“I found her. Cathy Webb was vice president of the senior class.”
LeVar folded his arms.
“That doesn’t sound like a loner to me. Cathy Webb was one of the popular girls.”
Thomas slid his chair beside Scout and asked, “Can you zoom in on her face?”
“I’ll try. But this is a low resolution photo. Don’t expect wonders.”
The blown-up version appeared blocky, too noisy to make out the girl’s blurry face. Still, Thomas didn’t recognize this girl as the woman he’d met outside Wolf Lake. People changed between their teens and twenties. But this girl didn’t resemble the adult Cathy Webb at all.
“Find me another photograph.”
Scout whipped through more pages, speed reading the names as her eyes processed the faces. Thomas was about to give up finding a different photograph of Cathy Webb when Scout stopped. Two dozen students in jogging shorts and leggings massed together in the woods, posing for the cross-country team photograph.
“There she is,” Scout said, moving aside so Thomas had a better view.
“You’re amazing, Scout.”
This photograph appeared sharper than the student government picture. The lens zoomed in tight, yielding an unobstructed profile of Cathy Webb’s face. The high cheekbones and bashful eyes were a perfect match for Dawn Samson. Even the hair was a similar length and style.
Except for one key difference.
Thomas’s lips moved in silence as he stared at the girl’s picture.
“You all right, Shep Dawg?”
He didn’t register LeVar’s question. The screen pulled him in, the puzzle slowly resolving itself in his mind as he recalled Dr. Stone’s words.
“Your Jane Doe has what we call a class 2 malocclusion.”
His mouth hung open as Thomas picked up the phone. Cathy Webb’s prominent overbite commanded his attention. She was their Jane Doe, the murdered girl in the state park.
So who was the woman living in Cathy Webb’s house? He recalled the unknown woman’s sharp, black eyes and cropped dark hair, the sensation he’d seen her before. He had.
Alec Samson had never left Wolf Lake.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Sunday, August 15th
7:55 p.m.
LeVar radioed Darren and Raven across the state park. Daylight made its last stand as trees encroached on the trail, boxing him in. Normally, he would have enjoyed the tranquility. But the fading light gave the forest a secretive, ominous quality that troubled him. Five minutes ago, the security cameras picked up a man in a hooded sweatshirt sneaking around the cabins. A screaming woman chased him off, and the prowler fled into the woods, a half-mile up the trail from LeVar’s position.
He crouched between two hemlock trees and concealed himself within the spreading darkness, worried about Scout and Naomi. Chelsey Byrd had volunteered to stand guard over Naomi and her daughter, a sign the private investigator was coming out of her shell. But if a cold-blooded killer like Kilo threatened the family, would Chelsey pull the trigger and put the gangster down?
Thomas Shepherd’s sudden departure an hour ago concerned LeVar. One moment, they’d studied Cathy Webb’s picture. The next, Thomas grabbed his laptop and bolted for the door with a warning to stay together and keep the doors locked until he returned. That proclamation flew out the window when a hiker reported a suspicious figure watching the cabins from the forest. The sheriff had found his killer. It was plain on his face. What had Thomas learned from Cathy Webb’s photo?
LeVar knew the Harmon Kings gang member who attacked him was the person stealing money from the cabins. It made sense. The state park provided cover and allowed the hood to watch the guest house from across the lake. While he was there, he pilfered money from unsecured cabins. Two birds, one stone. His radio squawked.
“Still there, LeVar?”
Darren’s voice.
“Right here, bro. What you got?”
“Got a report of an unknown man hiding along the lake trail about a quarter-mile from your position.”
“Aight. He’s not getting past me.”
“Don’t engage him,” Raven butted in. “He might be armed.”
LeVar glanced at the hunting knife sheathed to his hip. He was armed too.
“Don’t fret over me, Sis. I know everything about the Kings and how they roll. They won’t surprise me.”
Last week, while Raven purchased the security cameras in Syracuse, she also picked up three handheld radios. Perfect for communicating in areas of spotty cell coverage.
“We’re moving in your direction,” Darren said. “Flush him toward me and I’ll take him down.”
“Bet.”
Except LeVar didn’t intend to flush anyone out. The Kings set him up and tried to murder him in Harmon. They broke into his house, invaded his territory, and threatened his friends and family. The nightmare wouldn’t end until he finished the fight. That meant cutting off the snake’s head by taking out Rev.
An owl hooted from the hemlock. While he hid amid the foliage, the sun fell below the ridge line. Shadows thickened through the forest, obscuring his vision. LeVar blinked and rubbed his eyes, forcing his vision to adjust. He’d only get one shot at catching his attacker. Once the hood realized they were onto him, he’d stop using the state park and attack LeVar from a new angle.
He rose out of his crouch just as a branch rustled. Pulling back, he placed his body against the tree and peered around the side. The empty trail wound into the darkness. Blue dusk covered the sky.
“LeVar?”
He flinched at Raven’s voice and flicked the radio off. It was just him and the gang member now. Two warriors who once fought together on the violent streets of Harmon. Only one of them would walk out of the forest tonight.
His eyes traveled to where he’d heard the noise. Saw only forest and thickening gloom. Something shifted at the edge of his vision. How had he not seen him before? The gangster hid behind the undergrowth a hundred feet from LeVar. He must have heard the radio, for the hood hunkered down, head swiveling as he took in the forest.
LeVar edged out from behind the hemlock and stepped toward a pine, his footsteps silent on a bed of fallen needles.
