Page 57 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

“Did anything come of that investigation?” JP asked.

Rourke shook his head. “No one stood out enough.”

JP suspected the PI was holding back. “Keep going.”

Rourke hesitated, then continued. “I considered the possibility of a passerby,” he said. “Someone watching the route and learning the pattern.”

JP’s eyes stayed on him. “That’s a big leap.”

“Not really. The girl left school the same time every day, used the same path, and had the same gap in supervision.”

JP didn’t respond.

“Opportunity like that quickly becomes visible,” Rourke added.

“Anyone specific?” JP asked.

Rourke shook his head. “There was one guy who lived about two blocks from the school. He had been convicted previously on several counts of child molestation.”

“Nothing came of that?”

“If I remember right, he alibied out.”

“Anything else?”

A longer pause this time. “The mother was under suspicion for a short while, as well as her teenage son.”

JP stood to leave. “Thanks for your time,” he said. “That gives me somewhere to start.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the same thing, that nothing fits clean.”

“Sometimes new eyes make a difference.”

Rourke stood too. “If you’re digging back into this, I can help. I’ve still got notes,” Rourke added. “Things that didn’t make it into the file. Leads that didn’t go anywhere or weren’t followed. I didn’t bring it up before because they didn’t seem worth your time.”

JP tilted his head. “Why now?”

Something in Rourke’s expression tightened. “Because this case continues to haunt me.”

“I’ll be in touch.” JP walked away.

Halfway to his truck, JP realized he was thinking about the questions Rourke had asked about Sabre. Maybe they meant nothing. Maybe the PI had just been curious. But JP had spent much of his life around men who wanted things they pretended not to want. And Daniel Rourke looked like a man standing near a door he hoped might open again.

Chapter 20

Thursday late morning

JP sat at his desk, the Hannah Caldwell file spread open. The papers had that faint yellowing around the edges that came with time and too many hands flipping through them.

He looked first for the crossing guard, Frank Deluca. JP tapped the notes with his finger. Observed minor enter dark-colored vehicle. Unable to identify driver.

Below that the police report read: Consistent with suspect timeline.

He flipped back a page, then forward again. It was the same thing every time; Deluca’s statement didn’t prove it was Hayes. It also didn’t contradict the suspicion.

Ten minutes later, JP had an address. DeLuca was still in the same neighborhood.

JP grabbed his hat, settled it into place, and headed out.