Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“Good, Lynda,” Harry muttered, thinking she was hilarious, and he liked how invested she was in this, but he was also feeling what he rarely felt in this job, no matter how tragic or hectic or frustrating it could get.
Heavy.
So fucking heavy.
Coors and sundresses and the words of a woman in her journal, sharing how much she loved her husband, twenty plus years down the line of being with him.
Fuck.
Him.
“One other thing,” Jace said. “In Avery’s suitcase, there was a letter with postage on it. It’s addressed to Lillian. They had to open it, and it explains they had to leave to keep themselves and her safe. They couldn’t tell her they were going, or why, also to keep her safe, but Avery promised they’d be in touch soon and they’d come back as soon as they could.”
If they’d posted that letter, she would have known.
If they’d posted that letter, she could have found her way to some honest cop who might have found answers for her sooner.
If they’d posted that letter, she wouldn’t have had to live sixteen years, wondering, scared, trying to hold on to hope, and honing her skills with denial.
This news gutted Harry so completely, he had to put an elbow to his desk and his forehead in his hand.
“Wade has copies of the journal and the letter,” Jess entered the conversation. “And I know this won’t make you feel any better, but they made Coeur D’Alene the day they left Misted Pines. They were only running for a day, Harry, before they were caught. But they were only running for a day. It’s not much of anything, but it’s still something.”
He was right.
It wasn’t much of anything.
They were one sleep away from hitting a police department and setting their life to rights.
But at least Lillian’s parents weren’t out of their minds with worry, hunted for days, or even weeks, before they were found and relieved of their lives.
So it totally wasn’t much of anything.
But it was still something.
TWENTY-EIGHT
May Eighteenth
Harry
Harry stood in the observation room next to Cade Bohannan, both of them in the same stance— arms crossed on chests, legs planted, eyes to the one-way window—while Rus worked Dern.
Dern knew the score, so he had his attorney with him.
But it didn’t matter.
Dern’s ass would be in one of Harry’s cells, because the Feds were coming, and they wanted a go at him too.
“Just gotta run this down,” Rus said, scanning the papers on the table before him. “All right, late in the evening on May sixteenth, Gerald and Michelle Dietrich reported a burglary at their home.” He looked to Dern. “Yes?”
“Don’t have access to my old files, you do.” Dern tipped his head to the file open in front of Rus. “So you tell me.”
“According to your own notes, that’s confirmed,” Rus stated. “Solely upon Gerald Dietrich indicating Simon Rainier was having financial problems, early on the morning of May seventeenth, you picked up Simon and his wife Avery, regardless of the fact they had twenty thousand dollars in the bank, they carried no debt, even to the point they owned their home and car outright, no one else, family nor friends, reported they were in financial crisis, and no one reported they had issues with drugs, drink, or gambling. Oh, and neither of them had a record. Last, they both had alibis, not only alibiing each other, but their daughter alibiing them. But you still did not conduct an interview at their home, you took them to the station for an interrogation. To your recollection, do I have that right?”
“Don’t know why we’re talkin’ about this. It was fuckin’ years ago,” Dern bit.
“Do I have that right?” Rus pushed.
“Sonny Rainier’s prints were all over the Dietrich home.”
“You didn’t know that at the time, because he had no record. His prints weren’t in the system. Neither were his wife’s. But his prints could be explained because he was their handyman, and they used his services liberally.”
“Avery’s prints were too.”
“One print. One. A thumb print on the safe,” Rus pointed out.
“And the safe was broken into.”
“Avery ran an at-home daycare. Again, she didn’t have a record. How did she learn how to break open a safe?” Rus inquired.
“Her husband was a handyman,” Dern spat.
“So Sonny’s stupid enough to leave his prints everywhere, but Avery’s careful, though not careful enough, and leaves one single print in the most incriminating location she can leave it. Is that what you’re saying?” Rus queried.
“That’s what we found,” Dern said, and he smirked. “And then they ran, so what does that tell you?”
Harry’s already tight neck muscles got tighter at Dern still pointing his filthy fucking finger at Lillian’s parents.
And Christ, that fucking smirk, he wanted it to remove it from his face.
Physically.
“Okay then,” Rus said easily, making it clear why he was in there with Dern, and Harry wasn’t. Rus looked back down at the file and kept his eyes there. “You also interviewed their nineteen-year-old daughter, Lillian, at her home that same day.”