11
Julia and Courtney turned onto the road that led to Kay’s farm, surprised to see a line of Pennsylvania State Police cruisers parked along the shoulder, their black-and-gold trim glinting darkly in the sun. State troopers were walking through the middle of the pasture in rows, and their black knit caps stood out against the brownish-green grass.
Julia straightened in the passenger seat. “This has to be about the murder, right?”
“I’ll ask.” Courtney drove to a state trooper emerging from one of the cruisers. He was young, and his nametag readSYLVESTERin white letters. He had on a black insulated jacket over a bulletproof vest, and his thick belt held a matte-black holstered gun, handcuffs, keys, and a radio. His black knit cap showed the Keystone emblem.
“Please keep moving, Miss,” Trooper Sylvester said with a professional smile.
“I’m Courtney Horan. My grandmother was Kay Patterson.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Trooper Sylvester slid off his cap, revealing a bristle of brown hair.
“Thank you, but can you tell me what’s happening here?”
“Okay, since you’re the victim’s family. We’re conducting a manhunt.”
“But the murder was Monday. Why now? Did you get a tip?”
Julia was thinking the same thing. It seemed late for a manhunt, and she doubted Kay’s killer would still be in her backyard.
Trooper Sylvester hesitated. “No tips. We were just called in by Buckley.”
“Well, thank you. I had no idea.”
“It’s up to Buckley to keep you informed. Unfortunately, they don’t have a Comms department like the bigger forces. We lend a hand when needed. It’s mutual aid, and the locals don’t have the manpower to cover ground.” Trooper Sylvester gestured over his shoulder. “We’ll probably be at this all day. It takes time.”
Courtney gestured at the line of troopers. “So they search, like that?”
“Yes, quadrant by quadrant. It’s standard procedure, and it works. You probably remember the Cavalcante manhunt, a couple years ago.”
“No, I’m not from around here.”
“It was a big one. Cavalcante escaped from Chester County Prison and eluded capture for two weeks. Before him was Eric Frein, who killed one trooper and wounded another at the Blooming Grove barracks. We worked with the locals, ATF, FBI, and DEA on that one. It took forty-eight days, but we got him. The problem is the terrain in the area. Woods, ravines, caves, abandoned outbuildings. Lots of places to hide.” Trooper Sylvester gestured behind him, to his right. “You probably know this, but there’s a creek back there in the woods.”
Courtney nodded. “I haven’t been back there since I was little, but I believe you. Will you tell me if you find him?”
“We’ll inform Buckley, and they’ll inform you.”
“Do you know if they have a suspect?”
Trooper Sylvester pursed his lips. “Unofficially, I’ll tell you they do not.”
“Okay, thanks. My grandmother’s house is at the end of the road. Please come by if you need anything.”
“Will do. Thanks.” Trooper Sylvester stepped back, waving. “Take care now.”
“Bye.” Courtney gave the car gas, shaking her head. “I don’t get something. Why would the Buckley police wait so long to call in the state troopers?”
“I don’t get it, either. He said Buckley doesn’t have Comms, but they can pick up a phone, right?”
“I’m telling you I have no confidence in these guys.” They reached Kay’s house and Courtney pulled into the driveway to find two older women sitting in a double rocker on the front porch, holding foil-covered Pyrex trays on their laps. “Oh no, I forgot they were coming.”
“Who are they?”
“Her best friends. Mona’s the one on the left and Susan’s on the right.” Courtney parked behind an old blue Subaru with anI LOVE MY MALTESEbumper sticker. “They weren’t supposed to be here until ten.”
“Aw.” Julia eyed the women, who were sitting close together, comfortable in the way that only old friends can be. They were both short, slim, and white-haired, as cozy as two salt shakers. “That’s us, years from now.”
