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RS: A lot.
Thatcher: Does he remember when it started happening?
RS: A while ago.
Thatcher: A few weeks, or like, a long time ago?
RS: A long time ago.
Thatcher: Do you remember how long specifically?
RS: No.
Thatcher: Okay. I’m going to pull out some pictures and I’d like you to point to all the people who touched that little boy in an uncomfortable way, okay?
RS: … That one.
Thatcher: That one?
RS: Yes.
Thatcher: Are you sure?
RS: Yes.
FOURTEEN
ROWAN
“What a beautiful day.”
I cock my brow at Kellan. “Only you would say that while we’re in the middle of a homicide investigation.”
“You have to compartmentalize, Rowan. Look around, take it in. Step out of death for a moment.”
After an overly dramatic roll of my eyes, I look up at the sky. It’s sapphire blue speckled with big, fluffy white clouds. To our right, the lake laps lazily against the shore, and to the left, the woods are ablaze with autumn. A light, seventy-three-degree breeze sweeps over my skin like silk. It is a pretty afternoon. A welcomed change from the hellish morning we’ve had.
Kellan and I spent hours tracking down Alyssa’s friends and family and, so far, have gotten zero useful information. Alyssa is estranged from basically everyone in her past. Once a wild child, it appears that Alyssa matured and turned over a new leaf, cleaned herself up, and found herself a millionaire, leaving her past far behind.
An hour ago, Kellan suggested we take a break from the mundane calls and drop in at the Kaing house to see if Hoffman had found anything useful. He was assigned to go back to the crime scene and conduct a second walk-through.
It was Kellan’s idea to park at the top of the neighborhood and walk up the shoreline, skirting the back of the houses, a route that the killer possibly took.
“You need a vacation,” Kellan says abruptly.
I snort. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. When was the last time you took one?”
“Never.”
“Never?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Says the twenty-something single bachelor.”
