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"Ever find anything?" Rachel asked, tilting her head slightly.
"Bits and pieces." He shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing worth writing home about."
"Yet you keep searching. Is that why you're at this rodeo? I looked into you, Silas. You stop by this area quite often. Looking for that gold?" She observed the way his eyes lit up at the mention of hidden treasure. It was more than a hobby; it was an obsession.
"Once it gets in your blood..." Silas trailed off, his gaze drifting past her to some unseen horizon laden with promise.
"Or on your boots," she quipped, tapping her finger against the silver.
"Those boots on the video ain't mine."
"Where were you, Silas? The night the ATV vanished? Thursday." Rachel's voice sliced through the stale air of the interrogation room.
"Told you."
"Before you were speaking with the old-timer."
"Before?"
"I mean... hell... that was a while ago."
"Try to remember," Ethan encouraged.
"Huh... well, think I was at the Catfish Hole," he replied, his eyes fixed on the table. "Drownin' my sorrows in hushpuppies and beer."
"Anyone vouch for that?"
"Ask Betty. She pours." His bruised face twitched into a semblance of a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Rachel nodded to Ethan, who stepped out of the room with his phone pressed against his ear. Her gaze shifted back to Silas.
He glared at her defiantly.
There was no hesitation, no doubt.
He seemed confident his alibi would check out, and this bothered her more than almost anything. Was he telling the truth? Either he was bluffing, and his attitude would crumble... or....
She frowned as the door opened and closed again, Ethan stepping back into the room.
Her partner pocketed his phone and gave her a subtle nod. Betty had corroborated Silas’s story.
"Seems you're off the hook for the theft," Rachel said, her tone even, betraying nothing of her thoughts.
"Knew I would be." Silas leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. A smirk played on his lips. She frowned at him. "Know of anyone else who has these boots?"
"I told you. Lots of sorts."
"Where'd you get these?"
"OH... shit... Mad Jack sells them. Bunch of folk bought them from Jack and his wife."
But before she could delve deeper, Rachel's own phone vibrated. She excused herself, stepping into the hallway, pressing the device to her ear. "Blackwood here."
"Ranger Blackwood, it's Officer Lillard. Another body. Out by the old Dawson claim."
"Dead how long?" Her pulse quickened.
"Hard to say. But it's bad. Real bad. It's a cop."
