Leslie Parrish - Fade To Black

The stepfather would have had to grab Lisa, stash her somewhere, go home and beat his wife, and drive her to the hospital in the next town, all within a thirty-minute period. Impossible. “So he wasn’t responsible for what happened to Lisa,” he said.

Her green eyes darkened. “At least not for her murder.”

The man was guilty of the rest; he didn’t doubt that. He only hoped that someday he was made to pay for it.

“What else have you got?” he asked, no longer worrying about whether she’d done the right thing in investigating on her own. Stacey wasn’t stupid. And what she’d told him already had helped a lot by ruling out a viable suspect.

“I tried to talk to Randy.”

“Why?”

“My brother told me Randy left a little before closing that night. Lisa did, too. I thought it was worth asking if he noticed anything as he was leaving-a truck pulling in, or maybe one he passed on his way back to town.”

“Did he?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t met up with him yet. I stopped by his house, and his mother told me he’s been doing a lot of overnight trips. He drives a big rig. She said she’d have him call me.”

Noticing a half smile lurking on her lips, he asked, “What?”

“Nothing. Mrs. Covey hates that I’m sheriff, and tries hard not to even notice my uniform. I think she really believed I was there for personal reasons, that I’m another fast girl trying to corrupt her good boy.”

He couldn’t help saying, “I like that about you, fast girl.”

She ignored him. “Randy’s getting his girlfriend pregnant when he was in high school did not go over well in the Covey house. I think she’s trying to scare away any other woman who might ‘trap’ him again.”

“Why does he stay?”

“Who knows?”

Dean couldn’t help thinking back to their earlier conversation about the profile. He had to say, “Abandoned by his wife, controlling mother. Do you think he was abused as a kid?”

Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to hotly reply. But not a sound came out. Not a single sound.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t considered it,” he said, knowing she was too good not to have. “He’s a trucker, on the road all the time, traveling all over the place.”

“I’ve considered it,” she admitted, grudging but honest. “But he’s a big, obnoxious teddy bear.”

“John Wayne Gacy volunteered as a clown.”

“Yeah, I know. But Randy? I’ve never heard an angry word come out of his mouth.”

Before she could say anything further, another car swung into the gravel lot, parking beside his. She cast a quick glance toward the newcomer, murmuring, “I invited Mitch to meet me out here. Told him he should keep practicing with his good arm while his broken one heals.”

He immediately remembered the guy who had burst into their meeting on Saturday. He’d had some kind of relationship with the victim, and his boss hadn’t known a thing about it.

“You sure his arm’s really broken?” he asked, immediately thinking of the video of Amber Torrington’s brutal murder. Just because the Reaper had shown no sign of a cast didn’t mean Mitch Flanagan could be ruled out. For all he knew, the cast could be a perfect ruse, a visible disguise as well as a reason to miss work.

“Of course it’s broken,” Stacey snapped.

He didn’t argue, knowing her well enough to know she’d get there on her own.

“According to witnesses, including my brother, he argued with Lisa in the bar the night she disappeared. I want to talk to him, but I need to handle it carefully. I don’t want anyone putting the cart before the horse. If people think I’m questioning him, or that he’s a suspect… well, given his family, they’ll have him tried and convicted.”

“Bad background?”

“His father’s a nightmare.”

“Abusive?” He could see her grit her teeth, but didn’t back off. “Stacey, come on; you said yourself it’s relevant.”

Though she shook her head in denial, she admitted, “Yeah. He was pretty rough on Mitch, and I suspect he’s still knocking his younger son, Mike, around.”

“Do you think Mitch or the brother could be our guy?”

“Mike is probably capable of just about anything rotten, but I don’t see a teenager being the Reaper.”

“Just because most serial killers are at least in their mid-twenties doesn’t mean it’s a necessity. What about your deputy? Do you suspect him?”

“Of stupidity. Of being a sucker and falling for the wrong woman. But murder?” She shook her head slowly. “I can’t picture it. But at this point I’m not ruling anything out.” She reached for the door handle and sighed. “So I guess I’d better make a note to check on his broken arm.”

A good-looking guy in his late twenties, Mitch Flanagan had a lot going for him. Starting with being able to break free of his family’s no-good reputation and make something of himself, despite the odds against him.

Stacey had gone to school with him, though he’d been a few years behind her. But even as a senior, when she’d never spoken to him, she’d heard the snide comments and seen the condescending looks thrown his way. Girls were tempted by the bad-boy rumors, but warned away by their folks. Guys were threatened by his looks and smarts. He’d been a loner, keeping his head down, his nose clean, and his goal in sight.

Escape. That had been his goal. She’d known it then and she knew it now.

It had worked. He’d proved a whole lot of people wrong. He’d kept up his grades, never gotten into a day’s worth of trouble. And by his senior year, most people were almost able to forget his last name.

As far as she knew, he’d left his parents’ home the day after graduation and had never gone back. He’d pulled together enough money to go to college and get a degree. And her father had hired him right afterward. Stacey had promoted him to chief deputy a year ago. She’d never regretted her choice. Now, though, she had to wonder.

Because she needed her people to be honest with her. And he hadn’t been.

“Hey, Mitch,” she said as he stepped out of his car, careful with his broken arm. His cast, which Dean suddenly had her questioning, was scrawled with a few signatures and some graffiti, probably from the other deputies, all of whom looked up to him.

He was liked. He was sociable. He was smart.

So why on earth had he gotten himself mixed up with Lisa Zimmerman and then covered it up?

“Hi, Stace.” He glanced toward the other side of the car, where Dean stood, watching in silence. “He’s back?”

She nodded as Dean walked over to join them. “I don’t think you officially met the other day,” she said, quickly introducing them.

Mitch flushed, then shook Dean’s hand, obviously embarrassed by his unprofessional behavior. “Is there news?”

“No.” Few people knew the FBI was investigating other murders in connection with Lisa’s. She intended to keep it that way. If her subordinates wondered why the FBI was involving itself in a local case, they’d just have to keep wondering.

“You still haven’t found her?”

She shook her head.

“But you’re certain she’s dead?”

Dean stepped in. “We’re certain.”

Seeing the dazed, empty look in Mitch’s eyes, Stacey reached out and put a bracing hand on his shoulder. “We need to talk about this.”

“I know.” He glanced at Dean, as if wondering if the other man had to stay, but Stacey wasn’t going to let Mitch off the hook just because he was her friend. The case was much too important for that. Realizing as much, Mitch shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“How long had you been seeing her?”

“About six months,” he admitted. “I pulled her over one night for speeding.”