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Turk barked seriously and Richmond smiled. “I had a German shepherd when I was a kid. Great dog. Used to go everywhere with me.”
“He’s a good boy,” Faith agreed with a smile.
Dr. Richmond stood and shook hers and Michael’s hand. “Good luck, Special Agents. If I can help you with anything else, please let me know.”
They had just reached their car when Faith’s phone rang. It was Missy.
“I don’t know if it’s in good taste to say I’m the bearer of good news,” the detective said, “but I’m the bearer of helpful news, at least.”
“You found something?”
“Three somethings,” Missy confirmed. “Or someones to be more accurate. All Prescotts and all buried at the Houston Hillside Memorial Cemetery. Looks like our killer might have some personal connection to the victims.”
“But who?” Faith asked. “Who would know both of them?”
“Hell if I know,” Missy replied. “I’ll start working on a list of people at each cemetery who might have night access and access to vehicles and gravedigging equipment. I’d let Humble PD take care of the Humble cemetery, but I think you’ve noticed that they’re not very helpful.”
“We’ve noticed,” Faith replied. “We’ll go talk to the families and see if we can learn anything on that end.”
“Good luck, sugar.”
Faith smiled again. “Thanks, Missy. You too.”
She hung up and Michael said, “Prescotts at the Houston place?”
“Yep. He’s burying people near their families.”
“What a peach,” Michael said. “What do you think about the medical angle? If he’s burying them next to their families, he must know them, right?”
“Not necessarily, but it’s likely,” Faith said. “The problem is that the victims worked in different places. Barbara Ames was a doctor at Houston Regional and Prescott was a paramedic with the fire department. They might have interacted with the same people, but that could be hundreds of people. Even thousands. We need to find a closer connection, something more meaningful.”
“Hmm,” Michael said. “Well, we’ll talk to the families. Maybe they’ll know something we don’t.”
“That’s the hope,” Faith agreed.
“Where to?” Michael asked.
Faith looked at the info the coroner provided. “Looks like Ames’s family is closer. They live in Kingwood. It’s a master-planned community a few miles northeast of here.”
“Kingwood it is,” Michael replied.
Kingwood was one of those unusual enclaves that sometimes existed in low-income areas. It wasn’t as nice as the wealthy neighborhood where Henrietta Eckersley lived, but the contrast between the new-build McMansions and the homes in Humble was striking. Faith wondered if Ames’s family had always had money or if she had supplemented their income with her earnings.
The answer to that question became clear when Janet Quigley—older sister to Barbara Ames—welcomed the two agents inside. The first thing she said after introductions was, “I just don’t know what we’re going to do. Barbara helped us out with our mortgage and the kids’ private school. I just can’t bear the thought of sending them to that awful public high school!”
Faith thought that it might not hurt the kids to see how the other half lived, but she kept that thought to herself. She wasn’t here to judge the Ames family. “Mrs. Quigley, I realize that this question is uncomfortable, but do you know of anyone at all who might want to hurt your sister?”
“Of course not!” Janet replied indignantly. “Barbara was a doctor! She saved lives!”
“So you’re not aware of anyone who disliked her?”
“No,” Janet insisted, shaking her head, “Janet was a saint. Everyone said so.”
“What about someone she disliked?” Michael asked. “Did she mention anyone that she had a low opinion of? Someone she didn’t get along with?”
“I mean,” Janet considered, “she would complain about the hospital administration sometimes. Just normal stuff, frustration over scheduling, things like that. Never serious complaints. Just workplace gripes.”
“Did her behavior change at all recently?” Faith asked. “Any increase in moodiness, aloofness? Maybe more or less complaining than usual?”
