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If that man was in town, he couldn’t be allowed to talk. Never. Her darkest secret had to stay buried. Desperation had driven her to unspeakable acts to survive, and the weight of it was a stone, cold and heavy, in her soul. But as she looked at Reese, her resolve solidified.
She’d protect her new life.
At any cost.
CHAPTERTWELVE
“Where’s Reese?” Jo asked as she walked into Sam’s office. Sam and Wyatt were standing behind the desk, staring at the corkboard.
“Lunch,” Sam said without turning around.
Jo’s gaze fell on the puddle of sunlight under the window. “And Lucy?”
Sam turned and looked at the place on the floor where Lucy would normally be lying. He frowned. “Not sure.”
Sam turned back to the corkboard and the crime scene photos, notes, and maps. The lone footprint was the centerpiece of his scrutiny—a singular trail of evidence that seemed out of place.
“Boots,” he muttered, more to himself than to Jo or Wyatt. “Heavy-duty. Not Wells’s style. He wouldn’t be caught dead in them. And he doesn’t have any new projects going for April to mess with, so he might have been telling the truth.”
Jo tilted her head, absorbing the implication. Sam was right. She couldn’t picture Wells wearing boots. Of course, there were hundreds of people in White Rock who did. But the strange tread could help them narrow down suspects. She pushed off from the doorframe, drawn into the puzzle.
Sam’s finger tapped the dirt-impressed sole printed on the photograph. “These footprints definitely indicate one person,” he stated firmly. The singular set of tracks emerging from the scene was isolated, indicative of a lone perpetrator—a detail that both narrowed and broadened their scope of inquiry.
Wyatt piped up, shuffling through his notes. “Checked the other set against April’s shoes. They’re a match.” His voice was steady, the facts falling into place like pieces of a familiar puzzle.
“Good work,” Sam said.
“And I got the pair of shoes Beryl Thorne was wearing that day.” Wyatt smirked. “She asked about you and seemed hurt that you didn’t come out yourself.”
Jo rolled her eyes.
Sam ignored them both. “And they checked out?”
“Yep, exact match.”
“Okay, so we can rule out these.” Sam took a red pen and x’d out several footprints. “All that is left is the shoe with the odd tread.”
“So we’re looking at the killer’s footsteps,” Jo concluded, the weight of the evidence settling in the room like dust after a scuffle. The theory turned to certainty with her words, sharpening the focus of their quest. “Looks big. Probably a man.”
Sam leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “We can determine shoe size, maybe even the make, if we’re lucky. If we match the treads to a suspect…” He let the possibility hang in the air, tantalizingly within reach but just as elusive.
“But we need a suspect first,” Jo added, the reality of their predicament grounding her speculation. “Can’t exactly start flipping people over and checking their shoes.”
Sam’s attention moved to the photo of the paint-stained bandana. “And this,” he said, his voice gaining an edge, “is another clue that might help, but we need to narrow things down to someone painting.”
“And let’s not forget that Jackson saw a young man with a baseball cap,” Wyatt added. “Yet another part of the puzzle. But we need to snap the pieces together.”
“Construction workers,” Jo pondered aloud, taking a step closer. “New projects, renovations around town.” She was already compiling a mental list of recent building permits issued in the area. “Could just be someone painting their room. Hard to find out who is doing that.”
“Might not be a bad idea to talk to Mel down at the paint store.”
Before Jo could answer, a ball of black fur streaked through the room. Major carried the toy Jamison had given him in his mouth. Lucy chased behind, her nails scrabbling out from under her as she tried to turn the corner too fast.
“Guess those two are back at it,” Wyatt said as they all peeked out into the squad room. Major was up on the filling cabinet, the toy tucked securely under her front paws as he stared down at Lucy. Lucy danced and whined and looked at Sam and Jo as if they were going to intercede for her.
“Sorry, buddy.” Sam patted Lucy on top of her head. “I’m not messing with Major, and if you’re smart, you won’t either.”
Wyatt laughed. “Truth. Speaking of messing with the king of the filing cabinet, do you know where the Deardorff file is, Jo?”
