“Yes.” On this point, McDaniel tone was crisp and sure. “He’s the youngest man we know about who has a long history of being around Frida. He could have met her that long ago when he was visiting his grandparents. And he’s been on a school schedule for the entire six years. If we’re going to take your serial killer theory seriously, we have to keep Richard on the suspect list.”
Faye was dubious. “Most serial killers start in their twenties, so fifteen would be unusual. In their teens, they’re usually still dismembering stray cats, but I guess the data are all over the map.”
“What about Mayfield and Linton? Are they off your suspect list because they’re not in school? They’re not off mine.”
She shook her head. “I might have let Linton off the hook if somebody told me he hadn’t been in town that long, but he has. Sylvia said so. The six-year window may actually point to him, since that’s around the time he left the Navy and moved here. As for the school schedule pattern, we don’t know enough about Mayfield’s and Linton’s employment histories. Maybe one of them was unemployed at the times when the killer would have had to drive for hours to do one of the killings. Or maybe one of them works an odd shift schedule that matches the killer’s pattern. Just because the database has uncovered data points that look like the killer is constrained by the school year doesn’t mean it’s the right answer. Either of them could even have been working at an after-school program during those years.”
“They’re in their late twenties, so they’re certainly old enough.”
“Jeremiah and Armand are also pushing thirty,” she agreed. “They’re all easily old enough to have committed a six-year string of killings.”
“Richard and Jeremiah both work for you. It doesn’t bother you to cast blame on your employees?”
“I met them on Friday. I like them, but I know nothing about them.”
Joe thanked the convenience store cashier, who had reassured him that he was on the right path.
“People been asking for directions all day, looking for the funeral of the girl that got killed. GPS signals are iffy out here. Can’t nobody believe that people drive all the way out here to go to church, but they do. It’s a real pretty place. I think that’s why they come. Sad thing about that poor girl.”
Joe had agreed with him and bought a pack of gum to be polite, then he’d headed back out to his car. The cashier had said he was nearly there.
When his phone rang, he was pulling out of the parking lot, past the pumps and the empty metal shell where the pay phone used to be. He answered and his daughter’s voice said, “Dad?”
Her tone of voice was off, and it made him want to push the accelerator to the floor. Everything about today said that he needed to get to his wife. Or maybe back to his daughter. Or maybe even to his son in Florida. Joe was a sheepdog at heart. He didn’t like it when his herd was strung all over creation.
“Dad, turn on the radio. Ninety-eight point nine.”
“What’s wrong? Is it about your mother?”
“Maybe. They’re saying that there’s a little girl missing. She’s the daughter of a woman who was murdered last week. Dad, that has to be the woman Mom dug up. Her name was Frida, right?”
Joe grunted yes.
“They say that the little girl went missing in the woods behind the church where her mother was being buried. That’s where Mom is, right? And it’s where you’re going?”
He gave another affirmative grunt.
“They’re saying that witnesses watched the little girl run away and then, poof. She was gone. Dad, that doesn’t make any sense. Something’s wrong. Somebody grabbed that child. And Mom’s out there in the middle of it.”
“I’m almost there.”
“Great. Just charming. Then both my parents will be in the middle of it. I should have stayed in foster care. It was way more stable than this.”
Joe gunned the engine and scratched out of the parking lot. “We’re stable enough. And your mother’s not going to be in the middle of this for long. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
McDaniel wasn’t often impressed, but Faye Longchamp-Mantooth had impressed him. He had followed her line of reasoning as she described her work with Phyllis Windom, albeit just barely. If the archaeologist and the retired big data guru had accomplished the things Faye claimed they had over the course of an afternoon, some police department should put them on the payroll. Or maybe even the FBI should hire them.
Speaking of the FBI, he was going to have to call them, now that Faye had given him a reasonable basis to suspect that Frida’s killer was working across state boundaries. That should be a fun conversation.
So what physical evidence do you have that these murders are all related, Detective?
And his answer could only be, None? I guess? Unless you count a few flowers so dried-up and dead that they look pretty much like dirt. But I think you should send somebody down here to check it out anyway.
You’ve got witnesses? A solid suspect?
Nope. And nope.
Then what in the hell have you been doing for the last few days? I guess we’ll send somebody down there to clean up your mess.
Charming. Just charming.
Laneer was perched on the bumper of his car, using his handkerchief to clean the mud off Kali’s face when Walt approached.
“Mr. Walker. Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but Linton said that the detective wants to talk to Kali about what she saw on the day when her mama got killed. I told him I’d come over here and get her because…you know…” All three of them knew that the thing he didn’t
