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Gretchen stood up. “Wait. You found a yellow sweatshirt with what might be Kayleigh’s blood on it under the seat of Asher Jackson Jenks’s car?”
“It might not be Kayleigh’s blood,” said Noah. “It’s not enough to charge that kid. He might have the same blood type for all we know. We need the DNA to confirm that.”
“Even so, someone go rattle Asher Jenks’s cage,” said the Chief. “Ask him about this.”
The thought that had skittered across Josie’s mind two nights before, when she almost fell asleep mulling over the case, danced through her brain again, but she couldn’t hold it. It was like the flash of a mirror in the sun, a signal from far off. One second there, the next, gone. “Blue followed Kayleigh’s scent to Henry Thomas’s cabin,” she said. “And Asher was in a relationship with her. He wouldn’t need to trap her in the woods. He had regular access to her. What about the GPS reports from Asher’s vehicle? Was he anywhere near the Patchett home or Henry Thomas’s cabin on the day that Kayleigh was abducted?”
“No,” Hummel said. “But we only looked at that one day. It doesn’t mean he was never there.”
Noah said, “He admitted to being up there at some point and having a run-in with Thomas.”
“He was lying,” Josie said.
Everyone looked at her. The Chief said, “About what, exactly?”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I don’t know. I just know he was lying when he talked about Thomas. Anyway, go on, Hummel. We were talking about the yellow sweatshirt.”
“Look,” Hummel said. “I never said this was the find of the century, just that we did find it. When the DNA comes back, we’ll know more.”
“When will that be?” Noah grumbled. “Next year? We’re still waiting on all the other stuff which was supposed to be expedited.”
“I’ll call the lab again,” said the Chief. “In the meantime, Palmer, you go home. Fraley, you talk to this Asher kid about the sweatshirt. Quinn, you talk to the Patchetts about the handprint.”
FORTY-FIVE
In a single day, I’ve had both a setback and a major achievement. I try to keep my focus solely on the good news: the press has finally discovered my other kills and connected them to my work here in Denton. They’ve branded me a serial killer. With just a few headlines and a handful of minute-long news spots, my myth has expanded and become a tale that will be told for years to come. It may even rival the story behind Murder Mountain. They’ll never catch me. They’ll never know the face behind the Woodsman, not really. The not knowing will make their obsession stronger.
It will make me stronger.
FORTY-SIX
Josie parked outside the city park and walked to the sports fields, dodging families, joggers, cyclists, and dog walkers. It had taken a few phone calls to learn that the Patchetts were there because Savannah had soccer practice. Josie found them quickly, as they were positioned quite some distance from the crowd of other parents. Dave Patchett stood, arms crossed over his chest, watching as Savannah ran through practice drills. Occasionally, he clapped and yelled encouragement to her, drawing appalled stares from the other parents. Josie wasn’t sure if they were reacting to him that way because of his personality or because they thought it was odd that the Patchetts were there at all, given that Kayleigh had now been missing a week. Then again, even though one of their children was missing, they were still responsible for the other. Perhaps they just wanted Savannah to have some normalcy after the trauma she’d experienced. She was clearly very attached to Kayleigh. Maybe bringing her to soccer practice was a good distraction.
Shelly Patchett sat in a folding chair nearby, alone, her face hidden by sunglasses and a bucket hat. She waved as she saw Josie approaching. When she stood up to greet her, Josie noticed her legs were trembling. Dave jogged over, his face hopeful.
“I’m sorry,” Josie said. “We don’t have any news about Kayleigh.”
Dave’s face went tomato red in a matter of seconds. He managed to keep his voice low so as not to draw attention, but it dripped with menace. “What the fuck are you people doing? How dare you come here in the middle of my kid’s soccer practice to tell me you’ve got nothing?”
“Dave,” Shelly said. “Please. Enough.”
He pointed an index finger at Josie’s face. “I told you, I’m suing the shit out of you. Not just your department. You, personally.”
Ignoring him, Josie said, “Our evidence response team processed your sedan, and we found a handprint on the hood that belongs to Henry Thomas.”
“Who?” said Dave, his tone now more curious than angry.
Shelly took her sunglasses off and looked at him in disbelief. “Who? The man they think took Kayleigh!”
“Mr. and Mrs. Patchett, all we really know for sure is that our search dog followed Kayleigh’s scent to Thomas’s cabin. You both said you did not know him, and our investigation has confirmed that. We also found no connection between him and Kayleigh except now this handprint on the hood of your car.”
“He was stalking her, then, right?” said Shelly.
“I’ll fucking kill him,” Dave snarled.
“Mr. Patchett, I’d advise against approaching him at all. In addition, I’d caution you that as a sworn officer of the law, I’m required to take all death threats seriously.”
Shelly slapped his upper arm. “Shut up, Dave! Just shut up!”
