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Ash staredat his murder board with a growing sense of helplessness. Instead of eliminating suspects, he’d added two more—Linda Collier and an activist named Tommy O’Connor.

While speaking to Phin earlier, his brother had let it slip that O’Connor had taken his need for updates to a harassing level, and Kayla was taking on the brunt of his displeasure. Phin had also denied knowing anything about HCVS, the company pouring millions of dollars into Krowne and Associates.

No matter how much he wanted it otherwise, the evidence kept dragging Kayla’s name back to the board. The State Police still hadn’t reported back yet on whether the governor had been working on anything that could have led to her murder.

His phone rested on his desk, silent. He willed it to ring. Didn’t even care who as long as they gave him a new lead to follow.

Another person he’d like to hear from ghosted through his mind, but he shut down the longing before it could take root and make him do something stupid, like call her. After their disastrous interview with Linda Collier, he’d made a promise to himself to keep it professional with Kayla. Talk to her only if the case warranted the exchange.

He could already feel the ache of withdrawal.

A knuckle tapped against his cubicle, and he turned to find SRA Lawson.

“When I advocated against regular updates, I didn’t expect a complete blackout.”

“I’m not tracking, sir.”

“The alleged pay-to-play situation with Kayla Krowne. What can you tell me about it?”

He’d become so wrapped up in the governor’s case that he’d failed to send his report to his supervisor. “Apologies, sir.” Keeping in mind that Joyce Ann Carlson was Lawson’s cousin, he chose his words carefully as he laid out his findings.

He walked Lawson through his investigation, including the interviews and the revelation that the artifact belonged to Jillian Krowne, not Kayla.

“It’s a degree of separation,” Lawson said, “but maybe Mama Krowne wanted to help her daughter secure a vote.”

“Possible, but Ms. Krowne is known for loaning pieces of her collection to museums and a curator in need would’ve been like catnip to her. Plus, there’s nothing to indicate that the loan changed Mrs. Rhodes’s mind. Even Ms. Carlson admits to this.”

“What else?”

“Mrs. Rhodes confirmed her affair with the superintendent.”

Lawson eyed him. “And?”

Ash cleared his throat. “She believes Ms. Carlson has a crush—her word, not mine—on the super.”

“Good God, what a soap opera.”

“Generally is.”

“Send me your report.” Lawson scrubbed his face. “Anything new on the governor’s case?”

“I have a couple irons heating up, just waiting for some callbacks.”

Thirty minutes later, Ash’s cell phone rang. “You got something for me, Detective?”

“Grimball and DNA,” Morgan said. “Which one do you want first?”

Slumped in his chair, Ash sat forward. “Grimball.”

“The only living kin he has is an older brother in Winston-Salem. Three weeks ago, the brother supposedly opened a new savings account in Marion with a hundred-thousand-dollar deposit.”

“You’re assuming Grimball opened the account to stash his hit money.”

“Bull’s eye. The brothers have an uncanny resemblance. It would be little effort to snatch his brother’s ID for a day and copy his signature.”

“Or the brother was in on it. You going to Winston-Salem to have a chat?”

“Can’t. I need to follow up on another lead. Two of my colleagues are headed there now.”

Ash wondered if the lead was for this case or another. Before he had time to ask, Morgan said, “The State’s crime lab got a hit on the DNA forensics found at the scene.”

“Got a name?”

“Mason Wade.”