Page 68 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

Wexler gave another grunt. They had reached the end of the field. He took a lazy swerve past the forest, then lined up the truck’s tires along the planted rows.

Instead of continuing forward, Wexler slammed on the brakes.

A yelp came out of Andrea’s mouth. Her quick reaction was the only thing that kept her face from pounding into the metal dashboard. Wexler chuckled, a sick kind of pleasure in the sound. Scaring Andrea had not been the only goal. He had wanted to hurt her. There was no way to call Wexler out without admitting that he had gotten to her. All she could do was sit in silence as the truck slowly resumed its trudge toward the farmhouse.

Wexler was still smiling when his tobacco pouch came out of his pocket. He used his knees to keep the steering wheel steady while he rolled another cigarette. They were approaching the crime scene tent. Someone had placed the sheet back over the body. Wexler didn’t even turn his head when they passed. Nor did he turn when a loud bang announced Nardo jumping into the bed of the truck.

Nardo winked at Andrea as he opened the sliding window between them. Then he mocked a gun with his hand and pulled the trigger in her direction.

Andrea looked ahead at the farmhouse. They had another few minutes before they reached their destination. Thanks to the open windows, Nardo could probably hear everything they said. Andrea didn’t think it was a coincidence that Wexler had tried to scare her within moments of bringing Emily Vaughn into the conversation. She could not let him distract her.

She said, “They’ve never conclusively proven who the father of Emily’s child is.”

“Judith,” answered the man who said he couldn’t remember anything. Wexler lit his cigarette from a box of matches, then gripped the steering wheel between his hands. “It wasn’t me, sweetheart. Even Emily didn’t know who knocked her up. The judge tell you that? The girl had no fucking idea.”

Andrea struggled to keep her expression neutral. She had known that it was a secret, but not a secret that was unknown to Emily herself.

“The bitch got stoned at a party and woke up pregnant. For all I know, every guy there got a piece of her.” He smiled at Andrea’s appalled reaction. “Emily was a party girl. She knew exactly what would happen. Hell, she probably wanted it. Her parents turned her into a fucking angel when she died. Nobody ever talks about how Emily Vaughn would fuck anything that moved.”

Andrea felt like he’d punched her in the face. What he was describing was rape. Whether Emily was stoned was immaterial if she hadn’t been capable of giving consent.

Wexler looked pleased as he smoked his cigarette. This was clearly what got him out of bed in the morning—the opportunity to make women feel like shit.

Andrea tried desperately to fall back on her training. She’d just learned something shocking, but you couldn’t be shocked when you talked to suspects. You had to store your emotions somewhere else while you did your job, then you could deal with the fall-out later.

She told Dean, “I guess it’d be easy to get DNA from Emily’s daughter. This isn’t 1982. Paternity’s easy to prove.”

“I shoot blanks, baby doll.” He had the same nasty grin on his face. “I was cleared forty years ago. You can ask Cheese about that. His daddy was the one who investigated the whole thing. If you can call it an investigation. We all knew who did it. Dumb fuck couldn’t figure out how to lock him up before he skipped town.”

Andrea said, “Clayton Morrow.”

“Exactly.” Wexler snorted smoke from his nose. “In other words, not me.”

He shifted into second gear when they cleared the field. The needle on the speedometer bobbed past the ten. They were in wide-open space now, about fifty yards from the farmhouse. Grass and weeds competed for sunlight. There were outbuildings, chickens, goats.

Andrea ignored them all. She couldn’t let Dean Wexler think he’d had the last word. She made an educated guess based on her earlier web searches. “Maybe you aren’t the father, but you still lost your job over it.”

Wexler was nonplussed. “Getting fired from that piece of shit school was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

For the first time, Andrea felt like he was telling the unvarnished truth.

“This is my idea of heaven.” Wexler spread out his hands, indicating the farm. “I can go out in the fields and work the soil if I feel like it, or I can swing in my hammock and smoke a joint. I’ve got food and shelter and all the money I need. Forty years ago, I walked out of that school and straight into freedom.”

“And yet you still found a way to surround yourself with vulnerable young girls.”

Wexler’s foot jammed on the brake.

Andrea’s head jerked forward. Again, her reflexes were the only thing that saved her. Nardo wasn’t so fortunate. His shoulder slammed into the back window so hard that she felt the vibration in her teeth.

“Fuck, Dean!” Nardo banged his fist on the glass, but he was laughing. “What the hell, old man?”

Andrea’s heart was pounding in her mouth again. She couldn’t let it slide this time. “Mr. Wexler, if you try anything like that ever again, I will put you on the ground.”

He barked a laugh. “I shit bigger than you, little girl.”

“You should probably schedule a colonoscopy.” Andrea reached for the door handle. “Maybe the doctor can get your head out of your ass.”

Everything happened very fast but, for a split second, for just a tiny moment, Andrea’s brain managed to slow it all down.