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With Elliot behind the wheel, driving toward the chairlift terminal, Kay took to phone duty. Seemed that more and more of their work involved making or receiving calls. Things changed, in the way people thought and acted, in the landscape of their town, in the way criminal minds wove their plans of action.
It was an evolution.
The age of remote work had brought along a major migration from high-density, urban centers to distant suburbia, small towns like Mount Chester suddenly becoming attractive destinations for Silicon Valley people who wanted to get out of the daily grind. Affordable real estate, especially for undeveloped land, the proximity of the Mount Chester ski resort, and the direct connection to San Francisco via the interstate that passed a mile west of Mount Chester’s town hall, made her hometown a prime-time destination for San Franciscans seeking a better life.
That in itself had changed the way they policed the county. Within a year, the town’s population had doubled in size. There were rumors of land speculators starting to acquire local acreage as soon as it hit the market. Later this year, one of the biggest residential builders was set to break ground just north of the town for a multiunit housing development like Mount Chester had never seen. Every day she ran into people she’d never met before, strangers, not folks she remembered seeing at church growing up or going to school with.
But the culture of Mount Chester was still that of a small town. Everyone was watching everyone, not out of malice, but out of habit and lack of better things to do. Veteran residents, wary of newcomers, had tightened their ranks watchfully, yet none had stepped forward after Barb’s newscast call for information into the disappearance of Kendra Flannagan.
Dwayne Goodrow, the sandwich shop attendant, seemed to be new to the resort, yet had noticed a lot more about the unsubs than she’d hoped for. Being how famously unreliable witness testimonies were, Kay could only hope Dwayne’s military background had taught him how to notice relevant details and retain them for a while longer than the average Joe.
Five years ago, an investigation like that would’ve probably taken her on a different path. The hypothetical sandwich maker would’ve recognized the two men who had met with Jenna at Alpine Subs. He would’ve probably given names, not descriptions. Would’ve said something like, “It was so-and-so’s older kid and that tall, skinny friend of his, you know, the one who plays basketball at—”
Those days were gone.
Mount Chester, soon to become a former small town, was growing and evolving into a hybrid settlement, where permanent and part-time new residents shared a shapeshifting culture with the traditionalists who had been born there. The rural, bedroom community culture was morphing under the influence of distant suburbia with all its good, bad, and just plain different.
Kay’s first call was to Jimmy Bugarin, the chairlift operator, who’d offered his help last Wednesday. At almost seven, her call found him up and ready to meet them at the base of the mountain as soon as he could get there.
The second call was a formal request for a sketch artist. Deputy Hobbs took that one; he was going to wake the artist up and drive him over to the sandwich place. Then, another call had Kay speaking with Deputy Farrell; her assignment was to get yearbooks for the last four years of senior high graduates and show them to Dwayne Goodrow at the earliest. There was no news on the phone records yet, but she was going to follow up.
Elliot reached the chairlift terminal by the time she’d finished making the calls. It was a little after seven, under a bright sun, and the air was warming up quickly, raising mist from the meadows. Yet Kay hesitated before leaving the SUV.
There was something else she wanted to do. Shooting a quick glance at Elliot, she realized she would’ve been more comfortable by herself for the call she was about to make.
Quick to read her mind, as always, Elliot asked, “What’s up?”
She stared at the phone she was holding, weighing her options. Sooner or later, she’d have to make that call. Might as well be sooner.
“I want to speak to the cop who collared Gavin Sharp,” she said, feeling choked for some reason. “Maybe he remembers something, anything—”
“From more than thirty years ago?”
She lowered her eyes to the phone’s screen. Him putting things like that, she felt like an idiot. He was right. And still, she couldn’t let go of the phone, of the idea she could find out more about that man. About her father.
Elliot turned in his seat to face her. “Is that cop still alive?”
“Yes,” she replied. “He was a rookie when he busted Sharp. He’s still on the force, a captain.”
She avoided Elliot’s gaze. Since she’d stood in his bedroom, staring at the bed where he’d slept with someone else, she hadn’t looked straight at him for a single moment, afraid he’d see the anguish inside her heart. Elliot didn’t belong to her; she had no stake, no right to be jealous. Still, when she recalled the wrinkled sheets on the left side of the bed, she couldn’t breathe right, and her eyes blurred up.
“What’s your obsession with this man?” Elliot asked. His voice was gentle, understanding. He had no right to be like that… he was nothing but a coworker who belonged to another woman. “The sex was consensual, and Jenna was underage, all right, but barely. In other states, age of consent is seventeen or sixteen, even.”
“We’re not in Texas here,” she muttered. “In California, age of consent is eighteen, and—” She stopped talking, choking on her own anger. None of what she was feeling was rational.
“He’s not the unsub, right?” Elliot pressed on, keeping his voice calm and soothing.
“Yes, DNA cleared him. All we can nail him for is statutory rape, and only if he cops to it. Otherwise, we have nothing.”
“But you’re in a horn-tossing mood over this perp.”
She flashed an angry glare at him, quick to look away afterward. “He’s an online predator, Elliot. Someone who lurks out there and hunts for vulnerable young girls. This time, Jenna happened to be seventeen. What if she were younger? Do you think he would’ve backed away? What if the next one will be fourteen?” She raised her voice with every question, shouting at him in the enclosed space of the SUV.
Elliot didn’t fight back. “Make the call, then. You’ve got plenty of notches on your gun to call the shots here.”
“It’s not about the case, Elliot,” she admitted, feeling ashamed. “It’s about my father. There are a lot of similarities between this man and my father, not just the name.” She raised her gaze from the phone screen turned dark and saw him frowning.
“Such as?”
