

The burner vibrated, breaking his train of thought. He opened his messages and read the text. There was Brock Matthews’ address, phone number and a couple of other details.

Alan sat down at his iMac and opened Google Earth.

CHAPTER 25

“Hello, is this Charlie?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“My name is Amanda Linville—I’m working with Alan Swansea. Alan suggested that I give you a call. Do you have a moment?”

“Oh, of course! Alan told me about taking on a partner the other day. How is it going?”

“Fine, except I’ve sort of run into a snag and I was wondering if you could help me.”

“No problem. What do you need?”

“I need a complete list of names of all of the employees at an accounting firm in Cleveland.”

“I see. What’s the name of the firm?”

“Davidson and Associates Accounting.”

“Let me see—hold on a second,” he said.

Amanda heard the rapid clacking of keystrokes over the line. A moment later he said, “Looks like a pretty good sized company, judging from their web page. How soon would you need it?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“Somehow I knew you were going to say that—you sound like your partner already! Tell you what, I’ve got some free time at the moment so I’ll see what I can come up with. Probably take a couple of hours or so.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! Thank you so much!”

“No problem. Should I call you back at this number?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

“OK, will do. Bye.”

“Bye, and thanks again!”

Amanda was glowing. Alan had made it sound like this guy was swamped in work yet here he was with time on his hands! I can’t believe—

Then she recalled what he’d said about her being a beautiful girl and that Charlie just might make a few exceptions on that count. He had been absolutely right!

She decided to kill some time by making a few calls, starting with the dog boarder that was taking care of Henry. Then she called her mother and filled her in with all that was happening in Milldale. After a lengthy chat she decided to check her voicemails and answer a few of her emails at UrbanGroup.

An hour later she got a return call from Charlie Ling.

“Okay, I have a list of forty-seven names here,” he said. “Everybody from the head accountant down to the janitor.”

“That’s wonderful! How can I get it?”

“Just give me your email address and I’ll send you the file.”

“Great,” Amanda replied and recited her address. A moment later she heard the ding of incoming mail on her Macbook and saw that it was Charlie’s message.

“Got it!”

“Anything else you need?” Charlie asked.

“No, that’s it. I assume you’ll send the bill to Alan, right?”

“Yeah. And tell him I’m done with the laptop he sent and to let me know if he wants me to ship it back or hold onto it, okay?”

“I’ll do that. Thank you so much, Charlie. You’ve been a godsend!”

“Anything for Alan and his new partner. Nice working with you.”

Amanda had a smile on her face as she disconnected. What a break! Charlie’s hacking had just saved her having to wait two days and who knows how many hours trying to compile a list that she probably could never have done herself.

She opened the attached Excel document and took a look at it. Charlie had not only given her the names of everyone at Davidson and Associates but their respective job titles and job descriptions as well. How in the hell does he do this? she wondered. Alan had referred to Charlie Ling as a hacker extraordinaire and he hadn’t been kidding.

Amanda studied the list and recognized the name of the accountant who had been hired by Jodi’s grandmother: George Golden. She seriously doubted that he or any of the other accountants would have plotted to steal Jodi’s inheritance. What she was looking for was somebody further down the food chain that had access to the company’s cases. Somebody who knew just where to look to find a client who was both wealthy and an easy target.

She scrolled down the list past the accountants and their secretaries to the other office workers. When she reached the data management department she read down the list of database administrators and managers. There were a total of seven. This would be a good place to start.

Three of the names listed were women, so she promptly ruled them out. Yes, there was a slim chance Jodi’s murderer had been a woman but it wasn’t in the odds. That left four names.

She read the job descriptions for each of the men and thought it likely that all of them had access to the company’s databases. After jotting down their names, she opened the web browser and began her search.

The first name she typed into the search field was Lawrence Alkers. Several pages of hits appeared, so she refined her search by typing in the company’s name as well. There were no conclusive results, so she simply typed in Alkers’ full name plus Cleveland. Two different Lawrence Alkers appeared, both of them with Facebook accounts. She went to the first one and it only took a couple of seconds to determine that this Larry Akers was in middle school.

She clicked on the other Lawrence Alkers’ Facebook profile, and discovered that this was the same man who worked at Davidson. In fact he had just been hired a few weeks ago. No wonder his name hadn’t showed up in the other search.

This was a red flag so she put a check by his name and moved on to the next one. She spent the next hour finding everything she could on Google, Bing and Yahoo for all four names on the list and finally came to the conclusion that any one of them could be her suspect.

The next thing she did was search for free criminal background checks and chose the first site she came to. Beginning with Lawrence Alkers, she typed in each of the four names followed by the state of Ohio then patiently waited for the site to complete the search. Because there were more often than not several different persons with the same name, she had to study each one individually until she was satisfied she had exhausted every last one of them.

It took her another hour to come to the conclusion that not a single one of the men listed had a criminal record in the state of Ohio.

They could however have criminal records in any of the other forty-nine states, but she wasn’t about to go that route. At least not yet. She decided instead to go back and do a search of each name again, but instead of just scanning the first page of hits as she had been doing, examine at least the first five pages. After all, there could be some older listings for these men that could be relevant.

She went through the daunting task of reading each and every abstract listed for all four of the names. By the time she had gotten to the last name, it was nearly six o’clock in the evening and she wanted to pull out her hair. She had apparently just wasted the entire day in search of a red herring.

Then she suddenly got a break.

She was reading the fourth page of results for Clark Royer when an abstract from a newspaper article caught her interest:

Teen Pulled over for Impersonating a Police Officer. An Eggers, Ohio police officer pulled over a Central High School senior after noticing that the teen was driving what appeared to be one of the city’s police squad cars. When Patrolman Thomas Day questioned Clark Royer, 18, he noticed that the interior of the Ford Crown Victoria was not equipped for police use. Day asked the teen why the car was marked identically to a city squad car and he replied that it was part of a Halloween prank he had planned to pull on a friend. After being informed that impersonating a police officer was a serious offense, the teen explained he had painted the car “just for fun” and didn’t realize that it was against the law. Because the boy had not been in the act of impersonating an officer of the law at the time and had no prior record, Sgt. Day let him off with a stern warning and a direct order to remove the markings on the car within the next twenty-four hours.

Could this be the same Clark Royer that worked at Davidson? She checked the date of the article and estimated that the teen would be in his mid-twenties now.

She typed in Clark Royer’s name on Google and clicked on the “images” tab. The window became filled with thumbnail images of what had to be every Clark Royer in the country, if not the world. She needed to determine which photo belonged to the Clark Royer at Davidson and if possible which one was the Clark Royer mentioned in the newspaper article. Starting at the top, she began painstakingly clicking on each thumbnail and then visiting the webpage of origin for that image. She already knew that Clark Royer had no Facebook page, so the odds were not particularly in her favor. She saved some time by only clicking on the images of men who appeared to be in their late teens to early thirties, assuming that her hunch was right.

She had reached the bottom of the page when she found him. The page she had clicked on took her to a photo of a group of college grads posted on a website hosted by a University of Akron alumnus. The Ohio town of Eggers was near Akron. There in the middle of the last row stood Clark Royer. The caption read, Clark Royer, B.S. Computer Science.

That has to be him! she thought. Not only was computer science the likely major for a future database worker, the age of this guy was just right for him to have been a senior in high school the year the newspaper article had been published.

There was one more search she needed to do. She typed Clark Royer in the search field again and then clicked on the “find Clark Royer” prompt. She was then taken to a “View Clark Royer on Whitepages” button and clicked it. There were a total of ten Clark Royers listed in the U.S. with two in Ohio. She clicked on the Address link for the first one and saw that he lived in Cheviot, which was a Cincinnati suburb. Not him. She clicked on the next one, who she saw lived in a tiny town called Anston. She clicked on the map, enlarged the view and discovered that this tiny town was about fifteen miles from Cleveland.

Eureka!

Her heart racing, Amanda excitedly jotted down the address for Clark L. Royer.

CHAPTER 26

Night was beginning to fall as Alan opened the app and was taken to the log-in window. Before entering the new code into the username field, it suddenly dawned on him that he’d forgotten to call Doug Salyers back to inform him to make himself invisible for a while until things had a chance to cool down. Most of the day had been spent learning all he could about Brock Matthews and attempting to devise some sort of game plan to set him up. He made a mental note to phone Doug after he was finished here.

He was glad he’d called Fleming back to see if this idea would work because it could save him a lot of time and trouble. He certainly couldn’t log into the chat room again using the handle “Padwinkle” since his cover was already blown; but what about accessing the room anonymously—would that be possible? Fleming’s answer had been affirmative, but it would require a special code in order to work. The software designer told Alan that during his first attempts to hack the chat room he had devised a way to get in without the others being aware of his presence. This was in fact how he had been able to observe what was being said in the chat room prior to his inventing the fictitious Padwinkle character.

However, he added, it would not be possible to simply copy and paste the code into the log-in field. Alan would have to manually type in the long string of code Fleming had texted him in the username field, followed by an altogether different string for the password. He had been warned that if he didn’t type it all in quickly enough, he would be dropped from the log-in page and not be able to access it again for twenty-four hours.

This was unsettling news—Alan was not exactly the swiftest typist around—far from it. So he had practiced typing the code strings beforehand, hoping this would give him an edge.

Heaving a long sigh, he locked his fingers together, cracked his knuckles and outstretched his arms in preparation.

“Here goes,” he said aloud.

He placed the cursor inside the box, and while referring to the text, began typing in the first string of code. He promptly screwed up a couple of characters, hastily deleted them and re-typed as quickly as his fingers would allow. After finishing the first string, he hit the tab key and felt a bead of sweat run down his brow as he typed in the remaining code. He finished just as the page gave way to a black void followed by a rotating arrow indicating that the code was being interpreted and processed on the other end of God only knew where.

Suddenly the screen came to life with the chat room window. He’d done it!

He checked to see who was currently logged in and saw that the entire gang was there plus another member whose handle was “Chevy.” Alan settled back and watched the screen as the conversation ensued:

“I’ve never done that,” Gumbo said.

“You should give it a try,” Zorro replied.

“She wouldn’t understand that sort of thing. I don’t want to confuse her.”

“You’re not going to confuse her. She probably knows a hell of lot more than you think. That one’s been around the block, right Bobbi?”

“Correct. She’s eight going on eighteen—one of the best!”

“Not my type, then. I like an honest to goodness princess, not some slut!” Gumbo said.

“You’re too sentimental, Gumbo. But I hear what you’re saying,” Bobbi said.

“What are your thoughts, Chevy?” Zorro asked.

“Tiny. The tinier the better,” Chevy replied.

“That sounds kinda scary. We aren’t talking ‘baby,’ are we?” Gumbo inquired.

“Oh, Lord no! Nothing like that! Just tiny in a relative way. You know.”

“Ya had me scared there for a second, Chev!”

“Hey, you gotta draw the line somewhere!”

“I once knew somebody that swung that way. Gotta say, it was disgusting just to think of it. I asked him what he got out of doing that and he said there’s nothing like it on earth. Can you imagine? Baby booming?”

“I agree. People like that should be hung up by their nuts and left out to dry,” Zorro said.

“Not to change the subject, but any of you ever held a whipped cream party?” Gumbo asked.

“What’s that?”

“You just tell ‘em that you’re going to play a game and the object is to squirt whipped cream somewhere on your body and then she—or he if that’s your pref—has to guess what the name is for that dessert. If they don’t answer right, they have to lick it off. Then you trade places and it’s their turn to do the squirting!”

“LOL. You mean like squirting it on yourself and calling it a banana split?”

“You got it!”

As he followed the chat, Alan felt nothing but disgust and contempt. How anybody could discuss these sorts of topics like they were in some kind of pissing match was far beyond him. And to think that the objects of their conquests were exploited children who had been snatched up from their homes and prepped for sex was beyond comprehension. What’s wrong with these men? And what were they like while going about their everyday lives? Is this the sort of thing they thought of while having breakfast with their families—or working their regular jobs? Going through the motions of a normal existence while secretly fantasizing about sex with kids?

He continued following the chat for another hour or so until there were only three men left in the room—Bobbi, Gumbo and Marco.

“How does Tuesday look? Say around ten PM?” Gumbo typed.

“Your little princess?” Bobbi replied.

“Of course.”

“She’s free then.”

“Awesome!”

“Call me to confirm—you know the rest.”

“Will do. Ciao.”

Gumbo signed out. Alan crossed his fingers, hoping that Marco, alias Brock Matthews, would be booking a child for himself before he signed off. Somebody began typing and Alan waited anxiously for the text to appear.

“Are we still good for tomorrow?” Marco said.

“Correct. Checked in earlier and they think she’s finally ready for her maiden voyage.”

“I can hardly wait! Tell me more about her!”

“Cool your jets, Marco! You know the rules. All I can say is she is still exactly as described earlier. A real sweetheart. The rest you’re just going to have to find out for yourself tomorrow night.”

“Excellent! I’ll confirm by the usual time.” Marco said.

“Good enough. I’m outa here.” Bobbi said.

Bobbi’s name disappeared from the screen as he signed off. Marco’s name disappeared a moment later and the session was over.

Alan couldn’t believe his good fortune. Not only had Matthews arranged for some time with one of the victims, who apparently was a newbie to this abominable racket, he knew that it would take place sometime tomorrow night. The bad news was that he had very little time to prepare. In fact, he had serious doubts he would be able to pull this off on such short notice. But he was going to give it a hell of a try.

He shut down his iMac and went upstairs. He changed into a pair of black jeans and long sleeved tee shirt, then slipped an old pair of black Chuck Taylors on. Pan had followed him up to his room and was now staring at him expectantly, hoping he would be taking her along this time.

“Sorry, girl. But I’m afraid you’re gonna have to sit this one out,” he said, patting her head.

She barked once, letting him know of her disappointment but continued wagging her tail as she followed him down the hall to his old office. He gathered up all of his equipment, double-checked the battery strength and placed all of it into a nylon duffle bag.

Back in his living room office, Alan collected the printouts he had made of Matthews neighborhood. He stapled them together, grabbed his iPhone and left the house. As he backed out of the driveway, the Pilot’s stereo picked up his bluetooth signal and Steely Dan’s Reelin’ in the Years kicked in and poured out of the speakers.

But the song only served as a backdrop to what was going on in his head. He had a basic idea of what he needed to do, but the problem would be the logistics. The Matthews home appeared to be fairly well secluded from the neighbors’ wandering eyes but what about his family inside? He had a wife, and two children who were in their early teens. How would he be able to get over the six-foot steel fence with its pointed posts as sharp as ice picks without being spotted? Or impaled? And there would no doubt be motion and heat detectors set up on the grounds at the very least, and for all he knew a couple of fricking Dobermans thrown in.

Although he was no stranger to the potential risks involved, most of his surveillance was carried out in the day by choice whenever possible. People were surprisingly lax during the daylight hours and not nearly as cautious as they should be. What he had to do in order to make this work would have to be done under a cloak of darkness and Brock Matthews was a multi-millionaire, which meant that he had likely spared no expense to keep his precious possessions secure.

One thing at a time, he thought.

He reached New Albany twenty minutes later and headed toward the north side of town. Five minutes later he found Matthews’ street and pulled onto it, keeping his eyes peeled, searching the addresses. His GPS indicated that he was a couple of houses away and he spotted the driveway a moment later. He drove past the home slowly, attempting to put the image he’d printed out from Goggle into real perspective. The fence was set back from the sidewalk and the impressive three-story home was set back a hundred yards beyond the fence. He increased his speed and drove up to the first intersection he came to, turned right and parked the car.

Grabbing the duffle bag, he got out and began backtracking his way to the Matthews home. When he reached the next-door neighbor who lived to the east, he waited for an oncoming car to drive past and then sprinted up the neighbor’s driveway. There was a forty foot wooded area separating the neighbor’s residence from the Matthews and Alan quickly took refuge within it. He went over to the fence and walked beside it until he’d travelled thirty yards from the street and stopped when he spotted what he had been hoping for. There stood a tall elm tree with several of its limbs extending over the fence to the Matthews property.

Shouldering the duffle bag, he began scaling the tree. Halfway up, he walked out onto one of the branches far enough, he hoped, to hang drop from it without breaking a leg or two. He wasn’t in the best physical shape and he hoped he wasn’t being overly confident of his ability to perform this stunt. In a moment he reckoned he would find out.

The branch was bowing quite a bit as he crouched down and grasped the limb with both hands. He let himself drop awkwardly while still holding onto the limb with all his strength. His first reality check came as he realized what a fricking weakling he’d become since the last time he’d done something as crazy as this. His second reality check came when he looked down and estimated that the vertical drop to the ground would be around ten feet.

He had little time to think about it as his hands suddenly gave way and he fell like a rock to the ground. The shock of landing startled him and he fell backwards onto his ass the second he hit. The sound seemed so loud he thought for sure someone had probably heard him so he sat still for a full minute before attempting to stand up.

To his surprise and relief, nothing was broken as he got onto his feet. His joints and backside were sore but nothing that a half bottle of ibuprofen couldn’t cure.

He straightened out the bag on his shoulder and took cover at the first tree he saw on Matthews land. He could clearly see the house, which was lit up like a Christmas tree. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost ten o’clock. Still pretty early. The kids were on summer break and may not be home but that was anyone’s guess.

Alan found himself somewhere between the front and side yard. Most of the light was coming from the rear of the house where the in-ground pool and deck were. It was pretty chilly so he doubted that anybody was swimming but he couldn’t tell from this perspective. He felt confident that he could get closer to the house without being seen as long as he stayed away from the floodlights serving the backyard.

He slinked toward the house, half-expecting a dog to come tearing out toward him at any moment. There was absolutely nothing he could do but run if the Matthews had a watchdog and the whole operation would be dead in the water. He could only hope his luck would continue as he neared the house.

There was a pair of large windows facing the side yard so he hit the ground and crawled on his hands and knees the remainder of the distance. He stood up halfway between them before inching his way toward the window closest to the rear of the home and cautiously peeked inside. It appeared to be the dining room. The only light came from a chandelier hanging over a large cherry wood table for ten.

He reached the end of the house and gazed cautiously around the corner. The pool was uninhibited and nobody was out on the deck. So far, so good. He spotted what looked like a sunroom beyond the deck with a sliding door that provided access. There was another door leading out to the deck from the house.

Recalling that the connected garage would be on the other side of the house, he considered the best way to get there. Lights shone from all of the rooms facing the back so there was a good chance of being seen if he were to cut across under the lights. He looked past the pool and noticed that the light fell off sharply toward the very rear of the grounds.

He cut back toward the side yard and headed toward the darkness beyond the pool. He had just reached the fence line when he heard a door open and the sound of a dog barking its head off. He looked toward the deck and saw a small white dog about the size of a large cat tear out into the side yard and stop dead in its tracks to take a piss. Alan froze and stared at the dog, hoping the thing wouldn’t pick up his scent. After relieving itself, it began sniffing around the yard with no particular destination in mind until somebody shouted from the door.

“C’mon, Putzy!” a girl’s voice called.

Putzy ignored the call until he was done patrolling the grounds then all of a sudden broke into a run and headed back to the deck. A moment later the door opened and Putzy went inside.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Alan resumed walking the fence until he reached the far side. There was a large driveway with a black Lincoln Town Car parked outside the three-car garage. He took a look at the license plate just to be sure it wasn’t the wife’s car and confirmed that it was indeed Brock’s ride.

Alan knelt down, unzipped the duffle bag and groped around in the darkness until he felt what he was looking for. He took the device out, switched it on and saw the dim red glow of an LED blink, turn green, then turn itself off. The unit was activated and ready for use.

He crept along the fence several feet and made a diagonal line toward the right rear side of the Lincoln. Staying low and out of sight from the north side of the house, he stuck his hand in under the wheel well and felt around for a good spot to place the homing device. He chose an area that was relatively flat and wouldn’t be noticeable unless the car was put on a lift. He attached the device, feeling the strong magnetic pull hold it firmly in place.

He returned to the fence line and fished inside the duffle bag for another piece of equipment. Taking out the portable GPS tracking device, he slid open the cover, turned it on and a moment later saw the blinking blue light indicating that the device was in service. He pressed a couple of buttons and a map of the area appeared on the screen. After a few adjustments he saw the blinking red light of the device that was attached to Brock Matthews’ car show up at its corresponding location on the map. Awesome.

He placed the monitor back in the bag and began backtracking his way to the other side of the yard. He reached the area he’d been when the dog had been let out and couldn’t believe it when he heard the door open yet again. He saw a teenage girl in a bathing suit come out and head across the deck toward the swimming pool. She stepped onto the patio and walked around the pool to the springboard. Draping her towel over a nearby chair, she hopped up onto the board, paused a moment like an Olympic diver then ran and executed a perfect dive into the water.

Alan watched her for a few moments as she swam laps around the pool. This would be Katie, Brock Matthews’ fourteen-year-old daughter. He felt a wave of sadness as he wondered how she would react if she ever found out that her father was molesting other people’s children on a regular basis. Children even younger than herself, being manhandled and manipulated by her very own father.

How could she react, beyond shock and revulsion?

Had Matthews ever molested her as well? That was a fair enough question. And how about her brother, Zack? Alan recalled reading that the reason some parents molest children was to avoid molesting their own.

Alan felt his anger build as he watched Brock Matthews’ daughter swimming laps, seemingly happy with life. How could her father be so selfish and self-serving to forsake his family for such a sick, demented lifestyle?

They didn’t deserve this. Not his kids, nor his wife nor the victims.

Alan resumed his trek. When he arrived back at the elm tree with the overhanging limb, he removed a coil of nylon rope from the duffle bag and unwound it. After attaching a small weight to one end he took aim and tossed the rope over the limb. Giving the rope some slack until he was able to hold onto the weighted end, he untied the weight, joined the two ends of rope together and tied several thick knots as far up the length of rope as he could reach.

He put on the special gloves he’d brought that were designed to provide excellent grip. Then he placed his right foot into the loop of rope he had created and began climbing the rope, using the knots as handholds. He wasn’t sure if it was adrenalin or sheer anger that was fueling his ascent but he made it all the way up to the limb effortlessly and in short time. He gathered up the rope and shimmied along the limb until he reached the trunk of the elm and climbed the rest of the way down.

The homing device was planted. As he headed back to the Pilot, he felt a little bit closer to putting Brock Matthews and the rest of this fucked-up outfit out of commission.

He realized that his knees, hips and ass were killing him during the drive back home. The first thing he would do was chase down a few Advils with an ice-cold beer and chill out for a while. The next day was going to be a long one so he planned on turning in early.

He pulled onto his street and thought he was hallucinating when he saw Amanda’s uncle’s Jeep parked in his driveway. The moment he pulled in behind it Amanda got out and walked over to him. She was a sight for sore eyes, her beauty matching her obvious excitement.

CHAPTER 27

Alan got out and gave her a hug. “This is sure a welcome surprise! Is everything alright?”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Everything’s fine. I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No problem. But I’m not buying your story—why aren’t you still in Milldale?”

“I’m driving to Cleveland and Columbus just so happens to be on the way there. I’ll tell you all about it after you fix me a drink.”

“You got it.”

Alan hastily grabbed the duffle bag before heading toward his house.

“So where have you been?” Amanda asked.

“Planting things,” he replied.

“Isn’t it a little late for a garden?”

“Not necessarily.”

The moment they entered, Pan was there to greet them.

“Hi ya, girl!” Amanda cried. “Haven’t seen you in forever!”

“No wonder, you’re hardly ever here,” Alan said dryly.

“Well I’m here now. Hope you don’t mind putting me up for the night.”

“You kidding? My pleasure.”

They entered the kitchen and Alan made a beeline for the fridge. “What would you like?”

“Actually, a beer would be perfect if you have one to spare.”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” he quipped as he took out a pair of Yuenglings.

He removed the caps and handed a bottle to Amanda.

“Cheers.”

After a long slug, Alan took a bottle of Advil from the cupboard, poured a few in his hand and downed them.

“Must be one hell of a headache,” Amanda said.

“Joints. Just hang-dropped from a tree.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope. I’ll tell you all about it. But first you have to tell me what you’re up to.”

“Let’s sit down—this could take a while.”

They sat down at the kitchen table and Amanda told Alan what Charlie Ling had found for her and about her subsequent research of the Davidson and Associates employees.

“When I found out that they had a database worker named Clark Royer and that there had once been a Clark Royer pulled over for impersonating a police officer, I got really excited. Then I confirmed that both Clark Royers were one and the same after doing some more digging. Can you believe it? I think I may have found our guy!”

“It sounds promising. And that’s why you’re going to Cleveland, I assume?”

“Yup. I’ve got Royer’s address so I’m going to go see what I can find out. And I really need your help.”

“Shoot.”

“Say I find this guy and manage to somehow confirm that he’s our perp. What do I do then?”

“Depends on how much evidence you have. You have to make damn sure he’s a good suspect before you can even consider involving the law. Just because you see something that makes you think, ‘he’s our guy,’ it’s probably not going to be enough to get any kind of rise out of the police. Your proof has to be rock solid. Then, and only then, do you get the local law involved. And that won’t be a cakewalk, either. You’ll be in an unfamiliar city without any connections with law enforcement so they’ll be hesitant to give you any support. Plus, you’re not even a licensed investigator. And even if you were, you’re gonna find yourself faced with every PI’s dilemma—you’ve solved a crime but are virtually powerless to do anything about it. It’s like being all dressed up with nowhere to go.

“But before I sound like I’m trying to discourage you, I’ll tell you what you need to do. Call me. Tell me what you have and all you can about the situation. Do not do anything risky or involve the authorities until you’ve called me first, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t. I just hope this isn’t a bum steer. Uncle Ken thinks there’s a good chance they’ll arrest Nick soon—maybe as soon as Monday. The latest word is that the prosecutor is ready to take some action.”

“That sucks. Any chance that word has gotten out about Nick’s jaunt to Richmond? Because if the prosecutor found that out, it could make him feel confident enough to order Nick’s arrest.”

“That’s what Uncle Ken thinks may have happened, and that the authorities think Nick secretly drove to Richmond to take care of something that could be incriminating. Then he slipped back into town before anybody found out he ever left. If necessary, I could of course testify what really happened, but Uncle Ken doesn’t want things to go that far. He’s starting to get really nervous about this. He’s trying hard not to show it but I know better. That’s exactly why I don’t want to waste another day.”

“Have you heard any more about the sheriff’s son?”

“Nothing. Uncle Ken wonders if Sheriff Foley is second-guessing Mark’s guilt if they have indeed found out about Nick leaving town.”

“Damn, what a mess! I wish I could go to Cleveland with you but my hands are tied. I have my own rather pressing situation brewing here.”

Alan proceeded to tell Amanda about his case, from the beginning to the present. When he was finished, she was shell-shocked.

“I can’t believe it! And these people are doing this sort of shit here in Columbus as we speak?”

“Yup. So now you see why I felt morally obliged to pick up this case. It’s fairly common knowledge that human trafficking is growing steadily in this country and that it involves victims of all ages and nationalities. But when you find out that there are children as young as toddlers involved, and that it’s happening right here in your own backyard, it’s more than a little disturbing. And I can’t begin to describe how sick the bastards renting these kids are—how they chat online to each other about their experiences and how goddamn exciting it is to manipulate and abuse these children! You’d think they were talking about first dates in high school! They have no hearts—no compassion whatsoever for these kids or what it’s doing to them. They are evil, absolutely evil.”

“My god—I can’t imagine. So this Mansky guy is basically the pimp? And he’s working for somebody else?”

“That’s what it looks like. Columbus is apparently just the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the operation has its roots in Miami. That’s where they keep the abducted children before they’re distributed elsewhere. Fleming thinks that the majority of them are sold or rented out in the South but a select few are transported to Columbus. It looks as though Mansky and his boss are looking for a certain type of victim for a select group of clients. From what we’ve seen, that type appears to be young girls and possibly boys in the age range of around six to eleven or so.”

“So what you’re saying is that this select group of johns, clients, or whatever you’d call them, have the financial means to indulge their particular tastes.”

“Oh yeah. We don’t know exactly how much these men are paying or what the fee includes time-wise, but there is no doubt that it’s at least in the four-figure range. Fleming says he’s known of rich clients like these assholes spending as much as a couple thousand dollars for a single night with a child. The fee is based on things like age, size, experience or lack thereof, body type—if you can believe it—shit like that. Isn’t that unreal?”

“I’ll say. I wonder where these kids are being kept?”

“That’s what I hope to find out—along with where the clients are taking them while they’re on the clock.”

“I hope you can do it. This is really sick.”

“For sure. Another beer?”

Amanda drained the remainder and handed him the bottle. “You read my mind.”

They spent the next hour or so talking about nothing in particular. Alan had just returned from another trip to the fridge when Amanda suddenly took hold of his hand.

“Fancy drinking these somewhere more comfortable?”

“Like?”

“Up there?” she gestured, smiling coyly.

“I would definitely fancy that.”

Still holding onto her hand, Alan stood up and led the way upstairs to the bedroom. Along the way his head was filled with a plethora of emotions, all of them positive. And for the first time in over a week, solving cases was the last thing on his mind.

CHAPTER 28

Before sunrise the next morning, Amanda was heading north on I-71. As she sipped steaming hot coffee from the travel mug Alan had loaned her, her focus was divided between the night before and the day that lay ahead.

She and Alan had made love last night. It wasn’t their first time and it wouldn’t be their last. But this time had been different. Before last night, she had always caught herself thinking of Julie, Alan’s deceased wife and her former friend, and felt guilty. She suspected that Alan felt the same way.

When he had shown up that fateful day at Amanda’s workplace last year, Alan had still been struggling with the pain and despair of losing the woman he had loved so much. He and Julie had been happily married for years before Julie was suddenly diagnosed with brain cancer and passed away.

Like the proverbial fly in the ointment, Amanda had resurfaced in Alan’s life that day to complicate matters and as time went by had forced him into a compromised position. Should he spend the rest of his life pining for his beloved deceased wife or move forward? The answer hung in the air like a dark cloud whenever they made love, neither of them wishing to forsake Julie’s memory.

Last night, she felt as though that cloud had finally disappeared, freeing them of the underlying guilt and self doubt that had prevailed before. For the first time ever, Alan had told her he loved her, and she had replied that she loved him. At last they could focus on the future together as a couple.

She smiled to herself. What crazy timing! There they were, both immersed in their respective cases, both stressed out to the max, and what happens? They confess their love for each other!

Who’da thunk?

So now they were both business partners and partners in love. Could the two coexist, she wondered? Only time would tell.

As she noticed the first rays of sunlight emerge over the eastern horizon, Amanda fumbled with the Jeep’s radio until she found her favorite rock station. She was feeling more than a little apprehensive about what she was going to do once she arrived in Anston. Locating Clark Royer’s home was going to be a challenge since she’d had no luck finding it on Google Maps. His mailing address was a rural route—RR2, Box 43—which meant absolutely nothing to her and had been of no use in her search.

So, if and when she did find where he lived, what was she going to do? It was Sunday, for one thing. Would he be at home on the weekend? And if he so, what did she expect to accomplish? To somehow force Royer into giving her a full confession? Right.

She would just have to cross that bridge when she got there.

Glancing at the clock, she wondered what Alan was doing this very moment. He had told her he was going to drive out to the pedophile’s home and monitor his actions throughout the day. He mentioned that since he didn’t know exactly when the man was going to hook up with his “child victim for the day,” as he’d put it, he’d have to get an early start. He intended to head out after showering and taking Pan for a short walk.

Amanda knew one thing about Alan Swansea: he was very good at what he did. If anybody could nail this trafficking operation, it was Alan. He not only had experience in human sex trafficking as a result of another case, he was one of the most stubborn, determined people she had ever known. His laid back appearance was just a facade covering what went on inside. The man had a genuine passion for others and would do anything in his power to get the job done.

She also shared Alan’s stubbornness and determination. But when it came to experience in this line of work, she had zilch. She could tell that Alan was nervous about what she was doing and she sensed it was going against his better judgment to let her go through with it. She felt grateful to him for giving her this opportunity and she wanted nothing more than to prove that she could do this. Prove it to Alan, prove it to Nick.

If only she had more faith in herself.

She pulled into a convenience store north of Mansfield to refill her coffee and use the bathroom. When she got back on the road, she tried to relax and let the music soothe her, but it did little good. By the time she neared the outskirts of Cleveland she was pretty much a bundle of nerves.

She pulled off onto an exit ramp and within fifteen minutes saw a sign that told her she had just entered the village of Anston, Ohio. She already knew from her research that it was a one-horse town, consisting of one minuscule main road with a couple of gas stations, a diner, a MacDonald’s and few small businesses. Literally a town that you could miss in the blink of an eye.

She pulled into the BP, parked and entered the convenience store. She waited until a customer paid for his gas before approaching the clerk.

“Excuse me, but do you by any chance know a Clark Royer?”

The employee, a young man in his twenties, replied, “No, afraid not.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She got back into the Jeep and decided to try the diner. The place was small with a half dozen tables and a booth. The only customer was an older gentleman reading a newspaper. She decided to try the waitress first.

“Good morning. I’m trying to find out where Clark Royer lives. Do you know him by any chance?”

The woman was in her forties, plump and friendly looking. “I sure don’t—sorry. Hey Ralph, you know a Clark Royer?”

The man looked over and cocked his head. “What’s that?”

“Do you know a Clark Royer? This young lady is trying to find him.”

The old man stood up and came over to the counter.

“Royer, you say?”

“Yes. Clark Royer,” Amanda replied. “He’s supposed to live somewhere around here.”

“I know there’s a young feller who lives out at Raccoon Run name of Royer. Reckon that might be him.”

“Wonderful. How do I get to Raccoon Run?”

The man smiled, revealing a jagged set of tobacco-stained teeth. “Gonna have to go outside to show you. C’mon.”

Amanda followed him out the door to the end of the sidewalk. He pointed along the main drag and said, “Go that way about three miles or so ‘til you see a big two-story white house on the left. Go past that house and start looking for a road not too much further. The road ain’t got a sign—some fool ran over it a couple of weeks ago, drunk as a skunk—but it’s the only road for a ways so you can’t miss it. Take a right on that road and go another mile or so until you see an old barn on your right. Just past the barn is Waller Lane. Take a left on that and stay on it a ways until you see Raccoon Run. It’s a good-sized crick with a dirt road that runs along it to the east. The Royer fellow lives way up that road.”

Amanda had taken a scrap of paper from her purse and jotted the directions down. “Sounds like he lives in the middle of nowhere.”

“You got that right. I haven’t been up that way in a while but I can tell you it’s a pretty good jaunt to Royer’s place. Used to go fishing in that area a while back. That road is rougher than a cob so I hope you got a car with good shocks.”

“I’m driving that Jeep,” she said, pointing toward her uncle’s Grand Cherokee.

“You shouldn’t have no trouble then.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome. Be careful up there.”

She wondered why he’d said that as she turned away and got into the Jeep.

Before starting the engine, she opened Google Maps, spotted her current GPS position and attempted to trace the route to Raccoon Run using Ralph’s directions. She found the task impossible since she had no idea where to find the two-story white house he had mentioned on the map. She would have to get there first before attempting to go any further electronically.

As she drove along the road she found it physically hard to believe that the huge metropolis of Cleveland was less than fifteen minutes away. This place seemed like something she would find in rural Milldale, not in the populated area of northeast Ohio. The folks even spoke like hillbillies, making her wonder if the original settlers of Anston had been southern Ohio emigrants.

Referring to her odometer, she started looking for the white house after a couple of miles. When she spotted it, she peeled her eyes for the first road on the right. The flattened sign Ralph had mentioned was lying on the berm, perhaps a reminder to others not to drink and drive.

After a mile or so she spotted the barn and pulled over long enough to get a fix on her GPS. She zoomed in and found Waller Lane a few hundred yards away. So far, Ralph had been spot-on with his directions, she noted.

She pulled onto Waller Lane and drove a little further until she reached Raccoon Run. She saw the dirt road running alongside, pulled onto it and parked.

Amanda switched over to 3-D satellite mode and zoomed into where the blue icon of her current location was pulsing. Dragging her finger along the road on her screen, she eventually came upon a large clearing where the road apparently dead-ended. In the clearing were three structures: a good sized home, flanked by a garage, and beyond that a much larger building that looked like a barn in the satellite image. She backtracked to where she was and guesstimated that Royer’s home—or farm or whatever—was about three miles further up from where she sat.

She drove slowly, hoping that there wouldn’t be any vehicles coming down the road along the way. The road was narrow—too narrow for two cars to pass each other without one having to pull over onto the berm. The last thing she wanted was to run into Royer before she got to his place.

Her window was down and she could hear the sound of the creek that ran out of sight to her left. Judging by its swift flow, it must have rained a lot recently in the area. She glanced at the satellite view again, wondering at what point she should bail out before she got within viewing distance of Royer’s land. She didn’t want to park too far away—just far enough to avoid being seen.

She continued her drive until she reached a curve in the road that was probably only a quarter mile from Royer’s property. She pulled over and shut off the Jeep. The sound of the engine ticking from the heat and the babbling of the creek were all she heard.

Amanda got out, locked the doors and began hiking further up the road. Moments later she could see Royer’s house through a clearing up ahead so she slowed down to a crawl, attempting to get a fix on how to access his property without being seen. When she came within clear sight she saw a split rail fence that ran across either side of the road to the tree line.

Stopping abruptly, Amanda assessed the area. Royer’s property seemed much bigger than the satellite image suggested. As she observed his home, she saw that not only was it huge, it was impressive. It was a two-story frame that you would expect to find in an upscale neighborhood, not here in the middle of a field in the middle of nowhere. Had it been renovated since the satellite photo had been shot? Beyond the house to the east stood the large building that looked less like a barn now and more like some sort of storage facility. She saw some windows and planned on taking a good look at what Royer had stored inside before she did another thing.

There were no vehicles in the driveway and the garage door was closed. Was Royer at home or away? She couldn’t be sure. She would have to assume that he was and he could see her if she wasn’t careful.

She glanced to her left at the tree line. It was fairly dense but navigable. If she could stay hidden in the trees, she would be able to make it all the way to the large building without being seen.

Amanda entered the woods and stayed within fifteen yards of the tree line as she headed toward the structure. She wasn’t crazy about bugs and snakes and hoped she didn’t run into either. She had become a hopeless city girl since leaving Milldale as a kid and had lost any desire to go hiking or camping out.

The structure was only thirty yards or so away when she came to a stop. From this angle there would be no way that Royer could see her, so she came up to the edge of the trees and sprinted across the clearing to the east side of the building.

There were no windows on this side so she walked toward the back and spotted a window about half the distance to the other end. She walked over and peered inside. What she saw nearly took her breath away.

In the dim light, she could make out no less than a half dozen vintage cars neatly lined up in a row. An old Corvette Stingray, a GTO, a Ford Mustang Mach 1, and a few more she didn’t recognize. Every car was in mint condition, the paint sparkling despite the weak light, and not a single dent in sight.

So Mr. Royer’s a classic car buff. An odd pastime for a techno geek, but everyone needs some sort of release, she reckoned.

Her curiosity piqued, she wanted to see what else was inside that she couldn’t make out from this perspective. She had noticed that the entrance to this enormous garage/showroom was located on the other side and that it was visible from Royer’s house. She walked toward the end, stopped just shy of it and peered around the corner.

The house was perhaps fifty yards from where she now stood. Fortunately, there was a large oak tree growing in the backyard that obscured her view from most of the rear of the house. If she moved quickly enough, Royer most likely would never see her.

She inched out a foot or so and peered toward the garage door that was closed. This side of it was a smaller door. Amanda shot a quick glance toward the house then ran over to the door. She tried the knob and it turned. She swung the door open just far enough to slip inside and promptly shut it behind her.

Panting hard, she looked around. She was standing in what appeared to be the maintenance area of the building. There was a compressed air controlled car lift supporting what looked like a sixties model Pontiac Firebird. Unlike the other cars, this one was in serious need of bodywork. There were patches of body putty and a few areas that had been sprayed with gray primer paint. On the workbench sat a paint sprayer attached by a long hose to one of the two air compressors.

She was tempted to turn on the lights but decided not to take the chance. Instead, she made her way through the neat row of glistening American muscle cars all the way over to the far side of the building. When she neared the end, she let out a gasp and her heart skipped a beat.

Parked in the corner was a white police car. No, it wasn’t a police car but a sheriff’s department patrol car—an Adams County Sheriff’s cruiser identical to the ones in Milldale!

So Royer was the murderer—he did it! Just as he’d done back in high school, he had transformed a stock car into a cop car and used it to deceive his victims. As a database worker at Davidson and Associates, he had total access to the records of every client at the firm, which he used to his advantage. Whenever he found a case involving a wealthy person who lived alone and was vulnerable, he began planning his attack. The first thing he did was check out the local law situation—more specifically what models the vehicles were and their markings. Then he probably took a few shots, bought the same model car, brought it here to his body shop and got to work. The rest would be a piece of cake.

She knew this line of thinking was jumping to conclusions and pure conjecture but it fit. Clark Royer had money—plenty of it—certainly more than his job as a database manager paid. He had a hoard of vintage sports cars that were worth plenty in fair condition and much more after Royer had used his obvious skills to restore them to mint condition. He owned a home that had once looked little more than a farmhouse on the satellite view and now looked like it belonged to a well-to-do, eccentric weirdo.

She pulled out her iPhone and took two shots—one of the mocked-up cruiser and another with the cruiser in the foreground and the sports cars in the background. Wait until Alan sees these! She would text him the second she got back to the Jeep.

She went over to the cruiser and poked her head inside the open window. Just as she expected, the interior of the car was stock—no wire mesh partition, no police radio or on-board computer, no special controls or instrumentation. Royer had put all of his effort into transforming the exterior to make—

She heard a door open. A second later, the lights came on.

“Who’s in here?” a voice called.

Royer! she thought. Immediately, she ducked down in the shadows.

“I know you’re in here so you might as well come on out.”

Amanda felt her heart bursting out of her chest. What could she do?

“Trespassing is against the law and I have every right to shoot anybody trespassing on my property. If you want to avoid being wounded or killed, I suggest you give yourself up right now.”

She heard the sound of his footsteps grow louder. He was heading directly toward her! She wanted to take a look and see where he was but knew better. She would just have to lay low.

“Whoever you are, you are fucked! You’re obviously not armed or you would have shot me by now. So I’m the only one with a gun, and that gun makes me the boss. Give it up, woman! I’m in control and I will prevail—no doubt about it!”

So he had spotted her from the house. Shit! Amanda guessed that he was near the halfway point of the building now—maybe a little closer than that. She had nothing to defend herself with. Cold reality hit her hard—there was no way she was going to get out of this!

Her phone suddenly vibrated. Alan! she thought. Although the phone was in her back pocket with its ringer turned off, it may as well have been set on killer bee mode as it buzzed incessantly in the still quiet of the garage. No way he hadn’t heard it.

“You going to answer that?” he said. She nearly jumped out of her skin—he was only a few feet away!

Amanda paused a moment before breaking into a run. Immediately she felt a hand grab her by the elbow and a shot rang out. She heard the bullet ricochet off a metal ceiling girder as she struggled to break away from Royer. The man was strong and he effortlessly held her arm as if in a clamp. She felt the cold steel of the barrel suddenly press hard against the nape of her neck.

“I suggest you chill out, honey, unless you want to see your brains splattered all over my priceless possessions. That wouldn’t do either of us any good.”

Amanda relented. “Okay.”

“I’m going to take this gun away now. Don’t try anything or I’ll shoot. I want you to lead the way out of here—slowly.”

Amanda felt the gun taken away from her neck and pressed firmly into her back. She walked forward slowly as directed.

“So what may I ask are you doing here? You sure as fuck didn’t come to make an offer on one of my cars.”

Amanda was at a total loss for words. “How do you know that?”

“Oh, we have a comedian here! Okay, I’ll play along. If you were interested in purchasing a car, you would have probably had the decency to call first instead of taking the liberty of breaking in here like this. How’s that for an answer?”

“Pretty good.”

“Now, how about the truth?” he said.

“I just happened to be in the neighborhood and—”

He spun her around so violently that she screamed. He got right up into her face, pressed the gun against her temple, absolute rage in his eyes.

“Enough of the bullshit, bitch! You tell me what you’re doing here or we’re through talking, if you catch my drift!”

“Okay! I’m investigating a case with my partner.”

His expression changed dramatically as Amanda realized he was not expecting that particular reply.

“I see. So what are you, some kinda cop?”

“No, I’m a private investigator.”

“And what case are you investigating?”

“The murder of Jodi Wilburn,” Amanda replied.

He didn’t flinch. “Who may I ask is Jodi Wilburn? Or should I say, who was Jodi Wilburn?”

“An old friend of mine.”

“Interesting. Let’s go to the house so you can tell me more about it.”

He nudged her with the gun and Amanda turned to go. When they reached the inside of his house he ordered her take a seat at the kitchen table. As frightened as she was at the moment, she couldn’t help but notice the awful state the kitchen was in. She had expected to see a clean, modern space but instead saw was an old, dilapidated room in serious need of an overhaul.

“Sorry about the mess in here—haven’t gotten around to the inside of the house yet. Been too busy. So what’s your name, dear?”

“Amanda.”

“You mentioned a partner. What’s his name?”

“Alan.”

“Last name?”

“Swansea.”

“I see. So you and Swansea are investigating a case involving the murder of this Wilburn woman. Tell me more about that.”

“Jodi lived alone and had inherited a great deal of money from her grandmother when she passed. Somebody broke into her home, stole her inheritance and strangled her to death.”

“That’s horrible! And where did this happen?”

“In Milldale, a little town in the southern part of the state.”

“That’s very interesting. So what may I ask are you doing all the way up here investigating a crime that happened in the other end of the state?”

“We have reason to believe that you might be involved.”

He laughed heartily. “Is that so? And what in the world makes you think that, honey?”

His incessant use of honey, dear, and other terms of endearment was beginning to grate on her nerves in spite everything. She looked him over for the first time and saw a man who was probably suffering from a lack of confidence and attempting to make up for it with a gun, a bunch of restored muscle cars and quasi bravado. Although he wore jeans and a t-shirt, she could easily see him sporting a pair of pleated khaki Dockers and a navy blue polo shirt while crunching client data at a computer screen all day. All he needed was a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses to complete the look of a total loser geek.

“I don’t think that, Mr. Royer. I know it.”

“Ha-ha! This is getting really interesting! How do you know it?”

“That Adams County Sheriff’s department pseudo-cruiser you have in you collection, for one thing.”

For the first time, a flicker of dread showed in his eyes. “How’s that? And how is it you know my name, Amanda?”

“You were driving that car the day you murdered Jodi. You pretended to be a cop so she let you into her house. Then you robbed and murdered her. And I know your name because you work at Davidson and Associates, which is where you found out about Jodi’s inheritance. What I don’t know, Mr. Royer, is how you knew Jodi had it all stashed in her house.”

“You’re a real smart bitch, aren’t you? Think you’ve got this all figured out. Let me remind you that this is my home and I’m the boss here, missy, before you start getting all cocky like some know-it-all cunt! Time to stifle the attitude right now, hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you.”

“Good. So let’s assume that what you said really happened. Have you taken a moment to think of how ridiculous that sounds? Anybody who knows how to read a newspaper or search the internet could find out that somebody’s rich and lives alone—without having to work at an accountant’s office. So that angle of yours is bogus.

“And how in the hell would I know that some dumb chick kept all her treasures in a safe at her home and not in the bank, living all the fucking way up here in Cleveland, Ohio?”

“I don’t know. But I’d like to.”

“I’ll bet you would. Well, I’ll tell you what. I’m going to tell you—call it a professional courtesy. Then you can feel like you have all of this figured out, case closed. I mean, what the hell difference does it make to me? You aren’t going to be leaving this house anyway, so you won’t be sharing it with anybody.”

For the first time, Amanda felt the full scope of this situation. He had been toying with her, keeping the mood just light enough to make her think she might make it through this alive somehow. She had been kidding herself.

But she was not about to show this nut case how scared she was. Somehow she had to keep the conversation going and maintain an air of self-confidence.

“So tell me. How’d you know?”

“Easy, really. All I had to do was drive down to Milldale and case the place out before putting everything into motion. The first thing I did was wait around for Mrs. Wilburn to leave for work one morning and then entered her house. She hadn’t even locked the door, if you can believe that! So I went inside and began looking around. The first thing I did was check out her laptop for anything that might be helpful. That’s when I discovered a scathing email from her ex-hubby, among other things.”

So Jodi must have deleted those emails right after hanging up from Nick’s call, Amanda thought.

“Then I cased out the entire house, beginning with a pile of bills on her desk. As I poked around her paperwork, I realized there wasn’t a single indication that she paid her bills by check or credit card—it was all in cash. That sent up a red flag.

“I came to the conclusion that she didn’t deal with banks so there was a good chance her inheritance was stashed away in the house somewhere. So I started looking for a safe but had no luck. Let me make one thing clear—even if I had found a safe I wouldn’t have attempted to crack it. Not my style. You see, it’s all about the challenge for me. Yes, the money’s good and all of that, but I get so much more than financial reward from what I do. I get power, and that my dear, is priceless!”

“So how many others have there been?”

“How many what?”

“Victims—how many others have you robbed and murdered?”

“What is this, truth or dare?” he laughed. “Let’s just say I like my second job, it has served me well and we’ll leave it at that for now.”

“But can’t you—”

Her iPhone vibrated again. Royer held out his hand.

“Hand it over,” he demanded.

Amanda pulled the phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. It was Uncle Ken. She noticed that it was him who had called the first time as well, not Alan. She handed Royer the phone.

He stared at the screen. “Who’s Ken Barker?”

“My uncle. He’s going to start looking for me if I don’t answer.”

“How’s he going to ever find you?”

“He knows I’m up here—so does my partner.”

“I seriously doubt that,” he said. He glanced at the phone again. “Seems he’s left a voicemail for you. Let’s see what he said.”

He tried accessing the voicemails but the phone was password protected.

“What’s the password?”

Amanda sighed. “3-7-3-3,” she replied. She thought it ironic that her password was of all things, “F-R-E-E.”

Royer punched in the code and accessed the voicemail. Amanda felt herself go numb as she heard her uncle’s message:

“Mandy, this is the second time I’ve called. Are you in Cleveland yet? Maybe you’re trying to find Royer’s place. Well, call back ASAP—I just found out they’ve arrested Nick. I’m on the way to the county jail now. Thought you’d want to know. Call me!”

“Your uncle just spilled the beans—he doesn’t know where you are—just that you’re somewhere in Cleveland. Which brings us to the sixty thousand dollar question: what am I going to do with you?”

“The answer is simple—you have to let me go. They know I’ve been looking for you and they’ll eventually find out where you live. You have no other choice,” Amanda said.

His fist hit the table so hard that a china sugar bowl fell to the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.

“I don’t have to fucking do anything I don’t want to do!” he roared. “I am in charge here and what I say, goes. You got that, honey puss?”

Amanda didn’t reply; she just nodded. She now had a pretty good idea what Jodi must have gone through before Royer murdered her. He was not only a control freak but a hothead and a certifiable lunatic. It must have been terrifying.

She realized that her ass was grass, no matter what Royer chose to do. He would most likely kill her—little doubt of that. The question was when and where. Would he take her somewhere, murder her and then dump the body? Or would he simply do it here and take it from there?

How long would she have before he killed her? Her only chance would be to stall him—delay the inevitable for as long as she possibly could. Maybe, just maybe, she could figure a way to get out of this.

“So is Nick the same Nick who was married to Jodi?”

“Yes.”

“Looks like he’s gonna fry for his ex’s murder. Too bad.”

“That’s not going to happen. My partner knows all about you and will see that you fry whether you let me go or not. You can trust me on that.”

He laughed. “You can trust me on this: letting you go isn’t even an option, so you might as well get that out of your pretty little head. And I am not worried one iota about your partner. He’ll never be able to prove I did jack shit.”

“Don’t count on it—this will be an open and shut case.”

“No way. There’s only one thing that could possible incriminate me and it’s sitting out there in my workshop. All I have to do is make that disappear, and they won’t have a shred of evidence.”

Amanda thought a moment. It didn’t take long to realize that he was absolutely right. The patrol car was indeed all they had. At least so far. Could there be any other incriminating evidence when they got a warrant to search his property? She thought of how thorough Royer had been at the crime scene and doubted he would be that careless. Plus, he would have plenty of time to destroy anything else incriminating he might have before the authorities ever got here.

But not if she could prevent it. She had to find a way to reach out to somebody, and pronto. Let them know what was happening. Otherwise, she was screwed but good.

“You know I’m right, don’t you?” he said.

“We’ve got other evidence,” she lied.

“Nice try, but I don’t believe you. Let me tell you something, Amanda. I have this whole thing down to a science. I know what I’m doing and I know how to leave no trails behind. That’s why this Nick dude is being arrested and not me. Because they don’t have a goddamn single thing even hinting that I could have done it. And all the other times? Same story. Those cases have all grown stone cold because I’m that good.

“I’ll give you credit, though. Somehow you figured this out and managed to put me in a bit of a pickle. Nice work! But it’s nothing I can’t remedy. Enough of all this talk though, I’ve got to get to work. Stand up.”

She took too long to follow his order.

“Now!” he shouted, pointing the gun at her head.

Amanda stood up.

“I’ve got a few things to take care of, so while I’m busy you’re going to have to be detained. I know just the place—head out into the living room.”

With Royer at her back Amanda walked through the doorway leading to the living room. Like the kitchen, the place was dirty and dated with old furniture and chipped paint on the walls.

“Go sit over there by the radiator,” he said, pointing across the room. An old cast iron radiator stood midway along the far wall, suggesting that the house was much older than its modern exterior suggested.

“Sit down and don’t make a move.”

Royer kept his eyes and the gun trained on Amanda as he walked over to an end table, opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like a bicycle cable chain lock.

“Never used this before—looks like I’ve found a new use for it.”

He went over and grabbed both of her hands and clasped them together at the wrist.

“You’re hurting me!” Amanda cried as he began wrapping the steel cable tightly around her wrists.

He ignored her complaint. After wrapping her in a couple of lengths of cable, he pulled her arms toward the steel pipe coming up through the floor to the radiator.

“Get closer,” he demanded, pushing her at the same time.

Once he had enough slack to wrap both sides of the cable around the pipe he brought the ends together and slipped the combination lock through the looped ends.

“There we go,” he said, snapping the lock in place and turning the combination knob.

Amanda grunted as she tried to move her body closer to the radiator and loosen the chain enough to ease the pain in her wrists.

“Can’t you loosen this up some? I can hardly sit up!” she said.

“Nope, sorry. But I can do this.”

He began unbuttoning her shirt.

“What the fuck are you doing!” she cried.

“Make you more comfortable. You might as well relax, it’ll be easier.”

Amanda tried to knee him in the groin but he was too fast for her. He dodged, took the gun and stuck the barrel firmly against her forehead.

“If you want to live, you’ll stop resisting right now! Have you forgotten who’s running the show here? Now fucking sit still!”

Amanda was powerless as Clark Royer finished unbuttoning her blouse. He grasped her bra, pulled it down and stared at her exposed breasts.

“Nice! I’ll be thinking of these while I work on the car. Gotta give it a new paint job. In the meantime, you sit tight and wait here like a good little girl. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

Amanda watched him as he left the room, stunned by what he had just done. It was one thing to be chained to a radiator, but seeing this sicko standing there ogling her boobs for no apparent reason other than to show that he was in control totally creeped her out. For some reason she thought of Adolf Hitler and had a glimpse at what Clark Royer could do if given half a chance. The man was control crazy and sick in the head.

She shifted herself around until she was as comfortable as possible. Examining the steel cable and where it was wrapped around her wrists, she came to the conclusion that there was no way to slip out of it. There were no more than a couple inches of play—not enough slack to free her hands.

She looked around for a tool or anything she might use to cut the cable. The nearest object, besides the radiator, was a threadbare chair six feet away.

In a nutshell, she wasn’t going anywhere.

Amanda spotted a clock on the fireplace mantle—it was almost eleven. She wondered if Uncle Ken would try calling again, or if he would call Alan to let him know that she wasn’t answering her phone. Not that it would do any good, anyway. They were both hours away and probably wouldn’t start worrying about her in time to catch this nut before he destroyed the evidence. And murdered her.

For the next hour Amanda sat thinking—about Nick, this case, Alan and her life. She had been close to death before; in fact it had also been during one of Alan’s other cases. She had escaped death by overpowering her captor, but only because Alan had shown up and distracted him, giving her just enough time to save herself along with the captor’s other victim.

Her quick action had impressed Alan—so much that he had asked her to consider partnering up with him. And now here she was. She had accepted his offer for this case mostly because she needed him to help her prove that Nick Wilburn was innocent. She had eventually ended up taking over the case herself and—hold your applause, please—had just found out who the actual murderer was.

End of story? she wondered. Was she going to be killed and was this asshole going to get away with murder? Would Nick be convicted and sent away for life?

She had no idea. It just didn’t seem right—that much she knew. She also knew she did not want to die. She wanted to live to see Clark Royer arrested, tried and convicted for his crimes. She wanted to live to see Nick freed and be able to get on with his life. She wanted to live so she could be with Alan because she loved him.

She heard the kitchen door open. A moment later Clark Royer sashayed into the living room, smiling. Not a good sign.

“Howdy, honey, I’m back!” he sang.

He came over and sat down next to her. He put his finger under her chin, causing her to flinch. The smell of auto paint was stifling.

“Gave that Crown Vic a brand new look—wait till you see her! No more cop markings, no more boring black and white paint. She’s a real beauty now!”

Amanda wondered if the crime investigators would be able to see what was under the fresh paint when they nailed this creep. Maybe they could tell he’d painted over the only solid piece of evidence.

“You’re awfully quiet—talk to me!” he said.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know—maybe something like how you can’t wait to see the former cop car? That would be a start.”

“Okay, I can’t wait to see it. How’s that?”

“Frankly, you don’t exactly sound very thrilled. But that’s okay, you probably have other things on your mind. Makes no difference anyway because I wouldn’t let you see it even if you wanted to.”

“Why’s that?”

“No time. I have to get you out of here, and the sooner the better.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’m still not sure yet, but I’ve been giving it some thought. Somehow we have to make it look like you were never here. Like something horrible happened while you were trying to find my place.”

“Horrible how?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Oh, you know. Like you took a curve too fast in that Jeep and crashed into a tree or ran into a pond. Something like that. Whatever happens, it’s going to kill you—that much I know.”

So he had found the Jeep—she should have known. Amanda felt her heart sink. Is this really happening? She felt as though she was in the midst of a horrible nightmare that never ended. She would pinch herself but this fucking chain made that impossible.

“We have to go now. Here, I’ll take that chain off.”

He knelt down, grasped the combination lock and suddenly paused before turning the dial. He reached over, opened her shirt and took both of her breasts in his hands.

“Damn, I wish we had more time together—you have one sweet body here, honey! Fuck it, just my luck. I sure wish I’d met you under more opportune conditions.”

He sighed and let go of her. He began working the combination but after three tries was unable to open the lock.

“Goddamn it, I forgot the combination! I’ll be back.”

He stormed out of the room and it sounded like he’d gone down to the basement. Amanda’s mind was in overdrive trying to think of a way out of this. Maybe she could take him by surprise the moment she was freed from the radiator. The guy was quick but maybe not quick enough. As long as that gun wasn’t pointed at her she may just have a crack at him.

Royer returned, carrying a hacksaw. “This’ll do the job.”

He placed a section of steel cable against the radiator and began to saw. He was using both hands—one to hold the chain in place and the other to work the saw. The gun was lying where he’d placed it on the floor beside him. In less than a minute he had cut the chain in two and in a flash Amanda sprung into action. She freed her hands, tucked in her thumb, flexed her fingers and delivered a perfectly placed eye strike to Royer’s eyes. Stunned and in agonizing pain, he fell back against the radiator, both hands covering his injured eyes. Amanda whisked up the gun off the floor and pointed it directly at Royer’s chest.

“Hands up, asshole!” she screamed.

Reeling from the pain of having his eyes nearly poked out of their sockets, Royer hesitantly removed his hands and raised them in the air. He was blinking his eyes repeatedly, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“I can’t fucking see!” he cried.

“You’ll be fine in a few minutes,” Amanda replied. “Unfortunately.”

“Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Self defense training. I graduated at the top of my class. Now turn around.”

“What the hell are you going to do now?”

“Tie your sick ass up.”

Amanda grabbed the bicycle chain and looked it over.

“Hands behind your back,” she ordered.

Royer did as he was told and using one hand, Amanda managed to wrap the cable several times around Royer’s wrists.

“I still can’t see—you sure my sight’s going to come back?”

“Pretty sure, but I can’t guarantee it. There have been a few cases where that move has resulted in permanent damage. So I guess it’s possible that you’re one of those few.”

She didn’t want to take the gun off Royer for even a second but she had to tie the cable together. She quickly tucked the pistol between her thighs just long enough to tie the chain twice then recovered the gun.

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” she said. “Don’t make any moves or I’ll blow you away.”

“Not much a blind person can do,” he said weakly.

Smiling, Amanda took Royer by the arm and led him into the kitchen.

“Sit down in this chair,” she ordered. “You got any duct tape?”

“Nope.”

“Liar. Tell me where it is or I’ll be forced to knock you out with the handle of this gun.”

“I think it’s in the basement.”

“Stand up and lead the way.”

“I still can’t see!”

“I won’t let you fall down the stairs,” she said dryly.

Amanda nudged him forward, holding onto his shackled hands. She opened the door and turned on the basement lights.

“Step down.”

Royer managed to get his foot on the first step and eventually made it all the way down to the bottom.

“Where’s the tape?”

“On the work bench, I think.”

Amanda spotted the tape and went over to get it, keeping the gun trained on him.

“Hey, I can see again!” he said.

“Wonderful. Now you can lead the way back upstairs.”

After returning to the kitchen Amanda ordered him to sit down again and began wrapping duct tape around Royer and the chair. After a half dozen or so rounds, she tore it off the roll.

“Where’s my phone?”

“In my pocket.”

“Which one.”

“Back.”

She went around and removed her phone from his pocket.

“You might as well just relax until the recruits get here,” she said before making her first call.

CHAPTER 29

Night was beginning to fall and there was a full moon rising on the eastern horizon. Alan pulled into the first parking space he could find, took another look at the glowing icon on the tracking screen and turned off the engine.

For the third time today, Brock Matthews had made another pit stop at his home in New Albany. If he didn’t know better, Alan would assume Matthews was in for the night. But he knew Mr. Matthews had a date with a child a bit later on that he wasn’t about to miss. He’d made his payment earlier—or at least Alan suspected that’s what Matthews had been doing when he’d stopped by the dry cleaners earlier—and he sure as hell hadn’t paid all that money for nothing.

Alan had promptly texted Fleming the name and address of the dry cleaners, hopeful that his client might be able to tie the place to the trafficking operation. He hadn’t heard back yet.

Moments after the dry cleaners incident, Alan had gotten a call from Amanda. He had been stunned when she announced that she had Clark Royer tied up to a chair with duct tape in his kitchen and was wondering what she should do next. He’d wanted to laugh out loud at her blunt delivery, but was too shell-shocked to follow through with it.

Amanda had actually caught the bad guy!

While continuing to tail Matthews, Alan had listened to Amanda’s account of what had happened from the moment she drove into Anston all the way up to her catching Royer off guard and nearly poking his eyes out. Alan had immediately flashed back to the Chloe McPherson case when Amanda had escaped another life-or-death situation by unarming the bad guy and kicking him in the nuts. His new partner definitely possessed impressive self-preservation tactics.

She had gone on to express her relief that Royer had not deleted the images she’d taken of the sheriff’s cruiser with her iPhone. She explained to Alan how crushed she’d been when Royer had told her he’d re-painted the car and thereby destroyed the evidence—she’d thought that surely he would have taken the time to look through and delete any incriminating photos she might have taken earlier while he’d had her phone.

“Must have had a brain fart, eh, buddy?” Alan heard her say over the phone to her captive.

“You’re sure Royer can’t get out of that chair, right?” he’d said. “Because taunting him like that might really piss him off.”

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere—trust me. So what should I do now, Alan?” she’d inquired.

“First, call 911. Tell the operator you’re a private investigator detaining a suspected felon who’s very dangerous and to send backup immediately. While you’re waiting for somebody to show up, call the Cleveland PD and ask to speak to a Detective Oberlin. I worked with him on the McPherson case. If you reach him, tell him that you’re my partner and that I would appreciate his seeing what he can do about getting Royer in custody. Give him your uncle’s phone number for verification. If you can’t reach Oberlin and have to leave a message, tell the dispatcher to ask him to call your cell ASAP.

“Also, call your uncle if you haven’t already and let him know what’s happening. Maybe he can speak with the local law enforcement once they get there. Got it?”

“Got it. I haven’t called Uncle Ken yet since you told me to call you first.”

“And I appreciate that. I wish I could drive up there but you know that’s impossible. You need to call 911 right away, Amanda. I’ll call you back the first chance I get. Great work, by the way!”

“Okay. Thanks. I—”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Make that call now—gotta go.”

Alan smiled. If only she knew how much he loved her! And how much he wanted to be with her right now.

But he had his own case to work and he was feeling added pressure he’d not felt before. Silly as it was, he was envious of his new partner. Amanda had taken the bull by the horns from the moment he’d left her alone in Milldale, and in less than twenty-four hours she had solved the case.

And what had he done so far? Besides nearly blowing his case from the get-go by allowing Doug Salyers to get tailed by Mansky, he had done little more than follow Brock Matthews all over town while the man ran his errands. That was pretty much the sum total of his efforts.

He hoped that would change in a very short time.

At least he hadn’t been spotted by anybody, which had been one of his major concerns. He had relied on the tracking device generously and only made visual contact with Matthews after he was certain that Mansky’s men weren’t also following behind. He would have to be even more cautious from this point on, for if Mansky had any intention of keeping an eye on Matthews it would be now since Matthews’ next destination would most likely be the site for his much anticipated tryst with a minor.

The mere thought of this offense still made Alan’s blood boil. He was trying as hard as he could to keep his cool and remain rational but it wasn’t easy. Deep down inside he wanted to nail this demented asshole and vent his own pent-up rage by smashing his face in. But he knew that wouldn’t be possible. The best he could hope for was to get him busted and pray that the whole operation would go down in flames along with him.

Suddenly the glowing icon of Matthews’ Town Car was moving. Game on.

Alan stared at the screen as the blinking blue dot left Matthews’ driveway heading south. Alan didn’t dare try to follow him now; he would have to keep him on the screen until the time was right.

He fired up the Pilot, pulled out onto the street and deliberately headed in the opposite direction Matthews was travelling. He took his time driving several blocks before taking a right and then eventually heading south. In the meantime, the Lincoln was continuing south heading toward Route 161.

Assuming that Matthews would be driving west to Columbus, Alan planned on getting on the same highway but from a more eastern access point. He kept his present course but increased his speed a bit after seeing that Matthews had pulled onto the freeway.

It took Alan another couple of minutes to enter Route 161 and head toward the city. His guess was that Matthews was at least three or four miles ahead of him and evidently travelling at a pretty good clip. There was little chance Alan could lose him unless he let himself get so far out of range that the tracking device failed to transmit a readable signal.

Alan maintained his distance for the fifteen-minute drive into Columbus and kept his eye on the screen. Matthews drove past Cleveland Avenue and continued west until he reached the I-71 interchange and pulled onto it. He headed south on the interstate.

Alan knew that Mansky’s men could join the party at any time if they hadn’t already, so he was content to keep a decent distance between them until he felt safe enough to make visual contact. Matthews was now passing by the Weber Road exit and proceeding through Clintonville, Alan’s digs. He continued along the interstate past the campus area, the Short North and into downtown. Alan was wondering how much further he would go when the blue dot all of a sudden left I-71 and followed the Broad Street exit. Moments later he pulled onto Third Street heading south.

A little later the dot ceased moving on Wilhelm Street in German Village. Not expecting such an abrupt stop, Alan gunned the engine and pulled onto Broad Street. If he didn’t get moving, he wouldn’t arrive in time to see where Matthews was going.

Cursing himself for not tailing Matthews more aggressively, Alan decided to risk taking a shortcut to Wilhelm Street through one of the alleys. When he was within ten feet of the Wilhelm intersection he slammed on his brakes and came to a complete stop. He jumped out and ran around the corner toward the area where he thought Matthew’s Lincoln would be parked.

He froze in his tracks. The Lincoln was nowhere in sight.

Fuck it, had he lost him?

Surely the Lincoln couldn’t be far from where he now stood—unless there had been some kind of technical glitch in the GPS. Alan cautiously jogged up the street, well aware that one of Mansky’s men could be parked nearby watching him this very moment. He was torn between a soft jog and an out-and-out sprint, realizing that if he didn’t see something in the next few seconds, he was shit-out-of-luck.

Suddenly he saw a car pull away from one of the houses up ahead. It could be one of Mansky’s men but it was too soon to tell. He stopped dead in his tracks to make sure he wasn’t spotted by the fleeing car and waited until it was out of sight before continuing.

When he reached the house the car had pulled away from, he spotted Matthews’ Lincoln. He had pulled all the way to the end of the driveway of a brick townhouse. So Mansky had indeed put a tail on Matthews after all. Alan walked past the house and continued circling the block until he arrived back at the Pilot.

It had been too dark to see the street number on the house. He would get that first thing when he went back and text it to Fleming immediately. Right now he needed to find a way to approach the house without being noticed by anybody, including the neighbors.

He hopped into the Pilot, turned on the engine and threw it into reverse. He backed all the way up the alley to the next street over and quickly found a place to park. The last thing he needed was to get towed for parking illegally.

He checked the tracking screen to confirm Matthews’ location, spotted the dot and breathed a sigh of relief. Matthews had apparently arrived at his final destination.

All systems go.

German Village is one of Columbus’s older, more eclectic neighborhoods and the neighbors are known to look out for one another. Whatever he did from this point on would have to be done cautiously.

His greatest concern was the possible return of Mansky’s goons. It was also possible that another one them were still parked in the area, keeping an eye out. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost ten p.m.. Alan could think of three possible scenarios that were now playing out: Matthews had a key to the townhouse and had already let himself in, he had no key but somebody was already there and had let him inside, or he was waiting for somebody to show up to let him in.

Another consideration was where the girl was right now. Had she already been transported to the townhouse and was inside, or would somebody be bringing her by? Whatever the case, he had to figure out how to get within sight of the rear of the place without being seen. And he had to do it pronto.

He got out and walked briskly down the alley until he reached the street. This time he crossed Wilhelm and walked along the other side toward the townhouse at a casual gait. There had been no traffic on the street so far and he hadn’t noticed any occupied cars. When he was a couple of houses from the town house, he crossed over and cut through the side yard of the next-door neighbor. If there was any sort of security system or a dog, he was toast. He made it to the backyard where he spotted a six-foot high privacy fence dividing the two residences.

He had started to sweat and his heart was hammering away in his chest as he traversed the backyard to the driveway and walked back up to the street. He glanced at the other neighbor’s house and saw that it too had an inaccessible fence running along the property line. He knew then that he was just going to have to go for broke.

He walked directly down the townhouse driveway like he owned the place, hoping like hell that Matthews couldn’t see him if he was indeed inside the car. He spotted three ceramic tiled numbers marked six-seven-three on the porch wall and made a mental note of it.

The driveway was fairly wide so he was able to stay off to the side in case Matthews was looking at his rear view mirror. A moment later he was relieved to find that the Lincoln was uninhabited. So far, so good.

Glancing to his right he saw lights in both of the first floor windows, suggesting that the proceedings may have already begun. That seemed unlikely for some reason. We’re talking about a very young child being rented out for an hour or so here. Would her pimp really take the risk of letting a client have complete run of the show? Or was there somebody inside besides Matthews and the girl, keeping an eye on things?

He planned on finding out. But first things first.

Alan skirted the Lincoln and immediately cut into the modest backyard of the place. There was no garage, and in the dim light he saw a small patio and what looked like the remnants of a small vegetable garden. He crossed over to the other side of the house and slipped around the corner.

He pulled out his burner and texted Fleming the address. He added that he had the place under surveillance and that all he knew for certain was that Matthews was inside the house. He hit the send button and stuck the phone back in his pocket.

There were a few windows on this side of the house and one was at eye level. Alan tried to peer through the closed mini blind but couldn’t see a thing. He gently pressed his ear against the window and strained to listen. He heard nothing.

Suddenly he saw headlights pierce the darkness behind the house. Somebody was pulling into the driveway. Alan pulled out his modified Nikon Coolpix, inched toward the corner of the house and listened. A moment later he heard a car door open while the car remained idling. He heard voices as a door shut. The sound of footsteps echoed dully off the neighboring house.

Footsteps thudded on the wood planks of the back porch, followed by the squeaking sound of the back door opening. Holding his breath, Alan peered cautiously around the corner of the house.

A tall man was just entering the house, accompanied by a young girl who looked to be around seven or eight years old. She was holding onto the man’s hand—reluctantly. Alan aimed the camera and took three quick shots. In that brief moment, he could feel the child’s terror all the way over to where he was standing. It was palpable—he could cut it with a knife.

Jesus Christ.

His pulse raced, his fists clenched and for a moment he thought he might actually throw up. There was something so unfathomable, so unholy about what he had just seen and what he couldn’t imagine would soon happen that it had thrown him off guard. He felt absolutely powerless right now, wanting nothing more than to run in there, grab the little girl and whisk her as far away from this place as he possibly could. Wanting it so bad it hurt.

But he couldn’t do it. It would be heroic and morally correct, but also foolhardy.

The law simply wouldn’t allow it. Even if he were to storm in and try to catch Matthews in the actual act of committing child rape it would be utterly fruitless in the eyes of the law. There was a thing called probable cause that meant that without sufficient suspicion of a crime being committed, one cannot trespass onto private property without probable cause or an arrest warrant. Not the cops, and certainly not a private investigator. Attempting to do so would put the entire case into jeopardy.

Alan had no choice but to let it all play out.

The plan was to confront Matthews afterwards as he came outside, snap a couple of shots and ask him what he’d been up to in there. Mr. Matthews would of course play dumb, say that it’s none of his business, and Alan would in turn tell him he knew of his lust for young children and how his chat room chum/pimp Bobbi, aka Isaac Mansky, had been supplying him with young girls, just as he had tonight. Then he would warn Matthews that if he didn’t want to tarnish his sparkling reputation with allegations of child rape and face a lot of time in prison he had better consider cooperating with the authorities to help bring down Mansky and his trafficking ring.

The man might promise to comply at that point. And maybe not.

After confronting Matthews, Alan’s next task was to stand by until somebody came back to pick up the girl. He would then tail her captors and attempt to find out where they were keeping the victims. The odds of success in this endeavor were slim to none with a pro like Mansky calling all the shots.

None of this seemed like it would be enough to make a case and it concerned Alan. He and Fleming may very well have gone through this entire investigation for naught if everything didn’t fall into place. And even then it was a crapshoot. This was just one of the many reasons why human sex trafficking cases were so hard to prosecute. There weren’t enough laws in place to empower the police, the victims were almost always too fearful to give up their pimps, and then there were people like Brock Matthews who cared about nothing but satisfying their own perverted desires, no matter what the price. Nor the damage it could do to a young person’s life—

He heard a noise—somebody had just opened the backdoor. He peered around the corner to see the tall man emerge from the house and disappear around the corner. A car door opened and shut. The car backed out of the driveway and sped away into the night. He would have liked to taken a shot of the car but it was too risky—he would get it when they returned for the girl.

Alan was fairly confident that there were only two persons in the house right now: Brock Matthews and the little girl. Apparently Mansky trusted his clients enough to leave them on their own while they were on the clock.

Alan felt the burner vibrate. He pulled it from his pocket and read Fleming’s text message:

“Dry cleaners definitely a front—your hunch was correct. Still working on the house address. Let me know how it goes there.”

As he replaced the phone, Alan wondered what exactly Fleming had found about the dry cleaners. Did Mansky or his boss own the business? And did one of them also own or rent this house?

He wished he could see inside. Standing here and waiting for however long it would take was nearly impossible. He wanted to see what was going on.

The windows on the second floor were in darkness so it was likely that Matthews and the girl were on the first floor. He wondered if he could see anything through the back door window. Only one way to find out.

He crept over to the back porch and saw that the small door window was also covered with mini blinds that were shut tight. This made sense, since this property was most likely used exclusively for Mansky’s victims and their johns. They weren’t about to let anybody happening to drop by see what went on inside.

He considered trying the front door but decided against it. Not only would he attract attention he was almost certain he wouldn’t be able to see anything there either. He was just going to have to wait until Matthews came out.

He assumed that Matthews would leave before they came to pick up the girl but he could be wrong about that. Maybe they would pick up the girl before Matthews left instead. Either way, he planned to take evidentiary photos of all parties coming and going to this house no matter what the sequence might be.

Would this be enough to convict? He wasn’t a prosecutor but he doubted it.

He still needed to get a good shot of Matthews’ car in the driveway. He went over and composed a shot with the Lincoln in the foreground and the back porch in the background. That would have to do.

He wondered what was happening in this house right now. What was Matthews doing with the child? How does a grown man who’s an absolute stranger go about breaking the ice with a child so frightened of him that all she wants to do is escape and go back home to her family? A man who has nothing but one thing on his mind, so self-serving and evil that he doesn’t give a shit about how much this will hurt the girl.

What about his own kids for crying out loud? Can’t this fucker make the goddamn connection? Would he want his own daughter to be meeting up with somebody like him?

Alan was seething. He was losing it.

This definitely isn’t going to be enough. He needed to do more to make absolutely sure this piece of shit was put away for good. He needed a shot that would definitely convict him. Not some lame shot after the fact—a shot that doesn’t begin to tell the story.

He needed to go inside. He wasn’t about to just stand there while this monster took advantage of a little girl.

Screw the legality!

Before he could change his mind and let rationale prevail, he stepped onto the porch. He quietly swung open the screen door to get to the inner door, turned the doorknob but it was locked. No surprise there. All he needed to do was get his hand through a fist-sized hole in that thin glass window and turn the lock from the inside.

He needed tape to quiet the sound. Just so happens he brought a roll, just in case. He pulled out a roll of masking tape from his jacket pocket and tore off a five-inch strip. He stuck it to the glass in the lower left hand corner of the window frame and repeated the process until he had masked off a rough square-shaped area.

He pulled out his pocketknife, held it in the palm of his hand and stared at it. Was he really going to do this?

Hell yeah.

He held the knife between his thumb and forefinger, drew back his hand at the wrist and tapped the center of the masking tape. The glass broke with a muffled thud. He opened the knife and cut out pieces of the taped glass until he had created a hole large enough to stick his hand through. He carefully slipped in his hand, groped around inside until he felt the lock and quietly turned it.

He retracted his hand, turned the doorknob and pushed in on the door.

No turning back now, he thought.

The door squeaked noisily on its hinges as he opened it just far enough to get through. He swore under his breath as he realized that the slower he pushed, the more excruciating the sound. So he pushed it all the way open in one fell swoop.

Pausing a moment to make sure he hadn’t been heard, he stepped inside a mudroom. He started to close the door but changed his mind—he didn’t plan on staying that long. The room was small and he could see the kitchen off to the right. It was so quiet he could hear himself breathing as he tiptoed across the floor and stepped into the kitchen.

He looked around and saw a recently updated room with modern appliances and fixtures. It was impressive for a house this old and whoever owned the place had taken great care to make it look sparkling clean and functional.

Alan thought he could hear voices so he stopped dead in his tracks to listen. It was a man’s voice he heard—Matthews. His voice sounded affected, sing-song-like, like the tone one would use while speaking to a child.

It sounded as though they were a couple of rooms away. He crept through the kitchen to the adjoining dining room and stopped once more to listen.

They were at least another room away, judging by the muffled quality of the voices. The girl was speaking now, her voice high and undeniably forced. It sounded as though they might be playing a game of some kind.

Alan moved over to the arched doorway and peered into the living room. There he saw a foyer off to the right and could just make out the front door. Matthews and the girl had to be on the other side of the foyer.

The living room was fully furnished with a large leather sofa, a couple of expensive-looking leather chairs, a huge flat screen TV and a few pieces of art hanging on the walls. It looked homey and comfortable. It was becoming very clear that Mansky and company had furnished this upscale house to impress their wealthy clients and make them feel at home as they did whatever they did with their rented victims. He had never heard of an operation like this—one so plainly conceived for the purpose of kowtowing to wealthy perverts with expensive tastes for sex with children.

He walked quietly across the hardwood floor toward the foyer, stopping just shy of it. Across the hall he heard the voices come from a room; its door was wide open. He could clearly make out what was being said.

“Your turn, now!” Matthews said. “Draw a card!”

There was silence, no reply.

“Well done!” Matthews cried. “My turn now!”

Alan tiptoed over and stood just outside the open door. He wasn’t able to see inside the room because of the angle.

“I can’t believe how bad my luck is! Looks like I have to give something else up,” Matthews said, feigning disappointment.

Alan peeked around the corner for a brief instant and couldn’t believe what he saw.

Matthews and the girl were sitting across from one another at a card table. Matthews’ back was facing the door and he was wearing nothing but his boxers and socks. His shirt and trousers lay in a heap on the floor. The young girl was dressed in some sort of princess fairy dress, her crown sitting before her on the card table.

It appeared as though they might be playing a juvenile variation of strip poker.

Alan was both aghast and relieved at the same time. In total shock that Matthews would engage this youngster in such a perverse activity, but relieved that the game hadn’t gone any further than it had.

He noted how the girl looked during that brief instant. She couldn’t be any older than eight years old, had long curly brown hair and big round blue eyes. Her expression had shown a mixture of fear and anxiety. She looked exactly how any child who had been forced into this frightening situation would look. He recalled what Mansky had said to Matthews in the chat room regarding this girl the night before. That “they think she’s ready for her maiden voyage.” He wondered who “they” were and what the poor girl had been subjected to in order to be “ready” for all of this.

“Your turn again—I hope my luck starts changing soon—I’m running out of clothes!” Matthews giggled.

The girl remained silent and Alan wondered how much she had actually spoken since entering this nightmare.

“Oh no, the dreaded queen!” Matthews exclaimed. “Sorry honey, but you know the rules.”

A moment passed. Matthews said, “Aw, c’mon. It’s okay. Don’t be sad.”

Alan could hear the girl crying softly. He had taken about as much of this as he could.

He pulled out the Coolpix, stood in the doorway and brought his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. The young girl glanced over Matthews’ shoulder at him and, God love her, somehow managed to avoid tipping off Matthews about his presence. Instead, she ceased crying and Alan heard her speak for the first time.

“I’m okay now, Mister M.”

“There you go—what a great sport!”

Alan moved quietly to his left in a wide arc, attempting to get a good angle for a shot.

“What are you going to take off this time, Princess?”

Alan’s eyes never left the girl as he continued moving closer to the table. He was nodding at her encouragingly, amazed at her ability to act as though he wasn’t there. She would make a wonderful actress some day.

“One of my shoes, I guess,” she replied.

“Let me help you with that,” Matthews offered as he stood up.

“No, I can do it myself.”

Matthews sat down again. Alan had moved in as close as he could before Matthews could see him out of the corner of his eye. He waited until the girl had removed her shoe and set it on the table and made his move.

“You’ve been caught with your pants off, Matthews. What do you call this game you’re playing, anyway?” he said, springing into view.

Matthews caught sight of Alan at the exact same moment Alan snapped a quick series of shots. Matthews looked as though he had just seen a ghost.

“What the hell—who are you?” he shouted.

“I’ll ask the questions. Why don’t you come over here, sweetie? I won’t hurt you.” Alan said to the girl.

She stood up and ran over to him, relieved that she was apparently being saved from this madman. She hugged Alan so tight he wasn’t sure she would ever let go.

“He wants to hurt me!” she cried. “Please don’t let them hurt me anymore!”

Alan patted her back comfortingly, keeping his eye on Matthews who was still dumbstruck.

“There now, nobody’s going to hurt you anymore. My name’s Alan—what’s yours?”

“My real name is Carly. But they told me to tell everybody it’s Susie. I don’t like Susie. ”

“I like your real name a lot better, too. Can you do me a big favor, Carly? Can you stay right here while I have a chat with Mister M. out in the living room? I’ll only be a minute.”

“Can’t I go with you? I want to leave now!”

“Oh, you’ll be leaving with me, Carly, very soon. I just need to speak to this man first and then we’ll go. I promise.”

Alan gave her a reassuring embrace.

“Okay, but please hurry!”

“I will. Now, would you care to step outside, Mr. Matthews?”

Matthews had apparently gotten over his shock. “I’m not going anywhere! You can’t just barge in here and do this, Mister—you have no right!”

“Swansea’s the name, and yes—I do have the right. I have the right to protect this girl from scum like you who hurt little children. And don’t give me any song and dance, Matthews. I know that you paid someone big money so that you could spend some time with this child. I also know this isn’t the first time. But I can tell you right now it will most definitely be your last. Now are you going to come with me or am I going to have to force you?”

“Are you with the police?”

“Not exactly, but close enough. Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, Matthews stood up. Alan waited for him to get dressed then motioned for him to lead the way out of the room. Alan never carried a gun and it was rare times like this he wished he did. Matthews however didn’t have to know it.

“Stay here, Carly. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Alan didn’t like leaving the girl there but he didn’t want her to hear what he was going to say to Matthews.

Once they were in the living room, Alan got right up in Matthews’ face and backhanded him. The blow caught him totally off guard.

“That’s for all you do, Matthews. Like preying on innocent children, you sick fuck. I’d love to beat you to a pulp right now but lucky for you, that wouldn’t be such a good idea. Now I want you to tell me, when will they be coming back to pick up Carly?”

“Who?”

“Mansky, you asshole! Do you think I’m shitting you? I know all about you and Zero and Gumby and the rest of your demented chat room pals. And I have proof right here on this camera what you’ve been up to this evening with Carly. I also know that you paid for her today while you were at the dry cleaners on Sixth Street. I have a shot of you in the act. Shall I go on? Or are you beginning to see the big picture?”

“None of this will play out in court. You can’t use any of it!”

“You want to take that chance? A picture says a thousand words, you know. Want to take any bets these photos won’t be showing up in the local media? Imagine how the public will react to seeing a prominent and naked middle-aged man playing strip poker with a seven-year-old girl he knows has been abducted and sold for sex by traffickers. Not exactly what you would call a sterling photo op, eh? Your reputation in this town, Mr. Matthews—not to mention your relationship with your wife and kids—will be toast.”

Matthews knew he was cornered. “What do I have to do?”

“Help us take Mansky and his trafficking operation down.”

“I can’t do that! He’ll have me murdered!”

“Not if you help us put him behind bars.”

“That won’t make any difference—he has connections all over the country. He’ll see to it that I’m murdered from prison if he has to!”

“Well, that’s just the chance you’ll have to take. You asked for all of this, Matthews. You know what they say, ‘if you play, you have to pay.’ That’s just the way it goes. But I can tell you one thing and you can take it to heart. Whether you help us nail this gang or not, you’re going to be on Mansky’s hit list. Once he finds out that one of his girls has been taken away on your watch, he will not be a happy camper. So you might as well work with the authorities. Maybe you’ll even get some police protection if you’re cooperative.”

“But what about my family? He’ll go after them!”

“Again, that’s what happens when you do the kind of shit you’ve been doing. Call it karma. Perhaps they can move your family to another town—it’s worth a shot. At any rate, you don’t really have much of a choice here. So what do you say?”

Matthews sighed, hung his head and fell silent. Alan hoped he had been convincing enough to put the fear of God in Matthews. He felt pretty confident he had. The man seemed genuinely devastated at the prospect of his atrocities being exposed through the press. To a man like Matthews, public perception was of the upmost importance. It wouldn’t take him long to realize that he was going to get some jail time no matter what he did—he may already be considering that. The only question would be for how long, depending on whether he cooperates or not and what leniency may be given.

“He’ll be here at eleven-thirty,” he finally said.

“That’s more like it. What’s the name of the man who brought Carly here?”

“Henricks. He is one mean bastard.”

“What do you think he’s going to do when he comes here and finds out Carly’s missing?” Alan asked, playing on a hunch.

“He’ll probably fucking kill me if he gets the chance! That’s why I won’t be here!”

“Oh yes you will, Matthews. I’ll see to that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not. I’m going to have somebody come by to pick up Carly and then I’m going to hang out until Henricks returns. I’ll be outside, making sure you don’t try to slip away.”

“Please don’t do that—”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Because—because I’ll cooperate, fully. I swear! I’ll even confess if I have to. I just don’t want to be here when that Neanderthal comes back!”

Alan found it difficult to hide his elation. This was turning out even better than he’d hoped for.

“You’ll confess to everything, including all you know about the trafficking operation?”

“Yes, yes. I know when I’m screwed and I’m screwed. But good.”

Alan pulled out the camera and switched it to video mode. “I want you to say that for the record.”

He looked through the viewfinder and composed the scene.

“Mister Brock Matthews has just announced that he will give a full confession regarding his relationship with Isaac Mansky and his sex trafficking operation. Is that correct, Mr. Matthews?”

Matthews fidgeted and for a moment Alan thought he might change his mind. What Alan was attempting to do—videotape a confession by someone promising to confess a crime to the authorities some time in the future—wasn’t binding and probably not even admissible, but what the hell? It was worth a shot.

“I agree—I will confess all,” Matthews suddenly said to the camera.

“Thank you, Mr. Matthews,” Alan said before hitting the stop button.

He glanced at the time—there was a little over a half hour before Henricks would return. He needed to call Ron Fleming.

Suddenly, Carly emerged from the playroom. “Can we go now?”

Alan could see the lingering mistrust in the child’s eyes. No wonder, he thought. The poor girl had no reason to trust anybody after all she’d been through since being snatched up by traffickers and processed for prostitution at her tender age. Alan’s promise to take her with him could just be another lie as far as she knew. He wondered how long she had been away from her family. They needed to know she would be coming home, and the sooner they found out, the better.

“We’re leaving now,” he announced. “You’re free to go, Matthews. I’m sure somebody will be getting in touch with you soon.”

He looked at Alan in disbelief. “You’re not going to call the cops?”

“I am, but not right this second. And when I do, I’m going to hand this whole case over to them so they can take over. But right now, this little girl is all I’m concerned about. If I were you, Matthews, I’d go home and give your wife and kids a big hug in the meantime. But that of course is up to you.

“Let’s get out of here, Carly,” he said, taking the girl by the hand and leaving Brock Matthews alone to mull over his next move.

CHAPTER 30

“We need to make sure nobody sees us,” Alan whispered to Carly as they sidled up the driveway in the darkness. There were no cars approaching, so he picked up the pace and hastily led the way back to the Pilot.

As they approached the parked car, Alan said, “You’re going to have to sit in the backseat—I’m afraid I don’t have a booster seat.” He opened the rear door and after she was seated he did his best to adjust the seatbelt over her tiny body.

“How old are you, Carly?”

“I just turned eight. I had a birthday party the day before they took me.”

Jesus, he thought. His heart ached for her. “Well, we’re going to get you back to your family real soon. Where do you live?”

“Memphis, Tennessee,” she replied. “I miss my mommy so much!”

“I know you do, and I’m sure she misses you, too. She’ll be so glad to see you again! Now do me a big favor and stay low in the seat and don’t move around, okay?”

“Okay. Where are you taking me now?”

“Not sure, yet—have to make a call, first. Trust me, everything’s going to be okay.”

He started up the engine, pulled out and immediately called Fleming on the burner.

“You’re not going to be very happy with me,” he said after Fleming answered.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“Long story short, I had to get a little more involved than originally planned. I just couldn’t stand by while Matthews was in that house with this little girl. So I broke in and basically took the bull by the horns.”

Fleming said nothing for a moment that seemed like an hour. “Okay, I hear you. I probably would have done the same thing. So, tell me what happened.”

Alan was relieved his client was taking it so well. “Got some compromising shots of Matthews playing cards with the girl—her name is Carly, by the way. The man had removed most of his clothes—he was apparently on the losing end of strip poker. After I took the photos, I think I was able to convince him to cooperate with the authorities or face certain public scorn and plenty of prison time. Then I took Carly with me and left Matthews there. I’ve got no more than twenty minutes before somebody returns for her and the shit hits the fan. That’s why I’m calling you—I need to know what to do now.”

“We’ve got to try to locate the other victims before Mansky learns what’s happened—that is paramount. Can the girl show you where they’ve been keeping her?”

Alan turned and looked back at Carly. “Do you think you can show me where you’ve been staying, Carly?”

“I don’t know. I remember what it looks like but I don’t know how to get there.”

“If we go back to the house, do you think you could at least tell me what direction you came from? That would be a start.”

“I think so. But I don’t want to go back there—I want to go home!”

“I know you do, sweetie, and I’m going to see that you go home very soon—I promise. But first we need to try to rescue the other kids from these bad guys. Were there any other kids staying there where they kept you?”

“Yes, there were! There was Sarah and Gabbie—and Marie, too! Can we really save them?”

“We’re sure going to try. But first we have to find out where they are,” he replied. A thought suddenly came to him. “Is Gabbie’s name short for Gabriela—did she happen to say?”

Carly nodded. “Uh-huh. They told her she had to go by Candy, though—she hated that! When she asked them why she couldn’t go by her real name, they just ignored her. Those people were so mean to us!”

So Fleming was right. Gabriela had indeed been transported from Miami to Columbus specifically to be inducted into Mansky’s operation. And apparently all of the victims had been given aliases to cover their true identities—the first step of the brainwashing process. How fricking charming.

“Well, we need to go find your friends so they can start using their own names again, don’t we? You ready to see if you can get us back there?”

“I am—let’s go save them!”

“Let’s go!”

Alan turned onto the next street, sped back toward the townhouse and said into the phone, “She’s going to try to lead me there, Ron,”

“The girl’s our only hope. The first thing Mansky will do is pack up the victims before he bails out of town. If that happens, we’re pretty much out of gas on this.”

“But what about all the evidence? We’ll have Matthews, the photos, Carly plus the dry cleaners connection and whatever you learn about the town house. That’s a decent start, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but not nearly enough. Especially after Mansky flees, which is inevitable. That’s why I didn’t want you to intervene before we had all of our ducks in a row. But what’s done is done. Maybe we can at least save the other victims before it’s too late—that would certainly be much better than nothing.”

“I’m really sorry, Ron. Like I told you, I just couldn’t sit by while this little girl was in there at Brock Matthews’ mercy.”

“It’s alright. And don’t think I’m not happy you rescued her. Let’s just hope we can save the rest of them.”

They were back on Wilhelm Street. Alan pulled up in front of the townhouse and saw that the driveway was empty—Matthews had already split.

“Here we are, Carly. Now which way did you come from?”

“That way,” she replied, pointing straight ahead.

“Great, here we go.”

He pulled away and said, “Keep your eye on the surroundings and tell me when to turn.”

“I’ll try. I remember that big house there. Let’s see— Oh, turn here!”

Alan whipped onto Metzger Avenue. “That’s the way to do it!”

He glanced back and saw the girl’s nose glued to the window, her little hand holding on to the oversized restraint strap. Alan thought of what a cute shot that would make if the situation had been different.

“How we doing?” he called back.

“I can kinda remember some of these houses. It seems like we were on this street for a pretty long time.”

“Good, just let me know when to turn.”

He put the phone back to his ear as a thought came to mind. “I just thought of a way we might be able to buy some time,” he told Fleming.

“How’s that?”

“I have a friend with the Columbus police—he’s a detective. Maybe he could send an officer to detain Mansky’s man before he goes back into the townhouse.”

“That’s an excellent idea. See what you can do—I’ll stand by.”

“I’ll call him on the other phone.”

Alan picked up his iPhone and speed-dialed Mike Draker.

“Here! Turn here!” Carly suddenly shouted.

“Right or left?”

“To the right!”

Alan lay on the brakes, whipped the wheel to the right and almost hit the curb just as Draker answered.

“Mike, it’s Alan. I have a huge favor to ask and very little time.”

“Hey, Alan. Shoot—I’ll do my best.”

“Got a guy who’s returning to the scene of a sex trafficking offense in about ten minutes. The place is a townhouse in German Village. Could you get somebody there to hold him up for a little while—before he goes inside, preferably?”

“Jesus, that’s a pretty tall order, buddy! And you know I can’t hold him very long without a viable cause.”

“I know. Maybe just tell him somebody reported shots fired in the area or that there’s been a burglary and you’re just canvassing the neighborhood.”

“I get the idea,” he sighed. “What’s the address?”

“Six-seventy-three Wilhelm.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t promise anything.”

“Great, thanks a million, Mike. I owe you one.”

“No problem. Let me know the details when you get a chance—sounds interesting.”

“I will. See ya— Hey, wait! Mike?”

“I’m still here.”

“If I told you that there are some very young children who have been trafficked for sex being holed up somewhere, could you do anything about it?”

“How do you know this? That would be my first question.”

“Long story; but in a nutshell I have one of the victims in the car with me right now —an eight year old little girl named Carly—and she’s trying to guide me to where they’ve been holding her. But even if she’s able to find the place, there will be nobody there to do anything about it. This case has been a private job with no police involvement thus far. My client and I have been trying to expose this operation with every intention to get the authorities involved when the time is right but tonight everything blew up in my face. I guess what I’m asking is, can you help me with this victim situation in any way?”

“How long have we got?”

“Not long at all—ten minutes, maybe. That’s why I was hoping you could detain that guy—to buy me some time until Carly finds the place. Once the guy calls his boss, the boss will surely try to pick up the vics before he blows town.”

“Let me get off so I can see if somebody can be dispatched to the townhouse. Then I’ll try to talk to the chief. I’ll explain the situation and get back to you.”

“You’re the best, Nick! I’ll be waiting for your call.”

I owe him big time now, Alan thought as he disconnected.

“We still doing okay, Carly?” he called over his shoulder.

“It’s getting hard to remember. I’m not sure if we should have turned before now. These houses don’t look familiar anymore.”

“Take your time, sweetie. Do you think we should double back?”

“Wait—I remember that ice cream store!” she exclaimed, pointing toward a Graeter’s Ice Cream.

“Wonderful!”

Alan picked up the burner. “My detective friend’s going to try to have somebody cover the townhouse. He’s also going to see if he can help us somehow with the victims.”

“He must be one hell of a friend! How much longer do you think it’ll take to reach the place?”

He called back at Carly. “Do you think we’re getting close, Carly?”

“Maybe. But it took pretty long, so I’m not sure.”

“Could be a while, yet,” he told Fleming.

“I’ll get off and see if I can track down an agent in case this all plays out. I’ll call you back soon. Good luck, Alan.”

“I’m gonna need it.”

He checked the time and wondered if it was even possible for Draker to get an officer to the townhouse on such short notice. He also wondered if Draker would be able to talk the chief into letting him stick his neck out on this case without so much as a sliver of prior knowledge of what was happening.

He would just have to keep his fingers crossed.

“I think we’re getting close!” Carly cried. “Turn right here!”

Alan turned onto Broad Street. “How do you know?”

“I remember that big building!” she said, pointing toward the Columbus Museum of Art.

“Awesome—what should I do now?”

“Stay on this street for a little longer. The place is near a big park—it’s a big glass building.”

Franklin Park Conservatory, he thought. He gunned the engine and in less than five minutes he neared the park entrance.

“Where to now?”

“Go past the park a little ways. I think you’ll turn left pretty soon.”

Alan was elated. What an incredibly strong kid Carly was to be able to direct him to a strange place in a strange town at night no less, after all the trauma she’d been through.

“There! Turn left over there!”

Alan looked at where she was pointing, waited for a break in the traffic and pulled onto Bender Avenue. They were in Bexley, one of the more affluent suburbs of Columbus.

“How close are we?” he asked the little girl.

“Very close, just a little farther,” she replied.

Alan would never in a million years consider Bexley as a place where trafficked children were being imprisoned. He wondered if Carly had made a mistake.

“Right around this corner!” she cried.

Alan turned left onto Melton Street and saw impressive two and three-story houses as far as the eye could see. Something seemed very wrong. Had she messed up? If so, they had all but run out of time.

“Slow down, it’s—right there!”

“Alan looked over to where she was pointing and felt his hopes fade into oblivion. What he saw was a modern Tudor style home set back from the street that was to die for. Although it was dark out, the grounds were subtly lit by carefully placed floods illuminating the impressive architecture and landscaping.

No way the owner of this house was harboring trafficked children in there.

“Uh, Carly. Are you sure this is the place?”

“Yes, I’m sure—it’s around back.”

“You mean there’s another house behind this house?”

“Sort of. It’s really a garage—they call it ‘the guest house.’”

Suddenly it made sense—sort of. Even if the children were kept in the garage, who in the hell lived in the manor? The mayor of Bexley? This all seemed way over the top.

Alan noticed that the driveway ran along the side of the house then cut to the left and out of sight. The garage was completely invisible from the street. Maybe there was something to this after all.

He needed to find the address and call Mike. He strained to see the street number in the darkness but saw nothing. He pulled forward to the next home and saw a number seventy-three above the mailbox.

He phoned Detective Draker.

“Mike, we found it. It’s in Bexley one door south of seventy-three Melton Street.”

“Bexley? You sure?”

“I thought the same thing. Carly says they keep the kids in the garage around back. It’s plausible. Have you had any luck with the chief and the other thing?”

“I was just getting ready to call you. Got a unit headed to German Village that should be there any minute. Couldn’t reach the chief so I’m waiting to hear back from him. I’m heading your way in the meantime—I’m only about five minutes away. I’ll call back in and have them send somebody to pick up the girl.”

“Thanks a million, buddy. That was going to be my next question—how to get her back to her family in Tennessee.”

“I’ll also inform them to stand by for more possible victims. Did Carly indicate how many others there were?”

“She mentioned three by name—there could be more, I guess. I’d love to know who owns this house—it’s just what you would expect to see in this town but even nicer. No one in his right mind would ever suspect that there was a trafficking gang working out of here.”

“That’s probably the whole idea. And so far it has apparently worked for them.”

“Until now, I hope. I’d love to slip around back for a look—see but you’re probably going to advise me to stay put, right?”

“You better believe it! I’ve already strayed from protocol by sending that unit so the last thing I need is to get grilled for abetting trespass on private property. Stay right where you are until I get there.”

“Got it. We’ll be standing by.”

He grabbed the burner and called Fleming.

“Carly came through and we’re parked in front of the place. It’s a very nice house in a very nice neighborhood that is evidently hiding a multitude of sins around back.”

“Not surprising,” Fleming replied. “Knowing what kind of clientele Mansky is dealing with, one might expect this sort of cover. You have an address for me?”

“Not exactly—it’s next door to seventy-three Melton Street in Bexley. South of it.”

“I’ll see what I can find. Have you heard back from your detective friend yet?”

“He’s already sent a cruiser to the townhouse and he’s on his way here now. He hasn’t gotten any sort of OK from his superior, though. That’s where we stand.”

“I have contacted an acquaintance of mine in the FBI and told him what’s happened. I’ll give him the address when I get off so he can try to get an agent there ASAP. Don’t hold your breath though—it could be awhile before the feds show up. Hopefully just having police presence there will keep Mansky at bay.”

“Unless he’s already in that house and has some kind of secret tunnel for escape,” Alan quipped.

“Anything’s possible,” Fleming said, dead serious.

“Jesus, let’s hope not.”

“I’ll get back to you—keep me informed,” Fleming said before disconnecting.

“What are we going to do, Alan?” Carly said.

“We’re just going to stay right here until the police come. One of them is going to take you to the station so they can contact your parents. I want you to know how proud I am of you, Carly. You are an amazing kid.”

“Thank-you. My mom says that all the time. Can you go with me to the police station?”

“I wish I could, but I have to stay here. But when this is all over, I promise I’ll come and see you. Is it a deal?”

She smiled broadly. “It’s a deal!”

Alan was just getting ready to ask Carly about her family when he saw a car approaching in his rear view mirror. The car slowed to a crawl as it got nearer, prompting him to duck down instinctively in his seat. It looked as though the driver was going to pull in to the driveway for a moment, but then the car suddenly accelerated and drove past him.

Alan shot up and tried to make out the car’s license plate, but had no luck. He had a feeling that whoever it was had intended on going to the house but had changed his mind when he spotted him parked there.

Could it have been Mansky?

“Who was that?” Carly asked.

“Don’t know. Did the car look familiar?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied.

Alan had the sudden urge to back up and block the driveway. By doing so, any visitors would be aware that the house was being watched and drive on by. But on the other hand, there would be no chance of possibly apprehending Mansky if he were to show up. Better to stay right here, he finally decided.

His iPhone vibrated. It was Mike.

“I’m two minutes away, Alan. Any activity yet?”

“A car just came by that looked like it was going to pull into the driveway but then drove on by. Not sure what that was all about.”

“Think they saw you and changed their mind?”

“Good chance of it.”

“Hmm. I’ve got two squad cars following behind and we’re going to cover both sides of the house in case somebody tries to make a break for it. We need to get the girl to safety right away, so here’s what I want you to do. Are you facing north?”

“Yeah.”

“Drive up to Oakland and make a left. Stay on Oakland until one of the cruisers catch up to you. You still driving that Pilot?”

“I am. I take it the chief got back to you.”

“He did. That’s why I suddenly have all this backup.”

“What if that was one of them who just drove by? They might be back before you get here.”

“We’ll just have to risk that. You need to move now, Alan.”

“Okay, we’re on our way.”

Alan pulled out, not particularly pleased to be doing so but still thankful that Mike Draker had come through.

He turned onto Oakland just as another car pulled out from the intersection headed in the direction of the house. Alan immediately recognized the driver: Mansky!

“Shit!” he shouted. “Mike, it’s Mansky, the main guy—he’s heading south toward the house!”

“Damn, I’m almost there!”

A thought suddenly occurred to him. “What if he knows what’s going on and is going back to kill the girls? Or hold them hostage?”

“I wish you wouldn’t have said that. Goddamn it!”

“I’m going back after him, Mike!” Alan shouted, dropping the phone. “Hold on, Carly!”

Alan spun the steering wheel all the way to the left, hit the curb, threw it into reverse and back into drive in about five seconds. Fishtailing his way out of Oakland onto Melton Street, he gunned the engine and saw Mansky up ahead. He was only a couple of doors from the house.

Alan lay on the horn and flashed his headlights off and on as he tore down Melton Street like a madman. If Mansky didn’t notice him, the man was deaf and blind. The car’s brake lights suddenly came on as the car turned into the driveway.

Suddenly Alan saw flashing red and blue lights appear out of nowhere heading toward him, accompanied by the blare of a siren. He saw Manksy’s car peeling down the driveway just as Alan sped past the neighbor’s house. Alan was about fifty yards ahead of the police.

“Get down on the floor, Carly!” he shouted and cut across the lawn through a hedge and onto the driveway. He tried to slow down enough to make the sharp turn to the left and ended up clipping the hedge running along the driveway. As he went around the curve he saw Mansky fleeing from his car, heading toward the garage. Another car was already parked in front blocking both garage doors, forcing Mansky to make a run for a smaller door around the side. Alan floored it and was able to cut him off just in time.

Mansky suddenly pulled out a gun and took aim at the Pilot. Alan ducked down, expecting to hear a shot ring out. It didn’t happen. He stole a glance out the driver’s side window and saw Mansky running toward the house just as a cruiser sped around the curve past the Pilot and headed Mansky off before he reached the house. Screeching to a stop, the officers flung their doors open and crouched behind them with their guns drawn.

“Hands up—get on the ground!” one of them commanded.

Instead of complying, Mansky fired off a quick shot, ran over and took cover behind his car. Alan couldn’t believe his eyes when Mansky’s head suddenly popped up from behind the front fender and he fired again. One more shot rang out and Mansky immediately fell to the ground.

An unmarked car pulled around the curve and came to a stop. Alan could see in his rear view mirror that it was Mike Draker. One of the officers was running over to the house while his partner went over and stood over Mansky. Judging by the officer’s demeanor, the gangster was in very bad shape.

Alan whipped off his seat belt, turned around and peered down at Carly lying on the floorboard.

“You okay, honey?”

“Yeah, that was scary!”

“It sure was, but I think it’s all over now.”

Draker ran over to the Pilot and opened the door.

“You two okay?” he asked.

Carly stood up in the back seat.

“You need to stay on the floor, honey—sorry,” Alan told the girl. “We’re fine, Mike. You guys got here just in the nick of time.”

“That Mansky?” the detective asked, gesturing toward the fallen man.

“Yup, that’s him.”

“Well, we need to secure the area. Stay here with the girl until we’ve checked everything out, okay?”

Alan nodded. “Will do.”

“Are they going to save my friends?” Carly asked from behind the seat.

“Certainly, as soon as they’re sure there aren’t any more bad guys lurking around.”

Alan heard more sirens out front, followed by the sound of police chatter coming over police radios. Draker was on his cellphone, probably calling in for more backup.

Moments later one of the rear doors opened and out came a pair of police officers. Apparently the house was cleared. Alan wondered who owned the silver Audi parked outside the garage. Whoever it was must have blown the scene already unless they were still in the garage with the victims. He studied the garage and noticed that there were no windows whatsoever in the structure, neither on the folding doors or the side entrance door. Considering the elegance of the house, he was baffled at the stark simplicity of the garage, which stood out like a sore thumb.

Alan wanted to join the investigation but knew he would be relegated to stand by until the police were done doing their jobs. Just as he began to wonder when somebody would be coming for Carly to remove her to safety, a female officer appeared outside his door.

“Is there a young girl in there with you?” she said.

“Sure is. You taking her to the station?”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer opened the Pilot’s rear door and stuck her head inside. “What’s your name, honey?”

Carly slowly stood up. “Carly.”

“My, that’s a pretty name! My name is officer Owens and I’m going to take you to the police station so we can track down your parents. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes, but what about my friends? I want to see them!”

The officer glanced at Alan questioningly, evidently not sure what friends she was referring to.

“The other victims,” he explained. “They’re in the garage, we think.”

“I see. I’m afraid it’s not safe to see them right now, honey. Maybe you can see them later, okay?”

“I guess so,” she replied, clearly disappointed.

“What do you say we go call your parents?”

“Okay,” she said. “I miss them so much!”

The girl got out, came over to Alan and gave him a hug. “Don’t forget your promise to come and see me!”

“I won’t—take care, Carly. I’ll see you soon.”

As he watched her being led away from the scene, Alan’s heart was heavy. He was elated that the girl was safe and would soon be rejoined with her family, but at the same angered that she’d been forced into this horrendous situation in the first place.

A couple of paramedics carrying a gurney appeared and ran over to where Mansky lay on the ground. Now that Carly was safe, Alan got out and joined Detective Draker who was standing outside the garage. When Draker first spotted him, Alan watched his expression switch from one of reprimand to reluctant acceptance. That was because Alan had just cast him a look that said, “Don’t even think about sending me away, buddy. I’m going in there with you.”

“What’s the plan, detective?” Alan said.

“We’ve got the place surrounded. They’re doing a check on the owner of the Audi right now and we’re standing by to see what the chief thinks we should do next.”

“Have you tried talking to anyone inside yet?”

“No. If somebody’s in there besides the victims, we can’t take the chance of them harming the kids. They’ll be desperate and liable to do anything to avoid capture.”

“I see,” Alan said. “Is Mansky still alive?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Died instantly.”

“Too bad—that means he didn’t suffer. Did you get a key to the garage off him?”

Draker held out his hand to show Alan a ring of keys. “Right here.”

Alan noticed that the door was made of solid steel and had two locks—one that worked the door handle and the other a deadbolt. He wondered what was happening on the other side of this door right now. Were the children all huddled in the corner, scared out of their wits, wondering what was going on outside their prison? Or was the owner of the Audi in there, standing over them with a loaded gun, just waiting for the moment the police broke the door down so he could end their young lives before he was taken away?

Just then Alan realized he hadn’t heard from Ron Fowler yet. He wondered if he’d been able to contact the feds and if they would be showing up on the scene any time soon. The question seemed moot at this point, since the Columbus PD seemed to have the situation under control. He had never for a moment thought this case would come down to this.

Mike Draker’s police radio suddenly chirped to life. “We have a positive ID on the Audi. It is registered to a Phillip Steven Evans, seventy-nine Melton Street, Bexley. Your present location, copy?”

“Copy. How should we proceed?”

“Advise the garage occupants of the situation and demand their surrender. If there is no response, enter the premises with extreme caution, copy?”

“Got it,” Draker replied. “Get me the bullhorn, Collins,” he shouted over to one of the officers covering the front. The officer nodded and headed over to a cruiser.

Draker got back on the radio. “You all heard the orders. Everyone stand by.”

The officer came back and handed a bullhorn to Draker. He switched it on, tested it, and stood back a few feet from the door.

“This is the police. We have this place surrounded—there is no chance of escape. You are ordered to come out with your hands up immediately,” he demanded.

Everybody stood in total silence, awaiting a response. Moments later, Draker cued up the bullhorn again. “This is your last chance to surrender. Come out with your hands up now, or we are coming in.”

Not a single sound came from inside, causing Alan to wonder if anybody was even in there.

Draker continued staring at the door for another moment then pressed the talk button on the radio. “We’re going in.”

He summoned another officer over to where they were standing. “Back me up, Fenton. Alan, wait here until we’ve cased the place out.”

Alan nodded and stood off to the side. Draker trained a flashlight beam on the keyring, chose a key and tried it in one of the locks. Wrong one. He tried the other and it fit. He gently turned the key until he heard a click. He chose another key and inserted it into the deadbolt lock. A full turn and there was a resounding click as the bolt was freed.

“Stand back,” he ordered. He turned the door handle and cracked the door open. After motioning to the officers to be on the ready, he stood off to the side and kicked the door open. Alan braced himself for the blast of a gunshot from inside. Instead there was nothing but silence.

Draker took a cautious peek inside, shook his head and motioned for the others to look inside. Alan came around and peered into the area. It was a foyer of sorts with another door placed about six feet in. The second door had a pair of locks as well. The entire foyer was covered with a thick wall of soundproofing material. No wonder they hadn’t been able to hear anything—the place appeared to be totally soundproof.

“Give me the horn,” Draker said. He repeated his warning for the occupants to surrender again—almost verbatim. After a pair of warnings, Draker swore under his breath and tried one of the keys in the door. It worked. He tried the other key in the deadbolt and it too worked. As before, everybody stood back as Draker kicked the door open.

Again, no gunshots. So far, so good, Alan thought.

Draker motioned for Fenton to stand by. Before stepping through the doorway, he shouted, “This is your last chance to surrender. Drop your weapons or we will open fire.”

Total, eerie silence. Alan was stunned. Where the hell is everybody? Are the girls in there? Are they still alive? Or has their captor murdered them, knowing that nobody outside could have heard the shots, and was now waiting to open fire at the first person who steps inside?

Draker stepped cautiously up to the doorway and peeked in, first to the left and then to the right. He flicked a wall switch and lights came on, revealing a table and a few chairs set up along the wall on the far side of the garage.

“Looks clear—not a soul in sight,” the detective announced. “There’s a single door in the far corner we need to check out, though. Let’s go.”

Fenton followed Draker inside, gun drawn, and Alan followed behind. Once inside, he saw a room that looked less like a garage and more like a studio apartment—located on the wrong side of town.

The floor was covered with a variety of randomly placed cheap throw rugs. The furniture was cheap as well and secondhand: a dull-colored dinette setup consisting of four mismatched chairs and a table with a deeply scratched surface that looked like a 1950’s reject. There was a soiled avocado-colored sofa backed against the wall, a beat-up coffee table in front of it and what looked like a thirteen-inch cathode ray television sitting on top of a dilapidated aluminum TV stand. The only light source for the entire room was the four-foot fluorescent work light fixture suspended from the center of the soundproofed ceiling.

Perhaps the most depressing aspect of the place was the walls—all unpainted cinderblock covered with thick layers of soundproofing material.

But where were the children?

“Looks like that could be a bathroom,” Alan said as they walked over to a built-in room that was about seven-foot square built into the far corner of the space.

Draker went up and simply knocked on the door. “Police, come out with your hands in the air.”

When there was no response, he swung the door open and looked inside.

“Nobody here.”

It was indeed a bathroom, a half-bath, that consisted of a toilet and a sink. No shower or tub. Like the rest of the place, all bare bones. The fact that this room was vacant meant only one thing: the victims had already been taken away.

“Shit!” Alan hissed.

“Looks like we’re too late,” Officer Fenton said.

“But why the hell was Mansky trying to come in here? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hell if I know,” Draker replied. “But there’s no doubt about it—this place is a bust.”

“There must be something in here important enough that Mansky would risk his life to get it,” Alan declared.

“Could be. Let’s take a look around.”

They spread out and began searching the contents of the room. Alan realized that there was no sink or running water except for inside the bathroom. There was no fridge, or a stove or any sort of appliances for cooking. How did they eat?

Alan went over to the sofa, removed the cushions and looked for anything that may be hidden there. Nothing but some loose change, lint and a lot of dog hair—no doubt from the previous owner. He replaced the cushions, pulled out the sofa from the wall to look under it and did a double-take—

“Over here!” he shouted.

Set into the floor was what appeared to be a trap door, its hinges mounted near the baseboard. The door was just a little smaller than the size of the sofa.

Draker and Fenton ran over.

“I’ll be a sonofabitch!” Draker exclaimed. “I wonder what’s down there.”

“Let’s open it,” Fenton said. “I don’t see a handle, though.”

Alan crouched down and ran his hand along the edge of the door. “There’s a small hole here—it could be threaded. Maybe we can screw in something that could work as a handle.”

They looked around for something to use and a moment later, Fenton cried, “Check this out!”

He had unscrewed one of the knobs off the end table. Protruding from the end was a threaded screw. Fenton knelt town and screwed the knob into the hole in the door. It fit perfectly.

“Must be the same knob Mansky used,” Alan said.

“Open it up,” Draker said. “We know the bad guys can’t be down there unless they found a way to slide the sofa back into place.

Fenton pulled up on the door but nothing happened.

“Jesus, this thing is heavy!”

“Forget your Wheaties this morning?” Draker said, pushing Fenton aside to take over.

He pulled on the knob until he was red in the face from the strain and finally gave up. “It must be locked somehow.”

Alan went over to the hinges and examined them. He slid his fingernail in under one of them and pulled up. The hinge flipped over, revealing a recessed finger-hold space carved into the door.

“What’s the deal?” Draker said.

Alan flipped the other hinge over and saw a steel slide bolt in the locked position.

He slid the bolt open.

“Fake hinges,” he explained. “No wonder you couldn’t lift it—the hinges are on that side.”

“Who in the hell dreamed this contraption up, you suppose?”

“Russian engineering,” Alan replied dryly.

He placed his fingers in the finger hold and pulled up. The door easily swung open. All three men looked down into the darkness. Draker switched on his flashlight and aimed it down the hole. There was a narrow wooden staircase leading down to the floor of the space. Draker descended the steps and disappeared from sight. A moment later, Alan heard what sounded like another door opening, followed by the high-pitched shrieks of several obviously terrified girls

“I’m with the police—you’re safe now!” Alan heard Draker shout.

Moments later, Alan watched as a parade consisting of five very young children—four girls and one boy—ascended the steps from their underground cell to freedom. As he looked into their sad, wary eyes and saw their dirty faces and cheap second-hand clothes, he nearly choked up with emotion.

Free at last, yes—but bound for the rest of their lives to the memories of the horrific nightmare they had just lived through.

CHAPTER 31

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” Amanda said.

“Gotta admit, they seem to like each other.”

Alan had been skeptical that Pan and Henry would warm up to each other during their first official meeting but what he was witnessing exceeded his expectations. The two pooches were snuggled up together on one of the family room chairs. Henry was licking Pan’s ear affectionately.

“I told you Henry’s a pushover,” Amanda chided. “Now do you believe me?”

“I do. He’s always seemed so skittish whenever I’m over at your place—like he needs a nerve pill or something. So I just figured a dog that hyper would definitely freak Pan out, but obviously I was dead wrong.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” she smiled.

“Guess not.”

It had been nearly a week since Alan and Amanda had successfully resolved their respective cases, both on the very same day. Alan figured it had to be some kind of record in the history of private investigation, and he made a vow to look into it when he got the chance.

Amanda took a sip of her Margarita. “Uncle Ken is still insisting on paying us, you know. He won’t take no for an answer.”

“First of all, he should be paying you and leave me out of it. It was your case from the very beginning. All I ended up doing was bail out on you.”

“That’s not true. You’re the one who got the ball rolling. I just sort of took over after you took the other case.”

“Please do me a favor—don’t be so damn modest!” Alan said.

He took a slug of his beer. “What you did was absolutely incredible and you deserve full credit. I don’t know how in the hell you did it, to tell you the truth, and when you left here last Sunday morning I thought you were heading out on a wild goose chase. The last thing I expected was to get a call saying you had Royer wrapped up in duct tape and the case wrapped up as well!”

“Oh ye, of such little faith!” she chuckled. “Okay, I’ll admit that, unlike you, I was positive that Clark Royer was the one who had murdered Jodi. You won’t believe this, but I had this undeniable feeling I was on the right track—that he had done exactly what I thought he’d done. My greatest concern was how I was going to prove it. There, now how’s that for not being modest? Do you like conceited better?”

“That’s not conceit, it’s simply the facts. I’ve seen it before. You really do possess something—call it women’s intuition or some kind of psychic power—that enables you to see things I sure as hell can’t see. Whatever it is, I am both in awe of it and thankful for it. I really don’t think I could ever have solved that case myself and that’s a fact.

“I never told you this, but your undying faith in Nick Wilburn was beginning to run a thin with me the longer we spent on that case. I mean, seriously? The evidence against him kept piling up to the point that I was having some major doubts about his innocence. But I gotta give you credit—you were absolutely right. You hung in there, and your faith in your old friend never once faltered.”

“Oh yes it did,” Amanda said. “When I drove to his home in Indiana and asked him about that email he’d sent Jodi, he started getting really weird. Then he suddenly pulled out a gun and pointed it right at me! At that moment, I not only thought he was guilty, but that he was going to shoot me and then himself! It was terrifying, the look on his face that very moment. So yes, my faith in Nick did falter.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t take you long after that incident to renew your faith and resume your search for the real bad guy. So impressive! Is Nick doing any better, by the way? How did your conversation go today?”

“He’s much better now that this is all over. He’ll never get over losing Jodi, but at least now he can move on with his life. He’s actually moving back to Milldale, believe it or not.”

“Jesus, that sure doesn’t sound like a very good idea. No offense, but Milldale doesn’t seem like the most promising town in this state to settle down in.”

She grinned. “You’re telling me! You already know my thoughts about that place so you couldn’t possibly offend me.” Her expression grew serious. “The move might actually be good for Nick. He’s been offered his old job back and he really wants to be there for his parents during their present crises.”

“I see what you mean. So what’s the latest on Royer? You mentioned something earlier about more incriminating evidence showing up?”

She nodded. “Uncle Ken says that not only did they find some of Jodi’s grandmother’s jewelry stashed away in Royer’s house, they think they may have a lead on where he’s been fencing his stolen loot all this time. That could eventually help them link Royer to some other burglaries they think he may have committed.”

“Any guesses on how long he’s been at this game?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s been for a long time—maybe even since he started working at Davidson and Associates. If you could have seen how much he has invested in those classic sports cars and that place of his, you’d know what I mean.”

“I wonder if he’ll ever give up what happened the day he murdered Jodi.”

“Hard to say, but I seriously doubt it. The guy’s an absolute control freak—or maybe ‘closet control freak’ is a more fitting term. I think the only time Royer feels in any kind of control is when he’s preying on somebody—when he has a weapon in his hand and his captive is at his mercy with no means of escape. But once you take that power away from him, he’s a freaking morph. No balls at all. He lives this seemingly normal, boring life at his nine to five and nobody is the wiser. Then once he’s off the job, he immerses himself in plotting out his next conquest and Doctor Jekyll becomes Mister Hyde.

“My guess is that Royer took immense delight in controlling Jodi that day. He probably pulled out his gun and threatened her, ordered her to do this and that, reveling all the time in his absolute omnipotence and her helpless submissiveness. Then after he’d gotten everything he wanted out of her, he killed her.”

“So you think he’s murdered other victims as well?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least. He told me it was the challenge he enjoyed more than anything else—along with the control. Well, simply burglarizing a home wouldn’t be enough for him—he needs a victim added into the equation that he can bully around. Assuming that’s the case, simple logic says that he can’t let the victim live—they’d be able to identify him, otherwise. So he kills them. That’s my theory, anyway.”

“Sounds plausible to me. You know what? You sound like you’ve been in this business a hell of a lot longer than a week! You sure you’ve been leveling with me all this time? I could almost swear you’ve done this sort of work before.”

Amanda chuckled. “Thanks for the flattery, but I can assure you I’m a total novice at this investigation thing. My sum total of crime solving has been vicarious, while reading mysteries—lots of mysteries.”

“Well, they’ve served you well is all I can say. Simply amazing.”

Henry suddenly leaped off the chair and hopped onto Amanda’s lap. The little terrier licked her face furiously.

“Thank you, Henry! You better watch out or your new girlfriend will get jealous!”

As if on cue, Pan hopped on Alan’s lap, not to be outdone by their guest.

“I think they love us,” he laughed as Pan gave him kisses. “I’ll go get us another drink.”

Just as he stood up, one of the cellphones rang. His iPhone and the burner were lying side by side on the coffee table.

He picked up the burner, put it on speaker and answered. “Swansea.”

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Ron Fleming said.

“Not at all. What’s up?”

“Some not so good news. Apparently Mansky has been working solo in Columbus. Which means that the kingpin of this whole operation is still at large somewhere—possibly in Miami.”

“So they’re not going to be able to snuff out the entire operation after all.”

“Doesn’t look that way. Chuck Townsend, the agent who’s been filling me in on the FBI investigation, says that although all of Mansky’s men have been gathered up and charged, none of them are talking about any other accomplices.”

“Have they discovered any more victims?”

“No, they have not. The good news is they believe that the six children rescued in Bexley were the only victims currently involved in the Columbus operation. That doesn’t mean there haven’t been others in the past who have since been moved elsewhere, but at least those six have been taken out of the picture.

“Mansky’s Columbus operation was one of only a very few that exclusively involve wealthy clients and very young children. Because of the high-profile nature of their clientele, this sort of operation is more about very high rates for a relatively small number of victims as opposed to those with no degree of specialization. Because of this, Mansky was able to live very comfortably with minimal effort by way of his careful screening of potential clients having the financial means necessary to pay for his specialized services.”

“So who was Phillip Steven Evans, the owner of the Audi?”

“That was just one of Mansky’s several aliases. What’s interesting is that Mansky had bought the Audi for his lover, one Thomas Prichard. Prichard, along with Daniel Henricks, were in charge of grooming the kids, among other things. There is enough damning evidence in the Bexley house to put those bastards away for life.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Video tapes. Graphic and disgusting—you can’t begin to imagine.”

“Jesus. I sure hope those kids get plenty of support and counseling.”

“That is all being arranged as we speak. There is some light at the end of the tunnel, at least.”

“How’s that?”

“Gracie really wants to help the victims. They say that reaching out to other victims is one of the best methods of recovery. She can’t wait to get started, in fact.”

“That’s wonderful. So, at least some good has come of this. That has to make you feel good.”

“It does. But it’s not near enough.”

“How’s it going with Brock Matthews? Any chance of his compliance in the case, or is he still refusing?”

“As you already know, he’s hired himself a big-time defense attorney who’s doing everything he can to protect his client. Since Mansky is dead and the local operation has been virtually wiped out, Matthews probably doesn’t fear for his life so much anymore. So my guess is it’s going to be very rough getting him convicted.”

“That figures. The rich always seem to get away with murder.”

“Pretty much. Speaking of finances, I sent payment for your services today. I want you to know that it’s been a pleasure working with you and I hope we can perhaps work together again in the future. What do you think?”

“Sure, I’d like that. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you exactly what you were looking for in this case. Maybe I can make that up to you in the future.”

“Nonsense! I’ve already told you how pleased I am, how well this has turned out in light of the circumstances—I couldn’t have asked for anything more. The fight against human trafficking will march forward, and I have found in you a formidable ally. I look forward to working with you again, Alan.”

“Thanks, Ron. Please stay in touch.”

“Will do. Good evening.”

“So Fleming wants to hire you again,” Amanda said.

“Looks that way. Gotta say, I feel pretty good how this turned out, even though we weren’t able to slay the big dragon. Just freeing those kids from their bondage makes it all worthwhile to me. But it’s just the tip of the iceberg. There shouldn’t be a single person exploited that way—ever. And to think that a huge chunk of trafficked victims are young children is egregious.

“You know what the problem is? The problem is the fact that there’s scum like Brock Matthews out there who provide the reason for this sort of thing to exist in the first place! If it weren’t for the likes of him and his pedophile cohorts, there would be no market for the sexual exploitation of children. Kids wouldn’t be abducted and sold into sex and shitheads like Isaac Mansky would have to find a different line of work. It’s all about supply and demand. Remove the demand and there’s no need for the supplies.

“So if Ron Fleming asks me to give him a hand in his cause again, I’ll be all for it. I will in fact look forward to it.”

Amanda saw the passion in his eyes and it was infectious. Sitting beside her was a man she both admired and respected without question. A man who made her feel complete.

She leaned over and kissed him hard. “I love you, Alan Swansea.”

“I love you, too, Amanda Linville.”

“So are we a team, or what?”

“We’re a team.”

They kissed again to seal the pact.

THE END

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Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31