Charli shrugged, clearly not persuaded, and silence settled in as they crawled down the wide street, passing rows of yellow and white trailers squatting behind tidy patches of artificial turf or rock gardens. Little bits of personality were on display out front, ranging from American flags, colorful flowerpots full of green plants or blooms, birdbaths, and little concrete statues, pinwheels, and in one case, a parade of pink metal flamingos.
The car hugged the right turn, making room for a bald man pushing a walker with two tennis balls on the front and a gray-haired woman leading a small white dog on a pink leash. The man lifted a trembling hand to wave before continuing down the street.
They rolled to a stop in front of a trailer that wasn’t quite as festive as its neighbors. An oversized gray satellite dish shadowed a dismal square of brown rocks in lieu of grass or a flower bed and two sun-bleached plastic chairs.
Charli shifted into park, pushed on the emergency brake even though the street was flat as a pancake, and tucked the keys into her pocket before opening the driver’s side door. “This is it.”
Ellie scrambled out of the passenger seat and stepped over to the narrow path that led to the tiny porch area just as Shane pulled the Explorer up behind them. As she waited for Charli’s short legs to round the front of the car and join her, the trailer door swung open, and a man appeared.
Hank Crawford was skinny, dressed in a gray sweatshirt and navy sweatpants faded in the knees, with hair that thinned to a prominent bald spot on top and a scraggly, ill-kempt beard. The feature that jumped out at Ellie, though, was the man’s eyes. The dark shadows beneath them dominated his entire face like round, twin bruises.
He popped a black cigarette between his teeth and waved them over. “Come on in. We’ll be more comfortable inside.”
Until Hank Crawford opened his mouth and that rich, melodic baritone emerged, Ellie hadn’t realized she’d been expecting a raspy, defeated voice to match his worn-out appearance. Though, duh, the discrepancy made perfect sense. He was a podcaster. Of course he gave good voice.
Crawford’s gaze followed Ellie as she trailed behind Charli up the walkway, and something in those dark eyes unsettled her, giving her the feeling that Crawford saw far too much.
Charli introduced herself first. When Ellie’s turn came, Crawford brushed the introduction off. “I know who you are. You’ve been on my radar ever since your name was tied to Kingsley in the papers.”
No, that wasn’t creepy at all, finding out a stranger had been tracking your life via the media for years. Ellie’s polite smile froze, and the moment she turned away, her mouth reshaped itself into a grimace.
Inside, the trailer held a distinct odor, like a combination of cigarette smoke and old Chinese takeout. A scan of the interior confirmed Ellie’s suspicions. White cartons and pizza boxes mixed with empty plates and glasses in the compact kitchen area. An ashtray that was overdue for dumping sat on top of the tiny, four-seat dining table. More half-empty cups were scattered along the surface of an ancient coffee table, along with several books. Half the couch was covered in discarded sweatshirts and a pair of striped socks.
“This way.” Crawford walked past the living area and into a narrow hallway.
Charli glanced around at the mess before following, Ellie on her heels. They passed a small bedroom that looked like a clothes bomb had been detonated inside before ending up in a larger space at the end of the hall.
Ellie crossed the threshold and stopped short. Crawford had transformed the master bedroom into an office space, but more surprising than that was the area’s tidiness. Two walls were covered from almost ceiling to floor in neatly arranged rows of photographs, newspaper and article clippings, and handwritten notes on cards or post-its. All that was lacking were red lines and scribbled arrows leading to circled photos with question marks beside them, and the wall could double as the secret lair of a conspiracy theorist searching for the Zodiac killer.
Or an obsessive detective hunting down a sadistic psychiatrist.
A large L-shaped desk took up much of the third and fourth walls. From the array of sound equipment, professional microphones, and headsets organized on top, the area served as Crawford’s miniature recording studio for his podcast.
Puffing out a cloud of smoke, Crawford sank onto the rolling chair behind the desk, kicking his feet out in front of him while gesturing at two plastic chairs that matched the ones on the patio. “Go ahead and sit if you’d like. I brought those inside for you.”
“Thank you.” Charli brushed a speck from the chair before perching on the edge while Ellie settled into the other one without checking.
“So, what brings two detectives out to my humble studio?”
Charli shrugged. “It’s Detective Kline’s case. I’m just along for the ride.”
Crawford huffed as if to say yeah right before turning his shrewd gaze on Ellie. “And how can I help you?”
Ellie frowned at the tense vibes. Maybe letting Charli tag along had been a mistake, but it was too late to worry about that now. “I’m guessing it will come as no surprise to you that I’m investigating Kingsley’s crimes—”
“When you say crimes, I’m assuming you’re talking about the ones involving the three boys from the Academy?”
Ellie’s frown deepened. “What three boys?”
Crawford made an impatient noise. “The boys who died. Isn’t that why you tracked me down?”
Confused, Ellie shook her head. “I’m sorry, I think our wires are getting crossed somehow. Which academy are you talking about? The one Kingsley attended in Europe? If so, I’m afraid I don’t know anything about crimes committed against three boys there.”
Crawford finished puffing on his cigarette, exhaled smoke, and laughed. “Come on, I thought you were smarter than
