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She smiled at him fondly. “That’s nice. What’s the second reason?”
“I got curious about her after Joel sang her praises, so I looked her up. She’s got a stellar record. Served in the Coast Guard, then joined SDPD. She’s been a homicide detective for four years now and has closed some cold cases from ten, fifteen years ago. All of them were murders of young women. Teenagers.” There had been a video of her being interviewed, and there’d been a passion in her voice, a determination to stand up for the dead that had spoken to him. “So when Colton started talking about the grave of his pretty young thing, I wanted her to be the one to look.”
“Good choice. Do you want me to drive by the coordinates to see if anyone’s been digging?”
“Would you?”
“I would. Richard and I have a commitment tonight, but we’ll go first thing in the morning, and I’ll let you know. Call me if you hear anything.”
“I will.” Sam stood, smoothing his tie. “Thanks, Vivian.”
“You’re welcome. Try to get some rest.”
He’d try, but every time he closed his eyes, he could see that slight depression in that grassy field. Not enough to be noticeable unless one was looking for it.
It was a small grave, because—if Colton was telling the truth—he liked his victims small.
“I can’t rest yet. I’m meeting my folks for dinner.”
“How’s that going, having them living so close by?”
His parents, much to Sam’s chagrin, had recently rented an apartment in his building. For weekend getaways, they’d claimed, but they spent more time in California than they spent back home in Arizona. On one hand, it was stifling, having his parents hovering so close. On the other, though...
He loved them. Plus, his dad had had a mild stroke recently and seemed to need to be near his only son. Sam could oblige them a little hovering.
“Not too bad. I get home-cooked meals once a week, and Dad’s an amazing cook.” Tonight was going to be lasagna, which was Sam’s favorite.
“They’re happy with seeing you only once a week?”
“I didn’t say we saw each other once a week, only that Dad cooks for me that often. I see them nearly every day, but they’ll be going back to Scottsdale soon. Dad has some big golf tournament, so I’ll get some peace.”
“Offer stands.”
Sam chuckled. Vivian had set up a code word. When Sam texted it to her, she’d promised to call and say he had to come into the office ASAP. They hadn’t used it yet, but Sam had been tempted a time or two or six.
“Thank you. Call me when you’ve checked out the park?”
“Of course I will. Try not to worry.”
Sam headed for his own office, checking his phone for news of a body.
Still nothing.
Dammit.
San Diego, California
Friday, April 8, 3:00 p.m.
“Good afternoon, Mr.Driscoll.” Sam gestured to the sofa. “Please have a seat.”
Colton Driscoll made a show of sitting in the middle of Sam’s sofa, resting one ankle on the other knee as he spread his arms wide, resting them on the cushion, palms out. It was classic manspreading and Sam pitied any poor soul who sat next to this man on the city trolley.
Which Colton had to take to get here since his license had been suspended as punishment for nearly running his neighbor over after breaking the man’s jaw.
Sam had never felt personally afraid of Colton Driscoll. Colton didn’t see him as a real threat but merely an impediment, a court-ordered boulder thrown in his road. Not worth expending the energy over. And even when Sam succeeded in getting a rise out of him, Colton squashed the reaction quickly.
Some pathological liars were unaware of their lies, but Colton was very aware of his. He used them as both sword and shield, deflecting any serious attention from himself.
