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“He told me if you wouldn’t come, I should pass on a piece of information.” A crinkling noise, like a sheet of paper being unfolded, came over the line. “He said to mention the date July 22.”
Marc froze.
The day his parents died.
Then she recited their address.
His lungs locked.
What did this man know about the tragic events of that day?
Did Joseph Butler hold the key to solving the mystery contained in the file that had been on his computer desktop all these years?
If so, had the approach of death convinced him to share whatever he knew about the crime that had been committed that night?
“Agent Davis?”
At the woman’s prompt, he fumbled for his notebook again. “Yes, I’m here.”
“Does that information mean anything to you?”
“Yes.” He pulled out his pen, a trip to Kansas City suddenly becoming a distinct possibility. But not until he ran background. Fast. Before the man who could perhaps bring closure to the unsolved case took his last breath. “I need more background.”
She provided everything he asked for over the next few minutes as he fired questions and jotted furiously. Family history, names, addresses, social security numbers, birth dates. Anything that would help him try to nail down what this man might know and whether his information merited a very long drive.
As the clock inched toward the beginning of the press conference and he finished scribbling his notes, Laura spoke again. “Are there any other questions I can answer to help convince you to come?”
“No. Give me a few hours. I’m going into a meeting as we speak, and I’ll have to do a bit of research.”
“To make sure I’m not a nutcase.”
He hesitated. “I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”
“You wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you did. If I got a calllike this, I’d be as skeptical as you are. But I assure you this is on the level. When you run us through your background check, you’ll find everyone in the family is legit. I don’t know what has Dad agitated, but I do know he’s a fine man and a responsible citizen. If he says he has important information to share with you, he does.”
“I don’t doubt your sincerity. Expect a call from me later today.”
“I’ll be here with Dad. None of us are venturing too far away at this stage. Thank you for your willingness to consider my request.”
As soon as the call ended, Marc stowed his phone, notebook, and pen and pushed through the door into the office building.
He’d go to the press conference. Represent the ATF, as he’d been assigned to do. Formulate responses to questions, should any arise about his agency’s role in the violent crime initiative.
But his mind wouldn’t be on the meeting that had no doubt already begun.
It would be on the computer desktop folder that had stared at him every day for twelve long years—and on the possibility that maybe, at long last, the mystery that had eaten at his soul since his parents died was about to be solved.
IT WAS OVER.
The long, terrible ordeal had ended.
Alison stepped out of her heels, unbuttoned the jacket of her sedate dark suit, and locked the door of her bedroom.
In a few minutes, after they exchanged their funeral attire for more casual clothes, she and Sophie could decide how they wanted to spend the remainder of this day.
But first, one important matter to attend to.
She crossed to the closet. Pulled out the Nike shoebox. Flipped up the lid and surveyed the contents.
