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The boy’s skin turned a whiter shade of pale. His right hand touched his chest where the embroidered logo of Harry’s Hardware Store shone in bright yellow. “At work. I work almost all weekdays,” he added quickly with an uneasy, fearful smile. “I have to. I come home from school, change, and work evenings at the cash register.”
Words poured out of his mind in a rushed rhythm she knew well. Liars did that, trying to build evidence in support of their deception, offering unnecessary details while losing themselves deeper and deeper in a web of lies with every word they spoke.
A manipulated pushover or not, Renaldo was hiding something.
FORTY-THREE
U-TURN
“Why isn’t Renaldo in cuffs on the back seat right now?” Elliot asked. “I’m willing to bet the farm he knows something about Kendra. That kid is a ball of fraught nerves.”
Kay looked at him for a quick moment, second-guessing herself. She’d almost slapped the cuffs on him moments ago.
“If he’s in on any of the Gaskell stuff, he’ll lawyer up in a second and we’ll only be wasting time. Let’s visit the second name on the list.” Elliot started driving. “Meanwhile,” Kay continued, “I have to remind you we have absolutely nothing against Gaskell except he likes to ski, and he knows Bugarin, the chairlift operator. We can’t be one hundred percent sure he’s the one, although my gut is telling me he is.”
“Yeah, all right, I’ll cool my jets a little, but Kendra’s still gone, and that little twerp is hiding something.”
“The little twerp is taller than me,” Kay replied with a faint chuckle, wondering why she also thought of him as small and insignificant at his six-feet stature. Must’ve been his demeanor. “And he might just be anxious, nothing more. Some people live their entire lives feeling like frauds and fearing that one day they’ll be exposed, when in fact they’ve done nothing wrong. Renaldo behaves like a chronic anxiety sufferer, but, on the flip side, that doesn’t make him innocent either. It just makes it difficult to tell.”
“I’ll check his alibi,” he said, dialing dispatch. “Hey, it’s Elliot,” he said, the moment the call was connected.
“Hey, Detectives, I was just about to call. I have the sheriff for you.”
The line went dead for a moment, then after a click, Logan’s low voice filled the silence in the SUV. “Sharp?”
“And Young too,” Kay replied, entertained by how their last names sounded together. “What’s up, Sheriff?”
“A new missing person report was filed just now. I took the report myself. Would you like to venture a guess who’s gone missing now?”
Kay’s heart skipped a beat. If the unsub had taken another girl, that meant Kendra was gone. “Mackenzie Trenton or Alana Keaney,” she said, holding her breath, wishing it wasn’t true.
“Nope,” the sheriff replied. “Richard Gaskell is gone, out of all people. His mother filed it in person.”
“What?”
“I almost had that reaction myself. He was last seen Thursday night, at about eight p.m.”
“But that’s the time Kendra was—”
“Exactly,” the sheriff replied. “It confirms your suspicions, but it still isn’t enough for a warrant. Still circumstantial.” The line disconnected without warning, in typical Sheriff Logan style.
“Son of a bitch,” Kay muttered. “Gaskell isn’t missing… he’s holed up somewhere, torturing that sweet girl. We should interview the mother, see if they have other properties. The unsub would go where he knows the environment.”
“Roger that,” Elliot said, taking the next turn right.
She ran a quick search in the SUV’s system, and selected the Gaskell residence address. Navigation displayed the directions on a map without voice assistance. It wasn’t far. “Do you think she knows?”
“That her son might be rapist and a killer? I seriously doubt that. Not many mothers can face reality about their children. That’s my two cents’ worth, but I’m no shrink.”
She gave a wry laugh. “You’re doing just fine. I’ll call for Renaldo’s alibi. Logan’s news threw us off that trail.” She was about to touch the screen, when another call came through, this time on her cell. It was from Dr. Whitmore.
“Hey, Doc,” she greeted him. “What’s up?”
“The second DNA sample wasn’t in CODIS either, but there’s a familial match to a convicted felon now deceased. He was shivved in prison ten years ago. He’s your suspect’s father. His name was Pedro Cristobal. Does that ring a bell?”
“Son of a bitch,” Elliot said, flipping a U-turn that nearly tipped the SUV over. “He lied to us, played us like a friggin’ fiddle.”
“I take it that’s a yes,” Dr. Whitmore said, a smile clearly audible in his voice.
