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He has a big safe in his bedroom that he moves with us, too. I don’t know what’s inside that either, but I know I’ll be in bad trouble if I get into it.
I keep this notebook hidden from him. But I’ve kept a running list in my mind of where we’ve been. And the names we’ve used. When I was little, Nana called him Frank. Then it was Daryl and Marvin and Hugh and… there were more, so many I can’t keep track of them.
That’s another thing. We change our names every time we pack up. He used to call it our adventures. But adventures are supposed to be fun.
Only the way he acts is scary.
Ellie rubbed a bead of sweat from her forehead, her heart aching for the twelve-year-old. Her life in boxes, like an orphan being shuffled here and there.
Lorna Bea had admitted they’d changed names. And her father had once been called Frank.
Which suggested Jones was actually Wahlburg as they suspected.
She skimmed the list of places they’d moved along with the dates. In the morning, she’d share it with Derrick and see if crimes had been committed in those cities around the time Wahlburg and Lorna Bea had lived there.
If they had, he could be a killer.
ONE HUNDRED TWELVE
CROOKED CREEK POLICE DEPARTMENT
DAY 5
Gritty-eyed from lack of sleep the next morning, Ellie carried her third cup of coffee with her to the conference room to meet the rest of the team—Derrick, Cord, Deputies Eastwood and Landrum, Sheriff Waters and her captain. All night she’d tossed and turned, wondering what might be happening to Lorna Bea. Who had her and what were they doing to her?
She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of that child being hurt.
Judging from the team’s grim expressions as they filed in the conference room, the case was wearing on all of them. Derrick looked almost as tired as she felt.
She began by filling them in on what they’d found at the Jones’ house. “Grandmother murdered in cold blood. Jones, aka Wahlburg, MIA. Daughter, Lorna Bea, taken.” She added the information to the whiteboard. “We have several persons of interest who may be connected to one another. Professor Roland Pockley, our victim Reuben Waycross and Frank Wahlburg who we’ve been looking for. We now believe the father of our kidnapped child who is currently using the name Dwight Jones is Frank Wahlburg.”
Derrick gestured toward a file box on the table. “We also found several fake IDs in his safe. Frank Wahlburg has been on the run and changing identities ever since the night Amy Dean and Reuben Waycross died.”
A collective unease splintered the air.
Ellie continued, “He told Lorna Bea that bad men were out there. Maybe he thought his cohorts might come after her for some reason. But why?”
“He had a kid. Maybe they were afraid he’d get soft and talk,” Derrick offered.
“That’s possible,” Ellie agreed.
“Any word on Radcliff?”
“After reviewing camera footage, the prison warden believes a female guard named Geraldine Woodall helped him,” Captain Hale replied.
“Do we know where she is?” Ellie asked.
“No, she didn’t call or come in to work, and she’s not at her mobile home.” Captain Hale popped a mint into his mouth. “Locals in Trion looked into her. It appears she’d packed a suitcase and had depleted her bank account the day before. She and Radcliff could be anywhere by now.”
Ellie shook her head. “My gut tells me he’s somewhere around Widow Lake.”
“That would be crazy,” Bryce muttered.
“Maybe not,” Derrick interjected. “He attended Widow Peak College and also took Dr. Dansen’s criminology class but was not in the same class with the others. When he was arrested in early 2013 and his trial was all over the news, the professor led discussions about his case with her students. It’s possible these guys met Radcliff on campus somewhere and knew what Radcliff was up to before he was arrested.”
“And he shared the details about the hair and bloody lips,” Ellie said.
It took a minute for everyone to digest that. “Perhaps the group is having their own reunion this week.”
