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And didn’t answer who’d really killed Fritz Emerson. It was much more likely that person knew that something was in Fritz’s home, or suspected strongly that it was, and that Everleigh being free was putting her in the way of the perp getting it.
Besides, the forensic scientist wasn’t a killer. He was an avenger of some sort...
But what did he have to avenge?
Clarke knew Bowe...couldn’t think of anything that stood out in the man’s personal life. He was married. Had been for a long time...
Longtime marriages. Cheating spouses. It wasn’t about the crimes, for Bowe; it was about the people on trial. Could it be that infidelity was what drove the scientist?
Whether Clarke knew the motive or not, Bowe was already proved to have been the one to manipulate evidence in at least three cases.
He glanced at his watch. Six in the morning. With a softly muttered “to hell with it,” he picked up his phone and dialed his sister.
And after a few words with her, he waited while she dialed in Troy.
“We’ve got the motive,” Melissa said when Clarke had finished telling them what he’d figured out. That Randall Bowe fixed cases to make certain that allegedly cheating spouses paid. And those who’d been cheated on went free. Except he’d gotten it wrong with Everleigh—she’d been the victim, not Fritz.
He was defending marital fidelity and making those guilty of infidelity pay.
Bowe had set himself up not only as jury and judge, but as God. Clarke wanted to kick the man into the next country and beyond.
“We’ve had officers canvassing various areas for Davison’s daughter, Tatiana, in case she’s come back from Paris,” Troy offered.
Davison was gone. His daughter was gone. And Bowe was responsible for another killer being free.
“Get Stanton back over here and I’ll go see Bowe’s wife,” Clarke said. “I’ll see if she knows anything that could have triggered his obsession. And maybe get her to tell me something she won’t tell detectives.” It had worked for them in the past. And they needed Troy to stay on finding Bowe. And other GGPD manpower hunting for Len Davison. Those left were for him to put to use on the street for tracking down leads on Everleigh’s attacker.
“You can call Stanton,” Melissa told him.
“He’ll listen better to you.” He didn’t have time to argue with her and hung up as soon as he’d said the words.
He’d heard movement upstairs.
Everleigh was awake.
* * *
In black jeans, a purple sweater, her boots and purple drop earrings, Everleigh barreled down the stairs. As soon as she’d hung up the phone from her daily morning check on her grandmother, she’d showered in record time and was heading out. Gram wasn’t feeling well.
Clarke was up already—good. She hadn’t known. “I have to get to the prison,” she said. “To see Gram.”
“Visiting hours don’t start for another three hours.”
“Yeah. I just wanted you to know I’m going. If you can’t take me, fine. I’ll call a cab.” She could afford it. With Fritz’s money due to hit her account within the week, she’d be fine for a good long while.
Her energy level was off the charts. Prompted by nerves. Worry.
And that thing she had to talk to him about.
He was in jeans again, too. A lighter blue, faded pair. With a dark green pullover shirt. His light brown, slightly ruffled hair, the look in his eyes, just made the whole picture of him look far too good.
She needed breakfast.
And to confront what had happened the night before. Things were escalating so far out of control, she wasn’t sure how to live in her own skin.
“I’ll take you,” he said. “And was thinking... I have a stop to make, too. I’ve already arranged for my brother to come here, but it might be good if you came with me. If you’d like to help with the case a little bit.”
Wary, she wrapped her arms around her middle, needing coffee. Of course she wanted to help. Wanted to do anything she could do. But why was he acting as though no
