Megan took out a photo sheet Holden had given her with Rosemont’s photo and five other men. “Do you recognize any of these men?”

Both Jennifer and Ned tapped the same photo: Rosemont’s.

“Can you describe the woman in more detail?” Megan asked.

“Pretty,” Jennifer said. “And she was weepy. Probably because her husband was causing a scene.”

“Even though he wasn’t saying anything?” Officer Dodge interjected.

“He was just standing there looking … dazed.”

“And the wife?”

“Taller than me, but not by much. Dyed blond hair, as I said. Blue eyes. Her hair was just below her shoulders, and her smile was nice-straight white teeth. She was wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt, a little big on her.”

Ned added, “She had small diamond earrings on. Like the ones I gave you for our anniversary, Jen.”

“But no ring,” Jennifer said, turning her own wedding band around on her finger. “I know some women don’t wear wedding rings, but it’s rare. She could have taken it off when she dyed her hair, I suppose …”

Megan got them back on track. “Would you be able to sit down with a sketch artist and describe the woman?”

“Maybe,” Ned said. “Why?”

“I don’t know how much the officer told you.”

“The news report just said that if we’d seen that man, Rosemont, to call in, so we did.”

“Mr. Rosemont is dead and the woman is being sought for questioning.”

Jennifer blanched. “No. I … oh my God.”

Ned put his arm around his wife. “What happened? Car accident?”

“No. Rosemont is our main suspect in multiple homicides.”

Officer Dodge cleared her throat. “I’ll contact the sheriff’s department and see if they can send over a sketch artist.”

“Thanks, Barbara,” Megan said. To the couple, “Do you remember anything else about these two people? Accent? Distinguishing marks?”

Ned shook his head, but Jennifer said, “Yes. The woman said they were going to San Francisco and the husband said he thought they were going to Santa Barbara. It was really odd.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jack and Hans were waiting for a call back from Dillon when Detective Holden rushed in. “We got a match!”

Jack asked, “On what?”

“The bullets! An FBI agent from Orlando faxed over a ballistics report from a cold case down in Florida. He wrote that Agent Megan Elliott had requested it.”

“Russo,” Jack said. He couldn’t help but be proud at how quickly Megan had put together the case and expedited the information.

“Right. The gun that killed Russo also killed Rosemont and Hackett.”

“And,” Holden continued, “the Hoffmans. The Riverside County crime lab got a copy of the same report and contacted Dr. Clark.”

“What about the other victims?” Hans said. “Bartleton and Johnson and the other two men?”

“Not Bartleton,” Detective Holden said. “I don’t know about the others.”

Hans frowned. “Can you ask Dr. Clark to contact the other crime labs and get a ballistics comparison?”

“What are you thinking?” Jack asked.

“Why change guns? Are we looking at a completely different crime?” He rubbed his temples.

Jack realized that Hans was practically asleep on his feet. Whatever was bothering him had interrupted his sleep as well.

“Russo and Hackett were both involved, either directly or indirectly, with the mission in which Rosemont was kidnapped and held hostage,” Jack said. “It would be far too big a coincidence if two separate killing pairs were targeting the same group of men.”

“Right,” Hans nodded. “And Bartleton’s dog tag was found at the Hoffman double homicide.”

“My question is, why change guns?” Holden asked.

Jack said, “So Russo’s murder isn’t connected to the others through ballistics.”

“But it is connected,” Hans said.

“No, it’s not-yes, to these recent murders, but if the other three ballistics reports match Scout, then we know that a different gun was used for those victims, which makes me think that the killers didn’t want Russo’s murder connected with these crimes.”

Holden nodded. “That makes sense. But why?”

Hans said, “Because it’s often the first victim that leads directly to the killer. Can I see that fax?” he asked Holden. “I’m going to call the Orlando office and get them to overnight the reports to us. Something is in there that we can use.”

The SLO sheriff’s department contracted out their forensic sketch work. The woman would arrive at the Stenbergs within an hour, and had instructions to fax the sketch to Santa Barbara P.D. as soon as it was ready. Megan asked Officer Dodge to take her back to Santa Barbara. It was getting close to four and she wanted to be back to review the ballistics reports more carefully and see if Jack could nudge his friend Padre to speed up the sketch artist. She wished she had a picture to show the Stenbergs because Megan was certain they would recognize her. Although meeting with the witnesses hadn’t been a complete waste of time, Megan still felt that a local cop could have handled it just as competently.

Simone Charles with the Sacramento crime lab called to let Megan know that there was no match on the ballistics report with John Doe.

Still, just because the ballistics didn’t match didn’t mean they were different killers. Megan just had to review the evidence more closely and hope to find another commonality.

Her cell phone vibrated and she recognized the Orlando prefix, but not the phone number.

“Agent Elliott.”

“Hello, this is Gerald Boswell with the Sunny Day Adult Living Center in Orlando returning your call.”

“Thank you, Dr. Boswell. I won’t keep you long.”

“My secretary said it was about the Rubins?”

“Yes. Their daughter, Hannah.”

“That’s what she said, and that’s why I’m calling you back. They don’t have a living daughter.”

“Maybe a daughter-in-law?”

“No. Their only daughter died years ago, when she was in her twenties.”

“Are you sure?”

He sounded put off. “Of course. I have their file right in front of me. No living childen. I am positive.”

“Does the file have the name of their daughter?”

The sound of shuffling paper, then, “No. Under immediate family, simply ‘one daughter, deceased, February 1, 1960 to November 29, 1981.’ Mr. Rubin was the youngest of five kids and the only survivor.”

Megan almost hung up, but she remembered a case of elder abuse from her first years as an agent where an adult son moved in with his elderly and disabled parents. He spent their entire savings plus mortgaged their home, then left them destitute.

“Are the Rubins paying for your facility? Or are you a subsidized adult care home?”

“Why do you ask?”

She couldn’t very well explain her vague theory without sounding paranoid and suspicious. “One of their former neighbors expressed concern over a relative of theirs who seemed to be living off their generosity. Seniors are very trusting as a group and tend to be conned quite easily.”

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