I look at the wedding license again. “You said this is the name of the county clerk?”
“Yeah,” Dean says. “What about it?”
I walk over to my notes and scan over them again. I write the clerk's name down under Mason.
“This name shows up in three of these murders,” I explain. “County Clerk here, sister over here, key witness over here.”
“The same person?” Dean asks.
“I think so,” I say. “I've been branching out, researching each of these cases, and I think I'm starting to form a web.”
"Let's see who it catches," he mutters. His phone rings in his pocket, and he looks at it strangely before answering. He listens for a few seconds, and his eyes widen. “She'll be right there.”
“She? Is that me?” I ask when he hangs up the phone.
“That was Ethan,” Dean says.
“Ethan from the bank?” I ask.
“Guess who just came in to empty out her bank account. The grieving widow.”
His eyes flash slightly as he smiles at me.
“Are you serious? Eleanor Goldman is up at the bank right now?”
“You better hurry,” he says.
“Aren't you coming?”
“I can't. I have a meeting I have to go to,” he says.
“A meeting?” I ask. “With whom?”
“I'll tell you everything as soon as I can. But you need to hurry if you want to talk to her,” he says. “Ethan and Jennifer are trying to delay her as much as possible, but they don't really have a lot to go on.”
I don't have time to question him anymore. I run out of the police station and race to the bank. As I'm pulling into the parking lot, I see Millie come out. She glares at me and rolls her eyes as I walk across the parking lot, but I don't engage with her. Instead, I rush inside. Ethan and Jennifer are both standing at one teller window, chattering between themselves and pointing at a computer screen, pretending to be having difficulty.
A woman stands at the window, leaning forward as if she's trying to see the screen. A large-rimmed sunhat matches the dark blue of her sundress. She's clutching her purse in front of her with a neatly folded cardigan draped over her hands. She looks like a throwback. A customer who should have come here generations ago when this bank was new. She would be elegant if it weren't for the frustrated, angry posture.
Ethan glances up as I cross the lobby and suddenly throws his hands up in the air with a wide smile.
“Look at that,” he says. “I figured it out.”
I get to the window and step up behind the woman.
"Eleanor Goldman?" I start.
She turns around, and I try not to gasp. Her face is bruised and swollen, covered by a surgical mask, so only her eyes peer out at me. That explains her long stay in the hospital.
"Yes?"
"I'm Emma Griffin. I'm an FBI agent."
"I know who you are. You were helping that private investigator look for my husband." She looks down and takes a breath, touching gingerly under one eye. Her voice is hoarse, like she's been crying, and cracks slightly. "So, I suppose it's good news for you that he's not missing anymore. He's just dead."
"Yes. I wanted to express my condolences. I hear it happened while you were in the hospital."
She stares at me for a few seconds, then tugs the brim of her hat down further.
"It did. And, yes, I'm well aware that means if I hadn't been so vain and let him be in the hospital with me, he would still be alive. If you're finished, I'd like to leave."
"Mrs. Goldman, we're not done here," Ethan calls out from behind her.
"I'll come back to close the account," she says. "I'm too upset to be out right now."
"Close your account?" I frown, falling into step beside Eleanor as she walks out of the building. "Why are you closing your account?"
"If you must know, I'm moving out of Harlan. Without Mason, there's just no reason to stay. Excuse me."
She gets in her car and drives out of the parking lot. I'm walking toward my car when I see Millie coming toward me.
"Can I speak with you?" she asks.
Her face is tense, but her voice is soft, almost pleading.
"Sure," I say, nodding.
"It's about my brother."
The words have barely left her mouth when a shot rings out. I dive to the ground, but Millie isn't so lucky. She moans, her hand going to her chest.
"Millie," I gasp, diving forward to catch her as she collapses to the pavement. Her eyes lock on mine. "Keep looking at me. Don't close your eyes."
I hold her in my lap with one hand and call for help with the other.
"Stop him," she whispers. "Look at the alibis. Stop him."
Chapter Forty-Eight
I haven't slept. I haven't eaten. I'm going on coffee and pure adrenaline.
Look at the alibis. Stop him. Look at the alibis.
It's all I can think about.
Find them. Stop him.
I've moved the piece of paper from the table up onto the wall, so I have more space and can step back and look at the entire web. I go over it and over it. Every detail.
The connections are forming in my head, but they're not making any sense. I can't make the links. I know they're there. I can see where they are supposed to be. People in places they shouldn't be, at times when they shouldn't be there. Names showing up in too many cases. People with no motive, or too much motive.
And the alibis. Far too perfect.
But I don't understand.
“Emma, you can't keep going like this,” Sam says, coming into the room. “It’s been two days. You need some rest.”
“No,” I tell him. “Not yet. I have to figure this
