Tracks of Her Tears Page 7

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Seth caught a ride back to his office at the sheriff’s department. On the way he took a call from the medical examiner. Hank had finished the autopsy as promised. When Seth reached the station, he stopped in the employees’ lounge and poured a cup of coffee, which smelled like battery acid. Hoping for a miracle, he dumped a load of powdered creamer into the black sludge and stirred. The mass of white lumps didn’t look promising.

  The Special Investigations Unit had space upstairs, but Seth needed to see Phil, who’d spent the afternoon reviewing the surveillance tapes from Fletcher’s. He found the deputy at his desk downstairs. His short, blond hair stood up in tufts, his uniform was wrinkled, and his clip-on tie was crooked. Phil needed food, sleep, and a shower, just like Seth did.

  “Aren’t you off duty yet?” Seth tossed his jacket over an empty chair.

  “The sheriff allowed for overtime this week.” Still focused on his computer screen, Phil clicked the mouse. “With accidents all over the place, we don’t have the manpower to handle crime and this weather.”

  Seth checked his text messages. Carly had promised to text him before she took her mother home, and Seth worried about them driving back to Solitude on slippery roads in the dark. Despite his promise to Bruce, Seth needed to make it home at some point that night.

  Both he and Carly were working hard at improving their balance of work and family. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Seth was supposed to be off so they could spend time as a family. They’d promised Brianna they’d both take her to see Santa at the firehouse. Carly wouldn’t argue if he needed to back out. There were times when her job as a social worker demanded long hours too, but that wasn’t the point. Both of their careers dealt with life-or-death situations, and they both struggled with walking away at the end of the day.

  But he’d give the case a few more hours tonight.

  He perched on the desk behind Phil and watched his monitor over his shoulder. “I appreciate the help.”

  “I’m taking the detective exam in a couple of months, so I’m grateful for the experience.”

  “I heard from the medical examiner a few minutes ago,” Seth said. “The official cause of death was asphyxiation by manual strangulation. Amber Lynn was killed either at the scene or close to it. She appeared healthy. Hank saw no signs of drug or alcohol abuse, but the usual toxicology reports are pending. He found skin under her nails. She clearly fought back, but the damage to her neck indicates that whoever killed her did it in a rage.”

  “So we can match DNA if we get a suspect.” Phil opened a computer window and a grainy film of the front door of Fletcher’s appeared. “Just like Bruce’s pal said, here’s Travis White going into the bar.”

  Seth noted the time stamp on the video. “He went in at ten twenty-seven. What time did he leave?”

  “Eleven fifteen.” Phil fast-forwarded the clip, and they watched Travis leave the bar.

  “Wait.” Seth stood. “Go back. Play both of those clips again.”

  Phil replayed the few seconds of Travis walking into the bar, then the video of him walking out.

  “Freeze it.” Seth pointed at the now-still image on the monitor. “What do you see?”

  Phil leaned in. “He’s holding his hand to his body.”

  “He wasn’t doing that on his way in. The little rat told me he caught his finger in a car door. Why do they lie? They always get caught.” Desperate for caffeine, Seth tossed the disgusting sludge in his cup back like a shot. “We need to bring Travis in for questioning.”

  Pulling out his cell phone, Seth called Luke White. “I need to talk to Travis.”

  “He’s not here,” Luke said. “I tossed him out.”

  “Do you know where he went?” Seth asked.

  “No, but he’s not at my parents’ house.” Luke said. “I just left their place twenty minutes ago. If I see him, I’ll hold him for you.”

  “Thanks.” Seth ended the call. Next he dialed Travis’s parole officer and left a message when he didn’t answer the phone.

  “You have the tape of Bruce and Amber Lynn leaving the bar?” Seth asked.

  Phil clicked on another window. “Here’s the parking lot video of the band packing the equipment into Bruce’s van.”

  The van was parked alongside the building. After the van was loaded, Bruce and Amber Lynn got into the vehicle and drove away. Psych and Spencer left in a beat-up sedan. Other customers came and went as the video played.

  “Do you want to know what else I found on the surveillance films?” Phil asked.

  Seth lowered his phone. “What?”

  Phil opened a new window on his computer and played the feed from a different camera. The back hallway of Fletcher’s appeared on the screen. Phil fast-forwarded through three-quarters of the video. Freezing the frame, he pointed to the time stamp, then advanced the film several frames. The time on the corner of the screen jumped forward. “Seventeen minutes of video are missing.”

  “Did he think we wouldn’t notice?” Seth tossed the empty cup in the trash. “There’s something about these videos that feels familiar.”

  Phil scratched his stubbled chin. “I bet you’re thinking about the Samantha Lyle case. She went missing two months ago after a fight with her boyfriend.”

  “Yes. That’s the one.” Seth had been with the task force when she’d disappeared, but he’d heard about her case. “The detective in charge thought the boyfriend did it but couldn’t find the body.”

  “Did you know that right before she went missing she was at Fletcher’s?”

  “Seriously?”

  Phil nodded. “We had footage of Samantha and her boyfriend arguing on the parking lot surveillance video. They’d gone to the bar in separate cars. She drove off. He left a couple of minutes later. No one ever saw her again.”

  “I was still working on the task force two months ago, but I must have seen a piece of the video.” Seth pondered the similarities between the two cases. “Who’s handling the Lyle case?”

  “Detective Summers, but he’s out of town this week,” Phil said.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The fact that both girls had been at Fletcher’s could be a coincidence. There are only two bars in town. For now we’ll just keep that on the back burner.” Though Seth might call Summers in the morning. He stood and reached for his jacket. “Let’s go see Bob.”

  They drove out to Fletcher’s. Seth remembered the black paint on the rear end of Bruce’s van as they got into the patrol car. “What does Bob drive?”

  Phil tilted the laptop on the console toward himself and hit a few keys. “Bob Fletcher drives a black 1991 Ford F-150.”

  “There was black paint on Bruce’s bumper.”

  At nine p.m. on a weeknight, the lot was nearly full. Snow continued to fall as Seth and Phil crossed the pavement. Seth zipped his jacket against the bitter wind, thankful that they’d found Bruce. That space blanket wouldn’t have kept him alive another night. They walked around to the back of the bar but didn’t see a black pickup truck. Inside, the bar was busy. With no band playing, music blared from an old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. Customers gave Phil’s uniform the stink-eye. More than one bar patron put down his drink and indiscreetly slipped out. Bob wasn’t behind the bar. Seth leaned across the scarred wood and shouted at the burly bartender, “Where’s Bob?”

  He raised a fully tatted arm to point at the back hallway. “Office.”

  Seth gave him a wave of thanks, and he and Phil picked their way around the room. Glad to be in the hallway, where the music was somewhat muffled, Seth knocked on the door labeled “Office.”

  “Come,” someone shouted.

  Seth opened the door. Bob sat behind a messy desk. He looked surprised—and not too happy to see them.

  “Detective Harding. I didn’t expect to see you.” Bob waved at a chair in front o
f his desk. “What can I do for you?”

  Phil stood back and leaned on the wall.

  Seth took the chair. “I’d like to talk about last night.”

  “I’ve already told you everything I remember.” Bob leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Oh really.” Seth raised a brow. “You forgot to mention that you had a confrontation with Amber Lynn.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.” Bob shrugged.

  Seth leaned forward and held his gaze. “If it wasn’t a big deal, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Bob blinked away. “I can’t prove anything, so I didn’t want to say anything bad about the girl.”

  “What can’t you prove?” Seth could see the lies churning in Bob’s eyes.

  “I saw her swipe tip money off one of the tables.” Bob’s chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. “I confronted her about it, but Bruce got all pissy. I decided ten or twenty bucks wasn’t worth the hassle.”

  Especially money that belonged to a waitress and not him, thought Seth.

  “Where’s your pickup?” Seth asked.

  “At home. Rear-wheel drive is terrible in the snow. I had my bartender pick me up today.” Bob had an answer for everything.

  Seth would drive by his house later to see if his pickup had any dents. For now Seth changed tactics. “Do you remember Samantha Lyle?”

  Bob paled. “Who?”

  He knew damn well who. “Samantha Lyle, the young woman who went missing two months ago after being in your bar.”

  Bob rubbed the tarantula tattoo. “I remember being asked about her and handing over the surveillance tapes, but I didn’t know the girl. She was just a customer.” But beads of sweat popped out on his bald head. “Why?”

  “No reason.” Seth shrugged. “I just thought it was a big coincidence that bad things happened to two girls after they left here.”

  Bob didn’t respond, but now that he was sweating, Seth changed the direction of his questioning. “There’s some time missing on the video from the hallway camera.”

  “I’ve been having trouble with that camera.” Bob picked up a napkin from his desktop and blotted his head. “I’ll have to replace it.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” Seth stood and leaned on the desk. “You might miss something important.”

  Seth turned toward the door. Bob had edited that video, but Seth couldn’t prove it. He didn’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant for Bob’s computer. Amber Lynn and Bruce had left Fletcher’s before Bruce crashed the van.

  Phil followed him into the parking lot. “He’s lying.”

  “Through his teeth.”

  “Where to now?”

  “Now we drive past Bob’s house and see if his truck is there. Then would you mind driving me home?” Seth wanted to keep working, but he and Phil both needed sleep. “Tomorrow we’ll find Travis, and if we can discover one real piece of evidence against Bob, we can bring him in too.”

  “That is one slippery SOB.”

  When they reached Bob’s house, he proved to be even slipperier. There was no truck in front of his house, and the detached garage doors were down and locked.

  “Time to call it a night,” Seth said. “Maybe a few hours of sleep will help us make sense of this.”

  Murder cases were an addiction. If he didn’t force himself to take a break, he’d work nonstop until he discovered the truth. But he really hated returning to his happy family while Amber Lynn’s killer roamed free.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dark had long since fallen by the time Carly drove her mother home. Bruce might be an adult, but Patsy had refused to leave the hospital until she’d seen her youngest settled in a room and as comfortable as possible. Carly parked in front of the house. Her brother was alive and reasonably well, considering he’d been in a major accident and his girlfriend had been murdered. The combination of sadness and relief had left her spent. Exhaustion weighted her limbs.

  She looked back over her seat. Brianna and Charlotte were both sound asleep.

  Patsy’s head rested on the back of the passenger seat. “I should have stayed with Bruce.”

  “Visiting hours are over. Bruce needs rest,” Carly said, as if the end of visiting hours would have been able to keep a determined Patsy out if she had wanted to stay.

  “I’m not sure he should be alone right now.”

  “He’s not alone. He’s in the hospital. Someone will be watching him all night.”

  “We all grieved your father’s death together, but Bruce will feel isolated this time. This loss is his alone. I suspect he had deep feelings for that girl.” Patsy sighed. “When he comes home, we’re going to have to keep an eye on him. I’m worried about him.”

  “Me too.” Carly studied her mother’s profile in the dark. The strain of the past year was showing. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take Charlotte back to the cabin? I can put the portable crib in Brianna’s room.”

  “No. I volunteered to take care of that child, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts.” Patsy turned to face her. “I raised four children. I can handle one toddler. You and Seth have enough to do. I won’t put that strain on your marriage, not when you two are doing so well.”

  “I’m just trying to help.” Even in the dark, Carly could see the approaching we-need-to-get-something-straight discussion on her mother’s face. People often confused Patsy’s gentle nature for weakness, but they didn’t make that mistake a second time. Even Carly sometimes forgot how tough her petite mother could be. Patsy had no trouble issuing firm reminders.

  “Honey, I appreciate that you all want to shelter me, but I’m fifty-five years old, not a hundred and five. I miss your father terribly, and I always will. I can’t deny that a piece of me died with him, and I look forward to joining him when it’s my time.” Patsy had already had her name engraved on the double headstone that marked Bill’s grave. “But he would be disappointed in me if I wasted the rest of my life. Your dad lived every day to the fullest. He enjoyed life more than anyone I know. For me to do any differently would disrespect his memory. I have children and grandchildren and animals to love and care for. I’m not done living yet.”

  “I’m sorry. I just want to make things easier for you.”

  “And I love you for it.” Patsy touched her cheek. “But life isn’t supposed to be easy. No one appreciates things that are easy.” Her mom hefted her purse strap over her shoulder. “And speaking of things that aren’t easy, I would appreciate help setting up that portable crib.”

  “Of course.” Carly laughed.

  “Mama?” Always game to be awake past her bedtime, Brianna sat upright in her booster seat.

  “Yes?” Carly sighed. Now that she’d had a nap, her daughter would be awake for hours. So much for crawling into bed.

  Brianna stifled a yawn. “I’m hungry.”

  “Then we’d better get you a snack,” Patsy said, getting out of the Jeep. She went to the back, opened the rear door, and took out the portable crib Debra had loaned them.

  Carly heard the click of Brianna’s seat belt as her daughter scrambled to catch up with her grandmother. Carly climbed halfway into the backseat to free Charlotte from the car seat. Her back muscles protested as she lifted the limp child out and hoisted her over one shoulder. Patsy walked up the front steps and opened the door. Brianna was right behind her.

  Small Town Rule #2: No need to lock the door.

  The jingle of dog tags made Carly turn. Trina came around to the front of the house just as her mother opened the front door.

  Alarm prickled on the back of Carly’s neck. Had Patsy left the dog outside? No way. Her mother never forgot to let the dog inside.

  “Don’t go in—” Carly bumped the car door closed with her hip.

 
Too late. Patsy and Brianna were already inside.

  Running in circles, Trina barked.

  Carly jogged up the steps and slipped into the house. Her mother and Brianna were halfway down the hallway. Turned as if to enter the living room on their right, they stared through the doorway. Shock whitened their faces.

  “What happened?” Carly asked.

  “We’ve been robbed,” Patsy said.

  “What?” Carly went to her mother’s side. The end table drawers were upside down in the middle of the room. Books had been swept from the shelves and lay scattered across the floor, and the couch cushions had been flung across the room. Carly’s gaze settled on an electronic tablet in the middle of the area rug. A thief wouldn’t have left a small valuable item behind. The house hadn’t been robbed. It had been searched.

  Patsy walked into the room, her head swiveling as she surveyed the damage. “I can’t believe someone would break in here.”

  Technically the house had been open, as always, so breaking in hadn’t been necessary. But intruders had never been an issue out in the country. This was not a house a robber would find by chance. Whoever had come here had done so with the farm as their target.

  Carly went to her mother’s side. “You need to call Zane.”

  “Of course.” Patsy opened her purse and rummaged for her phone.

  Brianna grabbed Carly’s hand. “What happened, Mama?”

  A floorboard squeaked overhead. The hair on Carly’s nape lifted.

  The intruder was still here.

  She tucked Brianna behind her and moved toward the hall, fifteen feet away. “We have to get the kids back out to the car.”

  Before they reached the hall, footsteps thudded on the stairs. A dark-clad figure leaped over the railing and landed in front of them.

  They were trapped.

  Brianna screamed. Carly wished she were carrying her handgun. Unarmed, with the baby in her arms and Brianna tucked close, she felt helpless. But Patsy had Bill’s old over-and-under shotgun off the wall and was digging in the vase on the mantel for a shell. Stepping in front of Carly and the kids, she opened the shotgun, slid a shell into the top barrel, and snapped the gun closed just as light glinted on the metal of a gun in the intruder’s hand.