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The next image was of a man with dark brown hair and brown eyes. There was something familiar about him, but Rachel couldn’t put a finger on it.
Thorn read his information aloud. “Thirty-eight-year-old Rodney Alan Smoot, sentenced to forty years for abduction, battery and stalking. Out on parole after fifteen years. His current address is at a small rental house in Colorado Springs.”
“We can stop by and talk with his parole officer after we leave Manitou Springs,” Griff said.
Jake laid the last sheet of paper in front of them. A man with forgettable features and mouse-brown hair stared out at them. “Forty-eight-year-old Vernon Owen, sentenced to twenty-five years for battery and stalking his ex-girlfriend. Out on parole for good behavior. I can take him.”
“That always seems a stretch,” Rachel commented. “Men whose bad behavior lands them in jail, then turn around and get out on good behavior. To me, it’s an oxymoron.”
“People think they can be reformed,” Jake reasoned.
Rachel snorted. “Most violent offenders are also repeat offenders. Letting them out usually means someone else is going to get hurt.”
Griff touched a hand to the small of Rachel’s back. “We need to get moving to talk with these people and come back early enough to help prepare for tonight’s activities.”
He held out his hand to Rachel. She rested her smaller hand across his.
Rachel held up a hand. “We’ll be in Manitou Springs and then Colorado Springs to talk with parole officers and the suspects themselves if they’re home. And we’ll get back here in time to help out in the lodge and the Watering Hole.” She smiled at Griff’s frown. “Ready?”
Griff squeezed her hand gently and led her out the lodge’s front door. They settled into the truck and left Lost Valley Ranch.
Rachel stared at the road ahead, her thoughts going a million miles an hour. “I have the feeling that one of these guys is our killer.”
“Is that your gut speaking or wishful thinking?”
Rachel shot him a crooked smile. “Both?”
Griff nodded. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
The ride into Manitou Springs was quick as it was situated between Fool’s Gold and Colorado Springs on the downward side of Ute Pass.
“Should we contact Trent’s parole officer first?” Griff asked.
Rachel shook her head. “He lives with his parents. They might know where he was the day my sister died, and the day Christy was murdered.”
Twenty minutes after they’d left Lost Valley Ranch, they pulled up to a nice little cottage with bold teal exterior paint and a bright yellow door.
Griff and Rachel approached the door and rang the doorbell.
“Hang on, I’m coming,” a female voice called out from inside.
A moment later, a woman with a shock of white hair answered the door, a paintbrush in hand.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her gaze going from Griff to Rachel.
“Are you Mrs. Morris?” Jake asked.
“Yes,” the woman responded.
“Ma’am, we would like to ask you a few questions about your son, Trent.”
She immediately turned away, her friendly smile gone. “If you’re here to accuse him of a crime he didn’t commit, please leave.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “My boy has been through a lot. No man should be treated as he was.”
“I’m sorry for your son,” Rachel said. “I was wondering if you might know some of your son’s whereabouts at different periods of time.”
“Why should I do this?” the woman asked, her chin lifting in challenge.
Rachel smiled softly. “We’re trying to recreate a crime scene and rule out people who could not have been there because they were somewhere else.
