Dead Right (Stillwater Trilogy 3)
Page 16“That was twenty years ago,” Pontiff said. “So, if he’s still around, he might not be in the fantasy stage anymore.”
Grace focused on his neatly clipped mustache. “Have you had any complaints, Chief?”
“No, but…sometimes this type of thing goes unreported.”
“That’s true,” she murmured as if she had as much objectivity as he did.
“Whoever it was killed Lee and ran off,” Irene said.
Pontiff wore his skepticism as proudly as his badge. “But no one else has gone missing.”
Irene crowded closer. “It was a drifter. It had to be a drifter. Why won’t anyone believe me?”
Clay put an arm around their mother and told her to calm down while Madeline tugged Grace from the table. “Mike Metzger lived within walking distance,” she said. “Do you think he might’ve collected these?”
Mike had long been Madeline’s suspect of choice. A week before her father went missing, the reverend had caught nineteen-year-old Mike smoking pot in the bathroom of the church and turned him in to the authorities. Mike had spouted off a few threats but the circumstantial evidence pointing his way had never been solid enough for police to press charges. Now Mike was in prison for manufacturing crystal meth in his basement, and Madeline was still harassing him with regular letters.
Grace drew enough breath to speak. Before she could say anything, however, Chief Pontiff interrupted. “We can ask him. He gets home in a few days.”
“A few days?” Irene echoed. “But he still has two years.”
Grace felt almost sorry for Mike. He had his problems, but he wasn’t a murderer. After a stint in prison, he’d be coming home to another maelstrom of questions about Barker.
She glanced at Clay, wondering if he was thinking about Mike, too, but saw him staring over their mother’s head at the things on the table. From the veins standing out in his neck, she knew that what he saw bothered him as much as she’d expected. Hooking her arm through his, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder to tell him that the past was behind them, that they couldn’t allow this discovery to ruin the happiness they’d both found.
“How’s Allie?” she asked to remind him of everything they had to protect.
He blinked, then let go of Irene, who was digging through her purse for a tissue.
Grace sensed him struggling to contain his emotions, but it was only when Madeline edged closer that he managed an answer. “Fine. Allie’s…” His chest rose as he drew a deep breath. “Allie,” he finished simply, using her name as the talisman Grace had intended it to be.
“Are you okay?” Madeline asked.
“I’m fine.” He stretched his neck. “But whoever put that stuff in the trunk is one sick bastard,” he said and stalked out.
Relieved, Grace watched him go. He’d been careful to say is one sick bastard. Not was. They’d handled this meeting as well as she could’ve hoped. With any luck, this discovery would fade into the background and they’d be able to return to their lives.
As Madeline thanked Chief Pontiff for his efforts, Grace nudged Kennedy, indicating that they should go, too. She didn’t want to be in the same room with those panties, or with the other objects, either. The person she’d been was not the person she was now. “Grinding Gracie” was the one who’d been raped, repeatedly, by her stepfather, but Grinding Gracie was dead and gone. Grace wouldn’t be her anymore, she’d reject her pain, her inadequacies, her needs.
But halfway to the door she heard Madeline say something that made her freeze.
“Depends on the lab. Could take a few weeks. Could take months. Without a suspect, we don’t have a legitimate reason to ask them to rush.”
Graced turned back. “You’re going to try and get a DNA sample?”
He nodded.
“From what?”
“Everything.”
“But it’s been nearly twenty years! Any DNA will be too degraded.”
“Not necessarily. This stuff was sealed up tight.”
She felt the pressure of Kennedy’s hand, warning her to be careful. She was sounding panicky, but she couldn’t help it. “But what good will getting a profile do?”
Pontiff’s eyebrows rose. “What good will it do?”
“It’s only helpful if you have something to match it against,” she said, “and you don’t even have a victim.”
Pontiff knew her professional background, knew she should readily agree. So she did. But she was praying the whole time that the scientists at the lab wouldn’t be able to develop the sample he hoped for. If they did, she knew whose DNA they might find. She also knew they might be able to match it to the panties she’d just identified as her own.
Chapter Five
Irene seemed to have taken the day’s events harder than anyone. Madeline helped her out to her car, then returned to the police station so she could talk with Chief Pontiff.
“I have a private investigator coming from California,” she told him. “He might be able to help you decide what to do with all this—” she waved toward the box where he’d put the sacks of evidence “—stuff.”
Pontiff hesitated, obviously not as pleased with this news as she’d expected him to be. “I can do my own job, Maddy,” he said. “I understand you’ve been disappointed in the past, but I’m already planning to do everything that can be done. There’s no need to bring in an outsider.”
“He might see something we’ve missed,” she argued.
“The only one missing anything is you,” Radcliffe piped up, sounding exasperated. He had plenty of filing left to do—evidenced by the tall stack teetering at his elbow—but he was more interested in eavesdropping. “Didn’t you see how Clay reacted? He nearly lost his composure.”
“Yes, I saw!” Madeline snapped, her patience wearing thin. “He was upset. But why wouldn’t he be? That was his sister’s underwear lying on the table.”
Pontiff sent Radcliffe a quelling glance and stepped between them. “Maddy, we’ve grown up together. I’ve seen your pain and frustration over the years, and I’ve felt plenty of my own when it comes to your father’s case. This whole town has. The police chiefs before me couldn’t get to the bottom of it, but I’m determined to be different. I plan to find the truth, okay?”