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“Give it a few more minutes, and if he’s a no-show, send a car and call me,” Amanda said.
Wyatt dipped his head and resumed his path back to the woman.
“Maybe we should hang around,” Trent said. “Wait until he shows up?”
“No. I want to get to those parents sooner than later. Besides, who knows when he’ll show up.” Or if he will. That sour thought fired through uninvited.
“Let’s buckle up then.”
She appreciated the double meaning that was both literal and figurative. They needed to prepare themselves for the emotional ride ahead of them.
The van from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner was pulling into the lot while Trent was driving out. Hans Rideout, the medical examiner, was behind the wheel, and his assistant, Liam Baker, was in the passenger seat. Baker waved, and Rideout dipped his head, his expression somber.
Following them was a Chevy sedan, a perplexed-looking man in the driver’s seat. He leaned forward, his chest practically pressed against the steering column.
“How much do you want to bet that’s Evans?” Trent said.
“Actually, Trent, stop the car, please.” She couldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t talk to the man and he was involved in what happened to Leah. Her parents would need to wait a few minutes longer.
Trent reversed to clear the hood from the road, and Amanda got out.
She tapped on the Chevy’s driver-side window. The man lowered it, and she held up her badge. “Detective Steele, Prince William County PD. Can I ask your name, sir?”
“Marty Evans.” He licked his lips and sounded parched as if he’d walked through the Sahara Desert and was in desperate need of water.
“Your identification, Mr.Evans.” She clipped her badge back on her waist and held out a palm.
He jammed a hand into the front pocket of his jeans and gave her his driver’s license. Name was Marty Evans, Woodbridge address, age forty-one. She gave him his ID back. “What’s your business here, Mr.Evans?” She wanted to hear it from him.
“I work here. I was due to start about five minutes ago. What’s going on?”
“There was a murder here this morning. Would you know anything about that?”
A rough swallow had his Adam’s apple bulging. “Murder?”
“Are you normally late getting to work?” She couldn’t ignore the possibility he may be responsible for Leah’s murder. He could have killed her earlier, left, and returned.
“Sometimes. Who was killed?”
“I won’t say until the next of kin has been notified. Why were you late this morning?”
Marty massaged the bridge of his nose. “I kept hitting snooze on my alarm. That’s all.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“Whoa. Hold up. Am I a suspect here?”
“I don’t want you leaving until we’ve had the chance for a proper talk. Am I understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pivoted toward the department car.
“Excuse me, ah, ma’am. Detective?” The latter tagged on a little louder.
Amanda returned to Marty. “Yes?”
“When do you think we’ll have that ‘proper talk’?”
