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“The wake?”

“Yeah.”

“The man who killed your father went to his wake?”

The light turned green, so Lydia returned her eyes to the road.

“Yes. I know someone who talked to him. My mom’s friend from college spoke to him. She might know his name. I want to tell the police so that they can try to find him.”

“Damn, Eliza. That’s a lot.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Eliza pulled out her phone to look up the closest police station, and fifteen minutes later, they arrived. When she told the officer at the desk her story, he told her that she needed to contact the city that owned the now-cold case. That was a small mountain town and not close enough for her to get to, so she asked Lydia to drive her home instead. With this important information wrestling her brain for prominence over everything else, though, she looked up the number of that police department and put her phone to her ear.

“Hi. My name is Eliza Payne. My father was murdered sixteen years ago outside of a cabin in your town. The officer who was in charge then was Officer Cleric. Is he still there?”

“Hi, Eliza. This isDetectiveCleric.”

“Oh. Hi,” she said, feeling unprepared to actually be talking to the man.

Lydia moved behind Eliza’s chair and began massaging her shoulders, probably trying to help soothe her however she could. Just having her there was enough to help, in Eliza’s opinion, but she appreciated Lydia comforting her with these touches even more. It helped her feel connected to something and someone when she so often didn’t feel connected to anything. Outside of her parents, the only person whom Eliza had ever felt anything for at all since it had happened was the woman standing behind her.

“Can I help you with something?” Detective Cleric asked.

“Yes. I remembered something,” she answered.

“Something?”

“You never found him, the man who killed my father, because I couldn’t give you a description.”

“That wasn’t the only reason, Miss Payne. It’s true that a description would’ve helped, but it’s all wilderness up there, so people come and go as they please. You don’t even have to have permits to hike in that area. Even if you would’ve been able to describe him, we might not have ever found him.”

“I was going through some of my father’s things today, and something triggered a memory. I know what he looked like now, and I’ve seen him since.”

“You’ve seen the man who killed your father since his murder?”

“Yes, at his funeral and wake.”

“You–” Detective Cleric stopped himself. “You know him?”

“Not exactly. I just saw him there. I don’t know his name, and I haven’t seen him since, that I know of, but he was talking to someone Idoknow. She’s a friend of my mom’s from college. I know it’s a long shot because it was sixteen years ago, and I don’t know if she’ll even remember his name, but maybe he gave it to her or said something that will help you identify him.”

“Okay. Okay. Give mehername, and I’ll give her a call to find out.”

“You will?”

“Of course, I will. I want to solve this. I’ve had no leads in the past ten or so years. This is at least something for us to go on. And I want to get you in front of a sketch artist so they can get us what he looks like. We can also use that to jog her memory, if we need to. Do you happen to have the guest book from the funeral?”

“The–” Eliza’s eyes went wide, and she looked up and behind her at Lydia. “The guest book.”

“You need it?” Lydia asked.

“Please,” she said.

“I’ll be right back.”

At her mother’s house, they’d found the book that the guests had signed with their condolences on the top of one of the open boxes. For reasons Eliza hadn’t understood at the time, she had asked to take the book home and not put it in the storage unit, so it currently rested in Lydia’s back seat.