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“Of course, we do have a suspicion.”
More supportive nods.
“Do either of you recognize this man?” Sheriff Smithers withdrew a photo of Jacob Ness. Not the best photo, D.D. thought, as it had been taken during his first arrest for beating his wife over twenty years ago. He was a hard-looking thirty even back then. Clearly a lifelong smoker, drinker, drug abuser, he stared into the police camera sullenly, his lip curled in a faint sneer.
Martha stifled a gasp. “Why, that’s Jacob Ness. Of course we recognize him. He kidnapped that college student. What was it, five years ago? He’s a monster!”
“The college student was from Boston,” the mayor filled in, eyeing D.D. with renewed interest.
D.D. took the photo from Smithers, made a show of positioning it on her knee, where it just so happened to be turned in the direction of the wall.
“Have you seen him around here?”
“Isn’t he dead?” Martha asked. “I thought the police killed him. Are you saying he did this?”
“Howard, Martha.” The sheriff held up a calming hand, regaining their focus. “These graves are old. Whatever happened here, there’s no need for immediate alarm. Having said that, something terrible happened in our own backyard. We need answers. And we owe it to the victims to get justice.”
“Do you have any recollection of ever seeing this man in this area?” D.D. prodded again. “Doesn’t matter if it was seven, ten, fifteen years ago. Just, did you ever see him here?”
“Absolutely not!” Martha answered first. “And we would know. We followed everything that happened in the news, the FBI raiding the hotel, saving that poor girl. Why, if we had ever seen that man in our town, you can believe, Sheriff, we would’ve rung you immediately. Thank heavens a man such as that never passed through our community!”
“What about this vehicle?”
Next the sheriff produced a picture of the cab from Ness’s big rig. This time both of the Counsels shook their heads.
“Other loners that spring to mind?” the sheriff pressed. “Maybe the kind of neighbor most try to ignore but everyone’s a little nervous about?”
The Counsels exchanged glances. Their shoulders had come down. If they were shocked before, considering a known serial rapist had passed through their community, they seemed more comfortable now. Back to the local misfits. All towns had some.
“There’s Walt.” Martha brushed the back of her husband’s hand, as if for confirmation. “Walt Davies. He lives in his own cabin above the ridge. An old family camp. He keeps mostly to himself, one of those off-the-radar types. We only see him when he comes into town for supplies. Let’s just say he’s not the most sociable... or hygienic... man.”
“I’ve never considered Walt dangerous,” the mayor spoke up, frowning. “I’d guess he runs some moonshine. Hell, maybe has his own herb business, if you know what I mean. But he’s never done anything untoward. Most of us leave him well enough alone, and he returns the favor. Having said that, Sheriff, I doubt he takes kindly to government types. Before paying a visit to his homestead, I’d take some precautions.”
Sheriff Smithers nodded his head at the warning, made a note. “Anyone else? Maybe a guest you see regularly, but who doesn’t quite fit? No hiking boots or interest in the great outdoors, keeps mostly to himself?”
Martha waved a dismissive hand. “Many of our guests are loners who keep to themselves. They come to the mountains looking to get away. They have their own thoughts, their own problems. And they appreciate us letting them be.”
“Do you have guest records going back fifteen years?” D.D. asked.
The mayor looked at his wife. She shrugged. “I’d have to check. We installed our new computer system... I’d guess ten years ago? But I can look.”
“We’d appreciate any and all records you have,” Sheriff Smithers assured her.
“Going back fifteen years? That’s thousands of names, Sheriff.”
“I know.”
Martha sighed, as if resigned to her fate.
“Great.” D.D. rose to standing. “We’ll be back tomorrow for the records.”
Smithers blinked at her abrupt tone, but didn’t correct her as he also climbed to his feet.
“Thank you for the coffee, ma’am.” He nodded to Martha, shook hands with Howard. D.D. didn’t bother. She was already halfway out of the nook. Sheriff Smithers hastened to catch up.
“What was all that about?” he asked huffily as he finally reached her outside. D.D. didn’t answer right away, but waited till they were farther down the street.
“I think they’re lying to us.”
