Page 13 of The Hanging Dolls

“Then how do you know who he is?”

“It’s Harborwood. Everyone knows everyone.” Travis sighed. “Okay, go talk to him. I’ll see if he has any priors. Dr. Wesley and I will continue digging at our end.”

“Has this guy ever been in trouble?” she asked Scott as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Nope. No one really gets into trouble in this town. Until now.”

The building was a large, industrial structure with corrugated metal walls streaked with rust and patches of peeling paint. The faint hum of machinery emanated from within, mingling with the distant cries of seagulls that circled above, hoping to scavenge scraps. As they stepped out of the car, the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocky shore echoed in the distance.

Zoe plugged her nose as the smell of fish overwhelmed her.

“How’s your motel?” Scott asked.

She shrugged. “I’ve had better… and worse. How long have you been a detective for?”

“Four years. It’s just me and two other guys. One of them is close to retirement. We never felt the need for more. Until now.”

They made their way to the entrance, passing rows of stacked crates filled with freshly caught fish, still glistening with seawater. Workers in rubber boots hauled crates, loaded trucks,and tended to the conveyor belts that carried the fish into the plant.

Zoe shuddered at the sudden drop in temperature inside—necessary to preserve the catch—and the smell of disinfectant and chemicals, laced with fish.

They were directed to the supervisor’s office where a burly man in his fifties, wearing a stained apron and a baseball cap, was leaning over a desk cluttered with paperwork and charts. A multitude of schedules and safety notices were pinned to a bulletin board behind him.

“That him?” she asked.

Scott nodded and knocked the doorframe. “Andy McMaster?”

The man looked up, his face lined and hands calloused. “Yes?”

“We have some questions for you. This is Special Agent Zoe Storm from the FBI.”

He glanced at the clock behind him. “What is this about?”

“Lily Baker,” Scott said. “You know her father, Tim Baker?”

“He’s a good worker,” he replied in a gruff voice. “I promoted him to manager last year. He’s on leave right now… understandably.”

Zoe read the safety protocols on the board behind him and studied his minimalistic office. Andy seemed comfortable talking to the police. It didn’t seem like he had anything to hide.

“We have you on tape talking to Lily at the playground the day she disappeared. In fact, technically, you’re the last person she was seen with.”

Andy’s stiff expression crumbled. He unfolded his arms, his eyes bouncing from Zoe to Scott. “What?”

“We have your car on video,” Scott said. “So don’t deny it.”

He looked around at his messy desk as if searching for something. “I… I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, then why didn’t you come forward?” Scott retorted.

“I didn’t think… it was so brief. I was just driving by and saw her and she recognized me from the times Tim would bring her to work… I just wanted to say hello. Please believe me. I didn’t hurt her. I wouldn’t do that. I got kids of my own!”

As if that ever stopped anyone, thought Zoe. She sat down and swung one leg over the other, invested more in the confrontation.

“You got problems with Tim?” Scott asked.

Andy’s mouth fell open. “I just told you I promoted him. He’s a solid guy. Very dependable. Come on, man!”

“What did you and Lily talk about?” Zoe asked.