“Barstow’s wife let you in?” The judge’s shaggy right eyebrow rose in suspicion.
“Yes, Judge,” I said. “I wasn’t employed by the sheriff’s department at the time, and had no authority in Smith County. I went to the Barstow home as a private citizen. I asked to use a phone. Jessica Barstow invited me inside.”
“She did, huh?” His skepticism didn’t appear in the least abated. “This doesn’t sound like a lot of evidence. I’m not sure it’s enough probable cause.”
“We’re not asking for an arrest warrant, Judge,” Max countered. “This search warrant is limited. We want to confiscate the matching flashlight so it can be processed for fingerprints and DNA, and to see if there’s any evidence Delilah Jefferies has been on the property. We’ll be looking for clothes that match the description of what she wore when she was taken.”
The judge seemed to consider that. I knew walking in his office door that a warrant wasn’t a sure thing. We should have had more evidence, but we didn’t.
“You found a body today I heard, in Alber?” the judge asked.
“Yes,” Max said. “A young woman, somewhere from teenager to early twenties, Doc Wiley says.”
“And we also have two other girls besides Delilah, both local teens, feared missing. We put reports on NCIC today,” I added. “Judge, there are indications we may have a serial predator here. These cases have similarities, girls suddenly disappearing. The three we have IDs for all lived in the trailer park in houses that backed up to the cornfield.”
Judge Crockett shook his head. “Damn strange.”
The tension in the room eased when the judge picked up a pen. He handed the signed warrant to Max. “The Barstows are a powerful family. This thing could blow up on all of us,” he said. “I sure hope you two know what you’re doing.”
Thirty-Six
At seven forty-two that evening, three sheriff’s department squads and the county forensic unit descended on Evan Barstow’s home. Max and I led the charge in his county car. All the way there, I wondered if there was any chance we’d find Delilah somewhere on the property. I didn’t think so, but I hoped. When we arrived, we saw Evan’s Hitchins PD car parked out front. I watched warily as he sauntered out onto the front porch holding an AR15.
“Shit. He’s armed. How do you want to handle this?” Max asked.
“He’s not a fool. He’ll put it down,” I said. “We’ll take it slow.”
We pulled over about where I’d stopped the Pathfinder earlier that day, and the others queued up behind us. Max radioed all of them to stay in their cars. He and I got out simultaneously and Max held up both of his hands, empty, while I hung back behind the car door, my hand hovering at my side over my gun. “Hey, Evan, put that thing down, will you?” Max said. He gave a slight chuckle, like it was all pretty silly. “You know it’s not a good idea to have a weapon in your hands when the cops come calling.”
After a slight hesitation, Evan dropped the rifle to his side. “What’s going on?”
I strode over to him and handed him the search warrant. The front door opened, and all three of his wives clustered behind it. Jessica had her hands up to her mouth, appearing shocked when she apparently recognized me. Meanwhile, a dozen or more kids piled up inside the windows, jostling past each other to get a look.
“You were in my house?” Evan said, after he read the affidavit. “Jessica let you in?”
“I asked to use a phone. She was kind enough to invite me in,” I said. “As you read in the warrant, Delilah Jefferies was officially declared missing this afternoon. In the report, it’s noted that when she was taken the abductor also took a large, neon-orange flashlight. I believe it is identical to the one I saw sitting out in the open, inside your house.”
“That’s not enough to get a goddamn warrant,” Evan said.
“The judge thought so,” I answered. “Especially with your history.”
“My history?” he jeered. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Look at the paperwork at the back. It’s the report you buried at Alber PD on the teenage girl you stalked.”
At that point, it seemed that Evan remembered we had an audience, his family. “Get out in the backyard,” he shouted at his wives. “Take the kids.”
Inside the house, the women and children scurried about. Once they were gone, Evan turned to Max and me. “There’s nothing in my house to find.”
“There’s at least one thing,” I said. He gave me a strange look. “That flashlight. I bet it has Delilah’s fingerprints and DNA on it.”
“I don’t know anything about an orange flashlight,” he said. “Someone must have left it here. This is all some kind of mistake.”
“You should really tell us what we need to know, Evan,” I suggested. “It would be good to get in front of this before it goes sour on you. Taking Delilah is one thing. Murdering her is another.”
“I don’t have Delilah!” he seethed. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Not for someone like you, someone who has a thing for young girls,” I said. We glared at each other, and his hand tightened on the AR15.
“Damn you,” he seethed, and I had no doubt he itched to hold up that rifle, take aim at me and pull the trigger. “Go ahead and search the house. I don’t have your damn sister. I told you that, and when this all shakes out, I’m going to bury both of you in lawsuits.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Max said. “But right now, put that firearm away before something you regret happens. Then join your family in the backyard. You know the drill. For the time being, make yourself scarce. The forensic unit needs to get started.”
“I’ll need to lock this
