Page 19

La Jolla, San Diego, California

Thursday, January 12, 6:30 p.m.

“Stunning view, isn’t it?” Connor murmured as he approached Duncan Tindall’s house.

The mansions were large and bright white against the blue sky, all with twenty-million-dollar views of the Pacific Ocean. Kit would never understand how much money the rich spent on real estate.

“It really is.” Kit’s phone buzzed in her pocket, distracting her from the view. “It’s the boss.” She glanced behind them at the young woman who was quietly crying. Kennedy Shoemaker had given them a detailed statement with approximate dates of her father’s abuse in the early years, but specific dates starting about three years before. They couldn’t have asked for much more. They had an arrest warrant for Peter Shoemaker in their hands. It was for rape, but Kit hoped they’d found Neckbeard, too.

Why else kill Aylene Tindall, if not to shut her up?

Kit answered Navarro’s call but didn’t put the phone on speaker. “Yes, boss?”

“We have another body.”

Kit’s heart sank. “Who?”

“Bert Ramsey’s wife.”

Well, shit. That blew Shoemaker being Neckbeard out of the water.

Kit opened her mouth and closed it again, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t alarm their passenger. “When?” she finally asked.

“We found her a half hour ago. She’s been dead eight hours, give or take an hour or two.”

It hadn’t been just Peter Shoemaker’s wife. And Shoemaker couldn’t have killed Ramsey’s wife. He’d been in court up until six hours ago. They’d seen him arriving at his home. And he had truly appeared to be in shock when they’d told him that Aylene was dead. “And the protection detail?”

Dammit. Kennedy had just lifted her head and was watching Kit, her expression intense. Girl’s too damn smart.

“They checked the house when she didn’t answer the door, but didn’t find her. Her body was found by Bert Ramsey when he got home from his arraignment. She’d been hidden in the pool, under a tarp.”

“Spray paint?” Kit asked.

“Why are you talking in half sentences?” Navarro asked, then caught on. “Oh. You have Kennedy Shoemaker in the car. Got it. Yes, the security cameras were all spray-painted over. One camera caught a guy in a hoodie wearing a Halloween hockey mask, just like with Munro and Shelley Porter at the body shop. I’ll let you know when I have more information.”

“Can you tell Connor what you told me?”

“Sure.”

Kit handed Connor her phone and waited. Connor’s jaw clenched as he listened, and then he nodded. “Got it. Thank you, sir.”

Kit took her phone back, told Navarro they’d let him know when they were headed in with Shoemaker in custody for rape, then ended the call.

“What was that about?” Kennedy asked. “Someone else is dead?”

Kit considered lying but decided against it. She wanted Kennedy to trust her. “Yes, but I can’t divulge details. We have to notify families first.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. How do you do this every day? Deal with people like my mom getting murdered?”

Kit twisted around in her seat so that she could see the young woman. “It’s not easy, but when we solve a case, when we get justice for the dead, it’s worth it.”

Kennedy nodded, then cleared her throat. “I tried to record him.”

Kit twisted around again. “Your father?”

Another nod. “He took my phone at night. Told my mom it was because I was texting too late and my grades were suffering. He said he told all the parents at his school to take their kids’ phones at bedtime. Mom bought his bullshit. She always bought whatever he was selling.”

Kit had wondered why a smart girl like Kennedy hadn’t tried to get proof of the abuse by her father. Now she knew. “He just didn’t want you to be able to reach out to anyone or to get evidence against him. Abusers isolate you.”

“I know. I’ve read all about it. He did that to my mom. She hardly ever left the house unless she was going to see my grandparents. She told them that she was having lunch with friends or going to the club, but she hardly ever did.”

“Did your father go to the country club?”

“Oh yeah. He loved it there. I don’t know why. He took me once and I hated it. I didn’t know if they were like my father or not.”

Maybe not sexual abusers, but many of the other country club members had been hiding secrets, just like Peter Shoemaker. And Peter had lied about that, too. He’d said he hated going to the club, that the members paid attention to his wife but not to him.

“Do you want us to wait with you while you tell your grandparents about your father?” Connor asked. “We can do that. We can put your father in cuffs and have the officer on duty outside keep him in the cruiser until you’re ready for us to go. Or if you’re more comfortable with just Detective McKittrick, I can wait outside with your father.”

“Really?” In that moment Kennedy sounded so young. “You won’t be mad?”

“Not at all,” Connor said gently. “This is a very personal story and I get that you’d be more comfortable with a woman listening.”

“It’s not that. Well, yes, it is that,” Kennedy said. “But not mostly. I’m worried my father will get away. I’d be more comfortable if one of you was watching him.”

“I’ll be happy to do that,” Connor assured her.

They parked behind the police cruiser and waved to the officers sitting inside. The house was immense and, like the Shoemakers’ house, backed up to the bluff. Kit’s eyes widened. To the very edge of the bluff.

“Wow, that’s close to the edge,” Kit murmured. “Don’t the houses usually sit back a bit?”

“Normally, yes, and this one probably did at one time, but erosion happens.”

“It’s a little scary during windstorms,” Kennedy said, “but otherwise we just have a great view.” She blew out a quiet breath. “I guess I’ll be staying here from now on when I come home.”

The door opened and a woman in her sixties rushed outside as the three of them got out of the car. Her hair was falling from its bun and her eyes, like Kennedy’s, were red and swollen. This, Kit thought, would be Aylene’s mother.

“Kennedy Shoemaker! Where have you been ? Your grandfather and I have been worried sick. You just… disappeared .”

Kennedy winced. “I’m sorry, Nana. I told Grandad’s assistant that I was coming straight home when she put me in the cab, but I needed to stop at the police station first. I didn’t realize it would take so long.”

Mrs.Tindall gave Kit and Connor disapproving looks. “Why are you harassing my granddaughter? And on a day like this?”

“No, Nana,” Kennedy protested. “I went to them. We need to talk.”

Mrs.Tindall put her arm around her granddaughter’s shoulders. “I know, baby. It’s a horrible day.”

“Um…Nana? I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Mrs.Tindall stopped abruptly. “What’s going on, child?” She looked over at Kit and Connor. “You’ve delivered her. Thank you. Now, please leave. We’re grieving.”

Kit hadn’t expected to be so summarily dismissed. “We can’t leave just yet, ma’am. We need to speak with your son-in-law.”

Mrs.Tindall shot them another, even more disapproving look. “He’s asleep. Our doctor had to give him a sedative. You may return when he wakes up.”

“Mrs.Tindall,” Connor said authoritatively. “This is not a courtesy call. We must speak to your son-in-law. Go wake him up. Now, please.”

Mrs.Tindall looked like she’d tell Connor off, but her granddaughter interceded. “Please, Nana. It’s important. I’ll explain. And I’d like Detective McKittrick to stay with me for a few minutes.”

Kit hoped that was all it would take. The woman’s husband was far more approachable and less…rich sounding.

“Then come in,” Mrs.Tindall said. “I’ll go wake Pete.”

Kennedy’s jaw clenched. “Yes. Please do that.” She led them into the living room, where she settled on a sofa, patting the seat beside her. “Detective McKittrick?”

Kit took the place beside her and nearly moaned at the feel of the buttery soft leather against her skin. Okay, now this was a rich person’s toy that she could appreciate. She was going to have to fight not to curl up and take a nap.

“Pete?” Mrs.Tindall’s voice carried from upstairs. “Pete? Peter? Where are you?”

“Shit,” Connor muttered, then took the stairs at a run. A few minutes later, he was back, fury snapping in his eyes. “He’s not here.”

Mrs.Tindall followed at a much slower pace, wringing her hands. “Where could he have gone? That poor boy. He’s devastated right now and may be wandering all alone somewhere. He was sedated. He might not even know where he is. He sleepwalks sometimes.”

Kennedy’s face was ashen. “That’s how he explained to my mother when she caught him wandering the hall near my bedroom. He said he was sleepwalking because he took Ambien. She believed him. He never took the pills. He just pretended to.”

Kit squeezed Kennedy’s hand. “We’ll find him. Try to breathe.” She wished Sam were there. He was so much better at getting people to breathe when they were freaking out. “Mrs.Tindall, did Mr.Shoemaker know Kennedy was coming home?”

“Yes, of course. We told him that we sent the company jet for her.”

“I told him I’d tell,” Kennedy whispered. “I told him I’d tell if anything ever happened to Mom, because it wouldn’t matter anymore.”

Which was why he couldn’t stay. With his wife dead, there was nothing keeping Kennedy quiet. “Stay here, honey,” Kit said. “I’ll be right back.”

She followed Connor outside, ignoring Mrs.Tindall’s sputtered outrage.

“How could he have escaped?” Kit asked Connor. “The back of the house butts up right against the bluff. That’s a two-hundred-foot drop.”

“Closer to three hundred,” Connor muttered, motioning for the officers to come talk to them.

The uniformed officers got out of the car. “We’ve been here the whole time,” one of them said. “Nobody left.”

“Well, he’s fucking gone ,” Connor snapped. “How could you have lost him?”

“We didn’t,” the other officer insisted.

“Unless he can fly, he had to come out this way,” Kit said logically.

“He rappels,” Kennedy called from the doorway. “Check the back for a rope.”

And, sure enough, there was a rope hanging from one of the bedroom windows.

“I don’t understand any of this,” Mrs.Tindall said imperiously once they’d regrouped in the living room. “What is going on?”

Duncan Tindall had joined them, sitting next to his wife on a love seat. “Yes, Detectives, what is the meaning of this? We are having a family crisis here and Pete’s missing. What are you doing to find him?”

“Trust me, sir,” Kit said. “We will find him. We posted a BOLO for him—that’s ‘be on the lookout,’?” she added when Mrs.Tindall looked confused. “He took off on foot after rappelling down the cliff behind your house. Where could he have climbed back up to street level?”

Unless he’d had access to a boat. Dammit. He could be anywhere.

“The nearest trail to the top is about a mile down the beach,” Duncan said. “Why would he do that? Go out through the window?”

“It’s what he does,” Kennedy said woodenly. “It’s how he’d get past Mom’s security system. She didn’t monitor the back because she believed it was inaccessible.”

“He’s escaped like this before?” Kit asked.

Kennedy nodded. “He thinks it’s fun. Exhilarating, he says.” Tears filled her eyes. “He’s supposed to go to jail.”

“And he will,” Kit murmured. “Did your mom know about his rappelling?”

“I don’t know. If she did, I don’t think she knew he was doing it at our house.”

“Did he keep a rope with him?” Connor asked.

Kennedy shrugged. “He had a lot of camping equipment in the back of his car. Ropes and other things. He could have kept a harness, too.”

“What is going on?” Duncan demanded. “What’s this about rappelling? About escaping?”

Kit took Kennedy’s hand. “It’s time now, honey. Tell your grandparents.”

Kennedy squeezed Kit’s hand so hard that it hurt. “Nana, Grandad…” She trailed off, looking helplessly at Kit.

“You want me to start?” Kit asked, and Kennedy nodded. “Okay.” She turned to the grandparents. “This may be difficult to believe, but I need you to listen to Kennedy. Women don’t make claims like this for fun. This is serious. Kennedy’s father has been sexually molesting her for years.” Mrs.Tindall’s mouth opened and she covered it with her hand. Mr.Tindall didn’t blink, just stared at Kit. But they hadn’t yelled yet, so she kept going. “She didn’t tell her mother because her father convinced her not to. He told her that her mother wouldn’t believe her and she wouldn’t love her anymore.”

“This can’t be true,” Duncan said, blustering. “There’s some mistake.”

Kennedy lurched to her feet, but she kept hold of Kit’s hand. “You think I’m lying ?”

“No, no.” Duncan backpedaled. “Of course not, but Kennedy, surely you see that this is impossible. Your father loves you.”

“My father started raping me when I was nine years old,” Kennedy said coldly. “You believe me or you don’t. I’m tired of keeping secrets for this family. You want proof? I’ll call Dr.MacNamara at the clinic in El Cajon. He’s got my records from the time I got chlamydia.”

Mrs.Tindall gasped. “Your mother would have known!”

“Not that I got an STD. My father took me to a free clinic. Gave a fake name. Said if I told the doctor the truth, he’d tell my mother, who’d think I was a whore. I was twelve, Nana.” She dropped back to the sofa, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. “Didn’t you wonder why I always wanted to stay here when Mom was out of town? Didn’t you wonder why I never had any dates?” Her voice was rising with each question. “Didn’t you wonder why I never smiled?”

Duncan was pale. “Your mother said you were being treated for depression.”

“Because that’s what my father told her,” Kennedy said wearily. “Every word Detective McKittrick said is true. That’s why I went straight to the police station. The girls…I couldn’t let it happen to them, too.” She stiffened. “Where are they? Where are the girls?”

“Upstairs watching a movie with headphones on,” Connor said. “They’re here.” He smiled at Kennedy. “They’re safe.”

Kennedy sagged, leaning into Kit’s shoulder. “I couldn’t let him hurt them.”

Kit stroked Kennedy’s hair. “I know.” She met the grandparents’ shocked gazes. “If you believe her, she can stay here. If you don’t, I’ll find a place she can stay while we investigate Peter Shoemaker for the rape of a minor.”

“For the repeated rape of a minor,” Connor said.

Mrs.Tindall burst into tears and ran from the room. Duncan appeared to be numb. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered, then seemed to realize what he’d said. “I believe you, Kennedy. You don’t lie. You’ve never lied. But this…it’s hard to accept.”

“I know,” Kennedy said sadly. “But it’s true. My father is a monster and I hate him.”

“That’s why you insisted on going away to college,” Duncan said, still talking as if he were in a dream. A nightmare. “Pete didn’t want you to go. He asked me to talk you out of it. To forbid you. He said you were too wild to go away on your own, that you wouldn’t take your medication and you’d become suicidal.”

“I was suicidal for a while, before I went to college. I won’t go back to him, Grandad. I won’t.”

“Okay,” Duncan said. He looked at Kit. “What should we do?”

“Counseling to begin with,” Kit said, giving Kennedy’s hand another squeeze. “Do you still have the name of the therapist I gave you, sir? She can help, both with the grief and the abuse. And…let Kennedy heal. She’s already taken an enormous first step. Reporting your abuser is terrifying, sir. That’s why it’s so crucial that you believe her.”

“I do. My wife does, too. She’s just…this has been an awful day.”

“I know,” Kit said. “We’re going to leave you now. Kennedy, why don’t you say hi to your sisters. I think it’ll make you feel better.”

She went upstairs, giving Kit a grateful smile.

Kit turned to Duncan. “Who sleeps in that room where the rope is hanging from the window?”

“That was Aylene’s room,” he whispered, and his tears began to fall again. “He can’t scale the side of the house if we remove the rope, right? Can he get back in?”

“We don’t know,” Connor said. “Call your security company. And change your alarm codes.” Connor stood and Kit joined him. “We’re sorry for your loss,” Connor said quietly. “I know it’s not much, but it’s all we can say.”

“I don’t care what you have to say ,” Duncan said angrily. “Find Pete. That’s all you have to do .”

Kit followed Connor to the department car. They’d gotten Kennedy to her grandparents safely. Now they had to find her sonofabitch father.

“I wonder if he groomed kids who came to him as the assistant principal,” Connor murmured as he started the engine.

“I thought of that,” Kit said. Her cell buzzed and she checked the caller ID. “Navarro again.”

“Maybe they found Shoemaker,” Connor said hopefully.

“Your mouth, God’s ears.” Kit accepted the call and put Navarro on speaker. “Here with Connor, sir. Did you find Shoemaker?”

“No,” Navarro said with disgust. “But I do have some good news. The team tracking the Suburban and the trailer has tracked them as far as the Descanso exit off the 8. They’ve checked extensively and the Suburban and trailer have not been seen east of Descanso. That’s exit 40 off I-8, heading toward Julian. I want you to go to Descanso and start knocking on doors. Ask to see security footage taken by local businesses.”

“On our way,” Connor said. “We’ll keep in contact.”

Kit ended the call and mapped the route. “Let’s do this.”

San Diego PD, San Diego, California

Thursday, January 12, 7:45 p.m.

“It might not be the same guy,” Navarro cautioned as he sat in Connor’s desk chair and rolled himself over to where Sam sat at Kit’s desk, staring at her monitor.

“I know, but I need to check.” Sam signed into the department’s server, careful not to touch any of the files stored on Kit’s computer. He’d asked to use his own laptop—he’d even stopped by his apartment to get it after walking Siggy—but Navarro told him that he’d need special software to access the department server, and to use Kit’s computer.

Navarro pointed at one of the files. “That’s the recording that came from Ace Diamond’s camera that he put at Jennifer’s Body Shop. Thank the good Lord for jealous boyfriends.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Haven’t you seen this?”

“Not yet. Kit was going to show it to me and we kept getting pulled in other directions.” Sam clicked on the video, wincing when Neckbeard tossed Shelley in the back of the Ford truck without a care. “Have you found the Ford yet?”

“Possibly. We found one yesterday that had been reported stolen. It’s the same make, model, and color, so maybe it’s the same truck.”

“No fingerprints, I assume?”

“None that don’t belong to the woman who reported it stolen. Who is seventy-five years old and about five feet five.”

“The girls tonight said the guy they saw drove a big tan SUV.”

“Promising,” Navarro murmured.

Sam rewound the Ace Diamond video and watched it again. Then he saw it. “There.” He froze the frame. “See how he tugs at his sleeves? The girls said he did that, too.” He rewound and rewatched. “And there. He’s scratching the inside of his wrist.” It was a tiny movement, easily ignored if one wasn’t looking for it. “It’s the same guy.”

“I hope so,” Navarro said, frowning. “We can put surveillance at that street corner, in case he comes back looking for another young girl.”

Sam was frowning, too. “I’ve seen someone do that recently. The sleeve-tugging thing. I’m trying to remember who. Damn, I hate it when I can’t think.” He needed to get some sleep.

“Wait,” Navarro said, something odd in his tone. “Our murderer likes young girls?”

“The girls at New Horizons said the girl he took away was thirteen or fourteen, so yeah. Young.”

Navarro grabbed the mouse from Sam’s hand. “Sorry. We need to see something else.”

Sam watched as Navarro found whatever he was looking for.

“Here,” Navarro finally said. “This one.”

Sam froze as the video started. It was one of the interviews Kit and Connor had done the evening before. “Peter Shoemaker?” Whose wife had been murdered sometime between seven last night and seven this morning. Her throat had been slit. Kit had texted him shortly after discovering the woman’s body.

“Yes. Kit and Connor went to pick him up this afternoon for the rape of a minor.”

Sam’s stomach rolled. “Who?”

“His daughter,” Navarro said grimly, fast-forwarding the recording. “She came straight from college to tell us what he’d done. Started on her when she was only nine years old. She hadn’t told before because she feared her mother’s reaction.”

“But now her mother’s dead,” Sam said quietly. “Let me guess. Other children in the home?”

“Got it in one. Twin girls, eight years old. Watch.” Navarro hit play.

On the screen, Peter Shoemaker was putting on his jacket after Kit and Connor had left the room. He shook his shoulders, then tugged on his sleeves.

Right after scratching the inside of his wrist.

Peter Shoemaker was Neckbeard. Peter Shoemaker, who had killed seven people—Munro, Shelley Porter and her mother, Walter Grossman, Hugh Smith, Aylene Tindall, and Lila Ramsey.

“I missed that last night,” Sam said numbly.

“We weren’t looking for that last night. I need to call Kit and Connor.”

“But…” Something wasn’t right. “Bert Ramsey’s wife was also murdered, but that was this morning. Wasn’t Shoemaker still in jail then?”

Navarro paused, his finger hovering over Kit’s name on his cell phone. “He was. Or at least he showed up in a taxi just as Kit and Connor were arriving to confirm his alibi with his wife, just after noon.”

“His wife was his alibi, which can no longer be confirmed or denied,” Sam said.

“Exactly. Wait.” Navarro dialed another number, put the phone on speaker.

“Courthouse. Can I help you?”

“Yes, this is Lieutenant Navarro, Homicide Division. What time was Peter Shoemaker released today?”

“Let me check, Lieutenant.”

They waited several minutes in a tense silence.

“Lieutenant?” the courthouse clerk finally said. “Peter Shoemaker was released on his own recognizance at ten thirty this morning.”

“Thank you,” Navarro told the clerk. “You’ve been very helpful.” He ended the call and looked up the addresses of Bert Ramsey and Peter Shoemaker.

“Ramsey and Shoemaker only lived a few miles from each other,” Sam said. “And Shoemaker was released early enough that he could have killed Ramsey’s wife before returning to his own house in a taxi.”

“The ME said Mrs.Ramsey hadn’t been dead long. Yeah, Shoemaker had time.”

“He killed Lila Ramsey so that his own wife’s murder wouldn’t stick out as unusual,” Sam said, feeling pity for both women. “But weren’t they supposed to have uniformed officers following the accused from the courthouse after they made bail?”

“They were.” Navarro checked a list on his phone, then dialed another number, once again putting it on speaker. “Dispatch, please patch me through to Officer Damon Johnson.” He waited, drumming his fingers on Kit’s desk. “This is Lieutenant Navarro. You were assigned to follow Peter Shoemaker when he left the courthouse today.”

There was a brief hesitation. “Yes, sir. We were. And we did, but he got a ride from his lawyer, who lost us. So we went right to his house and waited outside until he got home.”

“You didn’t put that in your report,” Navarro said coldly.

“I’m…No, sir. We didn’t. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Yeah, me too,” Navarro snapped. “Report to me at oh eight hundred tomorrow. Do not be late.” He ended the call and muttered, “Bert Ramsey’s wife is even sorrier that you didn’t do your fucking jobs. I wonder if Shoemaker told his attorney to lose his tail. We’re going to have to add him to the investigation.”

“But you know where Peter Shoemaker is, right?” Sam asked. “Those officers are still guarding him, aren’t they?”

“No. Shoemaker was gone when Kit and Connor went to pick him up for raping his daughter. He’s been in the wind for hours now.” He dialed Kit, then frowned. “Voice mail,” he said.

Sam got an uneasy feeling. “A man who killed seven people is running around free?”

“Nine people,” Navarro said grimly. “Marshall and Ashton finally found the guard who admitted Munro’s killer into his neighborhood. He was with his girlfriend, at her house. They’re both dead.”

Sam swallowed bile. “Where are Kit and Sam now?”

Navarro checked the time. “Past Descanso by now.”

“Why are they there?” Descanso was a town east of San Diego off Interstate 8, about an hour away.

“My team checking traffic cams found the tan Suburban pulling an unwrapped trailer. Last seen on the 8 just before the Descanso exit. Depending on how far Kit and Connor got, they might be hitting patchy cell service.”

“They need to know that Neckbeard is Shoemaker,” Sam said, lurching to his feet. “They don’t know that he was out of court in time to kill Ramsey’s wife. Let’s go. Now.”

Navarro had also risen but was frowning at him. “Stay here, Doc. This isn’t your responsibility.”

The hell it wasn’t. Kit was his responsibility. “If you leave me here, I’ll only follow you. Wouldn’t it be better to know where I am?”

Navarro rolled his eyes. “You would follow me, wouldn’t you? Then let’s go. We’ll take my car. We can use the flashing light.”

Lake Cuyamaca, California

Thursday, January 12, 8:40 p.m.

“This feels pointless,” Connor said. They’d been driving for a while and the sun had gone down. There were no streetlights along this stretch of road and Kit thought they might be searching for a needle in a haystack.

State Route 79, the road Navarro’s analysts thought the Suburban had taken from I-8, ran through some truly beautiful countryside. But it was very rural, mostly state parkland and nature preserves.

“We’re at least on the right track,” she said, earning a sigh from Connor.

“I know. But it still feels like we’re just throwing spaghetti at the wall.”

That was fair.

They’d stopped in Descanso, asking if anyone had seen the tan Suburban pulling a trailer, and had gotten a lot of shaking heads. But one gas station owner had allowed them to view his security footage and they’d caught the Suburban pulling a plain, unpainted trailer on Wednesday evening of the week before.

That was the day that Brooks Munro had been abducted from his home, so they were on the right track. But the gas station’s camera hadn’t picked up the Suburban coming this way in the days since, so Kit didn’t have much hope that they’d find their killer. At least not today.

She and Connor had decided to keep looking.

Kit had tried to call Navarro to let him know, but there was no cell signal, so she’d sent a text instead. That hadn’t gone through, either.

The gas station owner had been charitable, offering them water and the use of his landline. Kit’s call had gone to Navarro’s voice mail, so she’d left a cryptic message, aware of the gas station owner’s intense interest in her call.

He didn’t seem like a bad sort, just super curious. And something of a gossip.

They’d been driving along the eastern edge of the Cleveland National Forest and were close to the town of Julian, where State Route 79 continued, another highway branching east.

“Well, at least now dumping the body in Anza-Borrego makes sense,” Kit said. “At Julian, a new highway starts up. It’s one of the routes into Anza-Borrego. From Julian it’s only about an hour to where Sam and I found Munro’s body.”

“Then that does make sense. Kind of.” Connor frowned. “But why drive an hour to dump Munro there when there’s literally hundreds of square miles of forest close by?”

“I don’t know. I can’t help but wonder if he really wanted Munro’s body to be discovered. At least at some point. Maybe not as quickly as we found it. It’s bothered me that he didn’t bury it.”

“Sam thought the wind was too heavy for the killer to see that night.”

“Maybe. But to just leave the body there? On top of the sand?” Kit shook her head. “He’s been so methodical in everything. He planned to use Norton Landscaping as his entrée into Munro’s neighborhood. He planned where to get the wrap done. He planned to use Shelley Porter’s addiction against her, to tempt her with cash that he never intended to pay so that he could get the trailer. No money trail. He’s killed seven people without leaving any forensic clues behind. Not a print, not a hair. He’s been one step ahead of us all this time, but he doesn’t bury the body?”

Connor sighed. “Well, now that you put it that way…”

“Also, I don’t know how many people hike and camp in the forest this time of year, but this is a busy time for Anza-Borrego. The days aren’t too hot and the nights aren’t too cold. Tons of people go there at night to stargaze.”

“So it’s a tourist draw this time of year. Someone at some point would have noticed the body lying on top of the sand.”

“Yeah. It was partially covered but still clearly recognizable as a body. But where he could have gone from here last Wednesday is anyone’s guess.”

“The next town is Julian. We can stop there and ask around. My parents have friends who own vacation homes up there, so if it’s a bust, we can at least stop at one of their houses and use a phone. Maybe even internet.”

“I don’t want to go too far and possibly pass where he took the trailer.”

Connor lifted his brows. “And how do we know how far is too far?”

Kit sighed. “I don’t know. If I were bringing someone out to the middle of nowhere to torture and kill them, I wouldn’t want to be too close to a town. People are nosy.”

“They are. But unless you have a better idea…”

Kit sighed again. “Let’s stop at the next gas station and check their security footage. If that’s in Julian, so be it.”

“But your gut says he won’t be in Julian.”

Kit shrugged one shoulder. “Not in Julian. The town doesn’t even have eighteen hundred people. Too many people would remember him—either as Neckbeard or whatever he really looks like. But you’re right. We don’t actually have a choice. Too bad it’s after hours. I bet a mail carrier would know who lives behind the trees.”

The trees weren’t thick, at least not around this side of the forest. But they were dense enough and the surrounding hills high enough to hide a trailer behind.

“I bet a lot of these areas don’t get mail service,” Connor said. “They have to use a PO box at the post office in Julian.”

Kit shuddered. “That makes me nervous, being that far from civilization.”

Connor chuckled. “Civilization is in the eye of the beholder. Many of the land parcels up near Julian are under a hundred acres. It’s not like they have to travel for days in a horse-drawn buggy to get to a town.”

“Still. No mail service?”

“If it makes you feel better, they probably still get UPS deliveries. Amazon too.”

Kit turned to look at him. “Yeah? I wonder if we could talk to the local drivers. They might have seen something. They’re on the road all the time.”

“Not a bad idea. Let’s figure it out when we get to Julian.”

“Or we could take one of these driveways and ask a resident.”

Connor winced. “I’d prefer not to get shot today. It’s rural and isolated enough that residents don’t get regular visitors, and it’s dark outside, but what the hey. Let’s give it a try.” Connor flicked on the high beams. “Watch for driveways. They won’t be obvious.”

Kit kept her eyes peeled for any kind of break in the brush along the roadway. And then another set of headlights came toward them.

Kit crossed the fingers of both hands. “Be an Amazon truck. Please be an Amazon truck.”

Connor laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m an optimist.” She watched as the vehicle drove past. “Turn around.”

“Not an Amazon truck, Kit.”

“But it is a tow truck. Maybe they’ve seen something. The driver might be on this road a lot.”

Connor heaved a heavy sigh and pulled onto the sliver of a shoulder, doing a three-point-turn. “Better hope nobody comes along and T-bones us.”

Kit crossed the fingers of both hands again, making Connor laugh once more.

They got turned around and pursued the tow truck. Connor flashed his high beams, but the truck didn’t budge.

Finally, Kit put the flashing light on the roof of the car and the tow truck slowed to a stop.

Both Kit and Connor got out of the car hands up to show that they weren’t armed. Their guns were holstered.

The driver rolled down his window. “What’s the problem?” he asked gruffly. “You need assistance?”

“No,” Kit said. “Or at least we don’t need a tow. I’m Detective McKittrick and this is Detective Robinson. We’re with San Diego PD.”

The driver gave them a long, assessing look. “Kind of far from home.”

“A bit,” Kit agreed. “We’re looking for a specific vehicle that may have come this way last week.”

The tow truck driver gave them an incredulous look, like they were insane but he wasn’t about to say so. “Which vehicle?”

“A tan Chevy Suburban,” Connor said. “He was pulling a trailer.”

He took out his phone and showed the driver the photo he’d taken of the gas station owner’s feed.

The driver shook his head. “Haven’t seen the trailer, but there’s a Suburban driving this road sometimes. Usually on the weekends. He had a flat once and I changed his tire.”

“What did he look like?” she asked.

“Average, I guess. Except for his beard. Looked like Bigfoot. Nice fella, though. Tipped me big for changing his tire and paid cash for my spare. He didn’t have one with him.”

“Do you know where he lives?” Kit asked, trying not to hold her breath.

“Nope.” The driver scratched the back of his head. “Or maybe…” He thought some more, then shrugged. “It was along this road somewhere. Between here and Julian.” He squinted out his windshield. “I followed him for a while, just to make sure he was okay. He pulled over, waved me to go on. I guess he was nervous about a stranger following him.”

“Then how do you know it was between here and Julian?” Connor asked.

“Because I got another call for a tow and had to turn around. Never passed him. I’d say he pulled into one of these driveways within no more than five miles from here. If that.”

“Thank you,” Kit said. “We appreciate it.” She gave him one of her business cards and Connor did the same. “If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

The driver nodded soberly. “I will.”

“Thank you.” Kit had to force herself not to dance a jig. “Have a good evening.”

She waited until she and Connor were back in the car before gloating. “Optimism for the win!”

Connor laughed, turned the car around, and started driving again. “Keep crossing your fingers. It seems to be working.”