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Cyrus plucked a set of keys from his desk. Then he met her eyes, his dark gaze penetrating. Josie stared back unblinking until he looked away first. “It’s really uncanny,” he muttered. “This twin thing. You and Trinity Payne.”
Josie said, “We know that Vance Hadlee had a fascination with branding. We know that he had a collection of cattle brands and that he used one to mark his ex-wife. The same brand was burned into Sharon Eddy’s skin yesterday before her death.”
“In the same place on her body,” said Gretchen.
“How do you know all that?”
“We spoke with his ex-wife,” said Josie.
He gave her a tight smile. “How did you know to talk to her? That was a domestic case. The details—the photos, in particular—were never made public out of respect for her.”
Gretchen said, “She’s the Alcott County medical examiner. She performed Sharon Eddy’s autopsy.”
“Hmmph.” Cyrus scratched his nose and led them into the hallway. “You know, the brand that Vance used on her was taken into evidence. He never did get it back. As per our policy here, it was destroyed five years after his conviction. He pled guilty, so there were no appeals that required us to keep it longer than that.”
Josie said, “He collected brands, according to Dr. Feist. He could have gotten another.”
“I suppose.” Cyrus locked his office door. “Anya—Dr. Feist—is just up in Alcott County, huh? She didn’t go very far.”
“She shouldn’t have had to leave at all,” Josie pointed out.
Ignoring her, he said, “Vance has been clean ever since. His dad kept him on the straight and narrow.”
“You can’t know that for sure,” said Gretchen.
He stopped near one of the cruisers outside and looked at them. “Sure I can. This town isn’t that big. It’s pretty rural. The folks in Bly tend to stay here and travel in the same circles they’ve always been in and that includes Vance Hadlee. He hardly ever leaves the farm. I’d know if he was up to something. No one’s even seen him with another woman since his wife left.”
Josie glared at him. “Does Dermot Hadlee pay you to cover for him?”
Shock slackened Cyrus’s face, but he quickly covered it with a polite smile. “Dermot had his influence in certain matters around here. I won’t say that he didn’t. No one’s ever come forward with proof, but there have been rumors. As far as I’m concerned, my obligation is to uphold the law. I stand by that. Now, do you want me to take you to the farm or do you want to insult my integrity a while longer?”
Gretchen looked at Josie and then at Cyrus. “We can insult your integrity on the farm just as easily as we can standing right here.”
Josie saw the jolt go through him. She couldn’t be sure if he was holding back anger or laughter but for a long moment, he said nothing, his lips pursed tightly. Josie took out her phone and checked the time. “Our colleague is meeting us at the farm, so yes, let’s go there.”
Gretchen smiled and pointed at their vehicle. “That’s us. We’ll follow you over.”
Wordlessly, he got into his cruiser and fired up the engine, revving it hard. As they walked back to their own car, Josie made sure they didn’t cross directly in front of his vehicle.
ELEVEN
Josie stared down the barrel of a twelve-gauge shotgun. In spite of the cold February air, a bead of sweat formed at the nape of her neck and rolled down her spine. At the other end of the gun was an older man, likely in his seventies. Thinning white hair swathed his scalp. One side of his face drooped slightly, wrinkles folding upon wrinkles. Watery blue eyes looked from Josie to Gretchen to Cyrus. The shotgun wobbled slightly in his hands. From her periphery, she noticed one of his legs shaking. Josie unsnapped the holster at her waist and curled her hand around the grip of her pistol.
Under her breath, Gretchen said, “What the hell is this?”
They had driven through the farm entrance, marked with a big wrought iron sign, and down the long dirt driveway until a large stone farmhouse came into view. They’d made it out of their vehicles and to the bottom of the steps that led to the wraparound porch when the front door slammed open and the man emerged, brandishing his weapon.
Cyrus said, “Dermot, put that down. It’s Cy. Everything’s fine.”
Dermot stepped closer to the edge of the porch, swinging the shotgun from side to side. Another sweat droplet snaked down Josie’s spine. She heard the sound of Gretchen unsnapping her own holster.
Cyrus sighed. “Dermot, come on. It’s me, Sergeant Grey. These two are with me.”
Dermot’s lips smacked together as he struggled to speak with one side of his mouth paralyzed. All that came out was a grunt. Behind him, the front door swung open. A woman emerged, dressed in a flannel shirt, jeans, and muddy boots. Long brown hair flowed down her back. She strode over to Dermot and easily lifted the shotgun from his hands. Expertly, she pushed the action release lever aside and broke open the shotgun, extracting the two unfired shells. Gun cleared, she pocketed the shells. Holding the shotgun at her side, barrel toward the floor, she pointed to a nearby rocking chair. “Dad, go sit down.”
Dermot glared at her, anger flashing in his eyes.
She held her ground. “We talked about this, Dad. You can’t just point a shotgun at people. Go sit down while I find out what’s going on here.”
