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“Okay.” Wolfe’s pale gaze remained on his face. “Take your time. If this is our man, we need to do everything by the book.”
He gave him a wave and headed for the door with Rowley on his heels. “By the book it is.”
* * *
The drive to Steve Rogers’ house took longer than usual. Traveling through town with the hustle and bustle of the rodeo crowd was bad enough but jaywalkers streamed across the road dodging vehicles as if they had a date with the Grim Reaper. They took no notice of the blue flashing lights on Kane’s SUV, and waved or grinned at him as if he had turned them on to join in the celebration. “Is it like this every year?”
“Every year?” Rowley flashed him a cheeky grin. “We’ll have a least another four events at the fairgrounds this summer. Right now, it’s tame; wait until later, they go a bit crazy after the dance and once they get the drink into them. The park becomes party central and Aunt Betty’s Café stays open twenty-four hours to keep the food coming.”
Kane hit the siren a couple of times to move a bunch of teenagers from blocking the road, and rather than quiver with fright at his stare of death, they made a cacophony of grunts. He shook his head, biting back the laughter threatening to break his austere façade. “The Blackwater deputies are going to have their work cut out for them. I might see if I can borrow a few extra men from Durum County. With all of us covering the murder cases, we don’t have time for this shit.”
“Sometimes when it’s tough with murders and the like, I look forward to normal times like these.” Rowley’s mouth turned down at the corners. “How do you handle the nightmares?”
Kane fell back on his cover story; only Jenna and Wolfe knew the truth about his past. “I don’t have nightmares. At first, yeah, it was difficult workin
g homicide and seeing up close what people are capable of doing. The kids’ murders got to me but when I shot my first killer, I sure as hell didn’t lose any sleep over it.”
He turned out of town and doused the lights as they hit Stanton Road ten minutes later. He turned into Rogers’ driveway and parked. “Full gear, same as before, we don’t want to contaminate a possible crime scene.” He slid from the car and opened the back door to pull out his bag. “Here, help yourself.”
Using Rogers’ keys, they entered the premises, and just in case Mrs. Rogers was at home and thought blue-suited aliens had invaded her house, he pushed the door open slowly. “Sheriff’s department. Are you there, Mrs. Rogers?”
At no response, he moved inside the family room, placed his bag on the floor, and glanced around. The room smelled like cleaning products and mildew. “The Chinese rug is missing. I remember seeing it when I came to interview him. It was bright red and blue, very distinctive.” He strolled across the room and flung open the drapes. “Turn on the lights, start this end of the room, and check every surface for blood spatter or hair. I’ll take a quick look through the house. If you see anything, mark it and photograph it. I’ll take samples when I return.”
His gut gave a small twist; something did not ring true with the home. When he had looked inside the last time, the home was as neat as a pin; now the kitchen had dirty plates stacked on the counter but the sink was empty. Why?
Most people would pile plates in the sink if they did not have a dishwasher, and he could not see any appliances other than a stove and refrigerator. From the state of the house, Mrs. Rogers had not returned to collect her belongings. Takeout cartons littered the trashcan overflowing onto the floor, and the smell of spoiled food was disgusting. He peered down the sink, surprised to find the smell of cleaning products missing. Returning to the family room, he collected a specimen jar from his bag of tricks and headed back to the kitchen. After removing the p-trap under the sink, he carefully tipped the contents into the specimen jar then bagged the pipe. He might find trace evidence if Rogers had washed blood from his hands in the sink, and by the color of the water in the trap, he had hit pay dirt.
Thirty-Nine
Kane took the samples back to the family room and, leaning against a dresser, labeled each one then stashed them in a main evidence bag. He turned to Deputy Rowley. “I’m labeling these specimens ‘Rogers House,’ then the room and numbering each one.”
“Sure thing.”
Kane watched as Rowley collected a couple of what looked like fingernails and bagged them. “When you spoke to Mrs. Rogers at her sister’s house, did she say when she would be returning home?”
“When hell freezes over, I believe.”
Kane glanced around. “No wonder the place is such a mess.”
Taking his time, he moved through the house, doing a preliminary search. Most of the rooms appeared undisturbed but the main bedroom had clothes on the floor, and on the unmade bed sat a laptop. He bagged the device then did a quick search of the area. Taking photographs of each section, he opened the cupboard doors and peered inside. The couple had a his-and-hers built-in wardrobe, and from the amount of clothes hanging on Mrs. Rogers’ side, she had not taken much with her. The racks appeared full and the neatly lined-up rows of shoes undisturbed. He had known frightened women to walk out with just the clothes on their back, but she had not mentioned her husband had abused her. Something isn’t right here.
He turned a full circle, examining the room in small sections, then noticed the purse tucked down beside the bed. His wife, Annie, had kept her purse next to the bed and her cellphone on the bedside table; maybe all women did the same—except Jenna, she kept a loaded Glock 22 beside her bed. He smiled at the conflicting memories and bent to retrieve the purse. Inside he found the normal array of female necessities but goosebumps prickled his flesh at the sight of a wallet and credit cards.
He reached for his cellphone and dialed Mrs. Rogers’ number. A ringtone blasted, sending his heart racing. He slid open the top drawer of the nightstand and the bright light from the screen illuminated the contents. The cellphone sat beside a carved wooden box containing an assortment of gold jewelry.
He disconnected and stared at the cellphone in disbelief. Sure, a woman might leave in a hurry during an argument but not without her purse, jewelry, and cellphone. Mrs. Rogers had been at her sister’s when Rowley had taken her statement. She had made a point of saying she would be staying with her sister, and his gut screamed that something did not gel. A pang of worry curled in his gut as he stared at the cellphone sitting in the drawer. He called Jenna and waited for her to pick up. “I’ve found Mrs. Rogers’ cellphone here at Rogers’ house and her purse but before we jump to conclusions we’ll need to check if she is still staying with her sister.”
“I’ll ask Maggie to give her a call. Perhaps she wanted to break all contact with her husband?”
Frowning at the open purse, he sighed. “I hope so but I don’t know many women who would leave home without their purse, credit cards, and cellphone. The entire situation isn’t sitting right with me. I’ll keep looking around and see what I can find.”
“Bag and tag and I’ll try to find her. You might want to check her calls and see who she contacted. If I find her in the meantime, I’ll get back to you.”
“Roger that.” He hung up, removed the cellphone from the evidence bag, and finding it unlocked, scrolled through the list of recent calls and texts.
He found the usual banter between two sisters and a few references to her husband being a pig, meeting other women, and spending too much time in town with his students. He recognized the number of her last call and, replacing the cellphone in the evidence bag, pulled out his own device and scrolled down his contacts. He blinked in confusion. The last person she called was Jake Rowley.
What the hell is going on here? He jogged down the stairs and came close to colliding with Rowley as he came through the family room door. “Did you receive a call from Mrs. Rogers after you’d interviewed her?”
