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  “And we found a woman standing in line at the Italian food kiosk. The victim had eaten pasta as her last meal. She was wearing a sweatshirt saying Cellists Do It With Strings Attached-the victim has calluses on her fingertips. The park is going through their receipts to see if she paid for her lunch with a credit card. I’m waiting for them to call back. Cross your fingers.”

  “I will. We did find one thing of interest.” Ed put a small jar on Daniel’s desk. “We found hair and skin in the bark of one of the trees about fifty feet back from the ditch.”

  Daniel looked at the headline Corchran had faxed that morning. “The reporter?”

  “That’s what we’re thinking. If you find this Jim Woolf person, we can put him at the scene before we got there.”

  “How did he get away without being seen?”

  “My team was there till after eleven last night and back again this morning. Between eleven and six we had a unit patrolling. We found shoeprints along the road about a quarter mile from here. I think the reporter waited until we were all gone, climbed down and stayed low until he got a quarter mile away, then caught a ride.”

  “There’s no cover along the road. He must have slithered on his belly to get away.”

  Ed’s jaw tightened. “Slithered is about right. Guy’s a snake. He gave away everything we’ve got in that article. I heard you went to school with him.”

  Ed sounded slightly accusatory, as if Daniel were to blame for Jim Woolf’s behavior. “I was a V and he was a W, so he always sat in back of me. He seemed nice enough then. But as Chase so astutely observed, he appears to have changed. I guess I’m about to go see how much.” He pointed to his computer screen. “I was just checking him out. He was an accountant until his dad died a year ago and left him the Review. Jim’s pretty new at this reporter stuff. Maybe he can be persuaded to talk.”

  “You got a flute?” Ed asked sourly.

  “Why?”

  “Isn’t that what those snake charmers use?”

  Daniel grimaced at the image. “I hate snakes almost as much as reporters.”

  Ed broke into a good-natured grin. “Then you’re going to have a fun afternoon.”

  Dutton, Monday, January 29, 2:15 p.m.

  “It’s a thousand a month,” the realtor said, a gleam in her eye as if she sensed a done deal. In her mid-fifties, Delia Anderson had a bouffant-do that dynamite couldn’t budge. “First and last month’s rent payable on signing.”

  Alex looked around at the bungalow. It was homey, had two bedrooms and a real kitchen-and was less than a block from a really nice park where Hope could play. If they were ever able to get her to drop the crayons. “Furnishings all stay?”

  Delia nodded. “Including the organ.” It was one of the older models that synthesized every instrument in the orchestra. “You can move in tomorrow.”

  “Tonight.” Alex met the woman’s eagle eyes. “I need to move in tonight.”

  Delia smiled cagily. “I think that can be arranged.”

  “Does it have an alarm?”

  “I suppose not.” Delia looked unhappy. “No, it doesn’t have an alarm.”

  Alex frowned, thinking of Vartanian’s caution before she’d left the morgue viewing room. She wasn’t a big fan of guns, but fear was a great motivator. She’d tried to buy a gun in the sporting goods department of the store where she’d bought all the toys for Hope’s play therapy, but the clerk told her that she couldn’t buy a gun in Georgia if she wasn’t a resident. She could prove residency with a Georgia driver’s license. She could get a driver’s license with a rental contract. So let’s get this done.

  Still, she was practical. “If it doesn’t have an alarm, then can I have a dog?” A dog was a better deterrent to an attacker. She lifted a brow. “An alarm will cost the owners money. I’d pay an extra security deposit if I got a dog.”

  Delia bit at her lip. “Maybe a little dog. I’ll check with the owners.”

  Alex swallowed her smile. “You do that. If I can have a dog, I’ll sign right now.”

  Delia took her cell phone outside and two minutes later she was back, as was her cagey smile. “Darlin’, we have a deal and you have a house.”

  Dutton, Monday, January 29, 4:15 p.m.

  Daniel felt like he was channeling Clint Eastwood as he walked Dutton’s Main Street. As he passed, conversations stilled and people stared. All he was missing was the poncho and the eerie music. Last week he’d been to the funeral home, the cemetery, and his parents’ home out past the city limits. With the exception of the funeral and the graveside, he’d managed to stay out of the public eye.

  But not now. He met the eyes of each staring person. Most of them he knew. All of them had aged. It had been a long time since he’d been back. Eleven years since he’d fought with his father over the pictures and left Dutton for good, but he’d left in spirit the day he’d left for college, seven years before that. He’d changed a lot in those years.

  Dutton’s Main Street, however, had not. He walked past the curious eyes peering from the windows of the bakery, the florist, the barbershop. Three old men sat outside the barbershop on a bench. Three old men had always sat outside on that bench, ever since Daniel could remember. When one went on to the Great Beyond, another took his place. Daniel had always wondered if there was some kind of formal waiting list for the bench, as there was for box seats at Braves’ games.

  He was surprised when one of the old men stood up. He couldn’t recall ever having seen any of the old men stand up before. But this one stood and leaned on his cane, watching Daniel approach. “Daniel Vartanian.”

  Daniel recognized the voice instantly and was a little amused to find himself standing straighter as he stopped in front of his old high school English teacher. “Mr. Grant.”

  One side of the old man’s bushy white mustache lifted. “So you do remember.”

  Daniel met the old man’s eyes. “ ‘Death, be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so.’ ” Odd that that would be the first quotation to enter his mind. Daniel thought about the woman lying in the morgue, unidentified and as yet unreported as missing. Or maybe not so odd.

  The other side of Grant’s mustache lifted and he bobbed his white head in salute. “John Donne. One of your favorites, as I recall.”

  “Not so much anymore. I guess I’ve seen too much death.”

  “I suspect you have at that, Daniel. We’re all sorry about your parents.”

  “Thank you. It’s been a difficult time for all of us.”

  “I was at the funeral and the grave. Susannah looked pale.”

  Daniel swallowed. That his sister had. She’d had good reason. “She’ll hold up.”

  “Of course she will. Your parents raised good stock.” Grant winced when he realized what he’d said. “Hell. You know what I meant.”

  To his surprise, Daniel found his lips curving. “I know what you meant, sir.”

  “That Simon was always bad news.” Grant leaned forward and dropped his voice, although Daniel knew every eye in town was watching them. “I read what you did, Daniel. It took courage. Good for you, son. I was proud of you.”

  Daniel’s smile faded and he swallowed again, this time as his eyes stung. “Thank you.” He cleared his voice. “You got a seat on the barbershop bench, I see.”

  Grant nodded. “Only had to wait for old Jeff Orwell to pass.” He scowled. “Old man held on for two long years, just because he knew I was waiting.”

  Daniel shook his head. “The nerve of some people.”

  Grant smiled. “It’s good to see you, Daniel. You were one of my best students.”

  “You were always one of my favorite teachers. You and Miss Agreen.” He lifted his brows. “You two still an item?”

  Grant coughed until Daniel thought he’d have to do CPR. “You knew about that?”

  “Everybody did, Mr. Grant. I always thought you knew we knew and didn’t care.”

  Grant drew a deep breath. “People
think their secrets are so damn safe,” he murmured, so quietly Daniel almost didn’t hear. “People are fools.” Then he whispered under his breath, “Don’t be a fool, son.” Then he looked up, his smile reappearing, and he rocked back on his cane. “Good to see you. Don’t be a stranger, Daniel Vartanian.”

  Daniel studied his old teacher’s eyes, but there was no hint of what had seemed a dire warning just a few seconds before. “I’ll try. Take care, Mr. Grant. Give the next guy on the waiting list for the barbershop bench a very long wait.”

  “That I will.”

  Daniel walked on to the office of the Dutton Review, the real reason for his visit. The Review sat across the street from the police station, which would be Daniel’s next stop. The inside of the newspaper office was stuffy and packed floor to ceiling with boxes. A small space had been carved out for a desk, a computer, and a phone. At the desk sat a plump man with a pair of glasses resting on his balding head.

  Four large bandages covered his left forearm, looking like sergeant’s stripes, and an angry red welt peeked from his shirt collar. It looked as if the man had tangled with something and lost. Perhaps a tree. Hello, Daniel thought.

  The man looked up and Daniel recognized the boy who’d sat behind him from kindergarten through high school. Jim Woolf’s mouth curved in something just shy of a sneer. “Well. If it isn’t the man himself. Special Agent Daniel Vartanian. In the flesh.”

  “Jim. How are you?”

  “Better today than you are, I suspect, although I have to say I’m flattered. I thought you’d send a flunkie to do your dirty work, but here you are, back in little old Dutton.”

  Daniel sat on the edge of Woolf’s desk. “You didn’t return my phone calls, Jim.”

  Jim’s fingers resting lightly on his rounded stomach. “I didn’t have anything to say.”

  “A newspaperman with nothing to say. That has to be a first.”

  “I’m not telling you what you want to know, Daniel.”

  Daniel abandoned the polite path. “Then I’ll arrest you for impeding an investigation.”

  Jim flinched. “Wow. You pulled off the gloves there, real fast.”

  “I spent the morning in the morgue watching that woman autopsied. Tends to suck the joy right out of a man’s day. Ever seen an autopsy, Jim?”

  Jim’s jaw squared. “No. But I’m still not telling you what you want to know.”

  “Okay. Get your coat.”

  Jim sat up straight. “You’re bluffing.”

  “No, I’m not. Someone clued you in to that crime scene before the cops arrived. No telling how long you had to poke around that body. No telling what you touched. What you took.” Daniel met Jim’s eyes. “Maybe you even put her there.”

  Jim turned red. “I had nothing to do with that and you know it.”

  “I know nothing. I wasn’t there. You, on the other hand, were.”

  “You don’t know that I was. Maybe I got the pictures from somebody else.”

  Daniel leaned across the desk and pointed to the Band-Aids on the man’s forearm. “You left part of yourself behind, Jim. Crime scene guys found your skin in the bark of that tree.” Jim paled a little. “Now I can take you in and get a warrant for a DNA sample or you can tell me how you knew to be up that tree yesterday afternoon.”

  “I can’t. Beyond the constitutional aspects, if I tell you, I’ll never get another tip.”

  “So you got a tip.”

  Jim sighed. “Daniel… If I knew I wouldn’t tell you, but I don’t know who it was.”

  “An anonymous tip. Convenient.”

  “It’s the truth. The call came through on my home phone, but the number was blocked. I didn’t know what I’d see when I got there.”

  “Was the caller male or female?”

  Jim shook his head. “No. Not gonna tell you that.”

  Daniel considered. He’d already gotten more than he thought he would. “Then tell me when you arrived and what you did see.”

  Jim tilted his head. “What’s in it for me?”

  “An interview, exclusive. You might even sell to one of the big guys in Atlanta.”

  Jim’s eyes lit up and Daniel knew he’d plucked the right chord. “All right. It’s not complicated. I got the call yesterday at noon. I got there at about one, climbed the tree, and waited. About two the bikers came through. A half hour later Officer Larkin showed up. He took one look at the body, climbed back up the bank to the road, and threw up. Pretty soon you state boys showed up. After everybody left I climbed down and went home.”

  “Once you climbed down, how exactly did you get home?”

  Jim’s lips thinned. “My wife. Marianne.”

  Daniel blinked. “Marianne? Marianne Murphy? You married Marianne Murphy?”

  Jim looked smug. “Yes.”

  Marianne Murphy had been the girl voted most likely to do… everybody. “Well.” Daniel cleared his throat, not wanting to visualize Jim Woolf with the buxom and very generous Marianne Murphy. “How did you get there?”

  “She dropped me off, too.”

  “I’ll want to talk to her. To confirm the times. And I want the pictures you took while you were sitting there. All of them.”

  Glaring, Jim popped his memory card from his camera and tossed it. Daniel caught it with one hand and slipped it into his pocket as he stood up. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Jim followed him to the door. “When?”

  “When I know something.” Daniel opened the door, then stopped, his hand still on the doorknob. And stared.

  Behind him he heard Jim’s soft gasp. “Oh my God. That’s…”

  Alex Fallon. She stood at the bottom of the police station stairs, a satchel over one shoulder. She still wore her black suit. Her shoulders abruptly stiffened and she turned slowly until she met his eyes. For a long moment they stared at each other across Main Street. She didn’t smile. In fact, even from this distance Daniel could see her full lips go thin. She was angry.

  Daniel crossed the street, his eyes never breaking away from hers. When he stood before her she lifted her chin, as she’d done that morning. “Agent Vartanian.”

  His mouth went dry. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I’m here to see the sheriff about filing a missing person report on Bailey.” She looked over his shoulder. “Who are you?”

  Jim Woolf stepped around him. “Jim Woolf, Dutton Review. Did I hear you say you were filing a missing person report? Perhaps I can be of assistance. We can print a photograph of Bailey, did you say? Bailey Crighton is missing?”

  Daniel looked down at Jim and frowned. “Go away.”

  But Alex tilted her head. “Give me your card. I may wish to talk with you.”

  Again smug, Jim gave her a card. “Any time, Miss Tremaine.”

  Alex flinched as if he’d struck her. “Fallon. My name is Alex Fallon.”

  “Any time, Miss Fallon.” Jim gave Daniel a salute and was gone.

  Something had changed and Daniel didn’t like it. “I’m going to the station, too. Can I carry your bag?”

  The way she searched his face made Daniel uncomfortable. “No thank you.” She started up the stairs, leaving him to follow.

  He could see her hunch one shoulder from the weight of her bag, but it didn’t seem to affect the sway of her slim hips as she hurried. Daniel thought her bag was a far safer thing on which to focus. He caught up to her easily. “You’re about to topple over. What are you carrying in here? Bricks?”

  “A gun and lots of bullets. If you must know.”

  She started up the stairs again, but Daniel grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him. “Excuse me?”

  Her whiskey eyes were cool. “You said I might be in danger. I took you seriously. I have a child to protect.”

  Her stepsister’s daughter. Hope. “How did you buy a gun? You’re not a resident.”

  “I am now. You want to see my new driver’s license?”

  “You got a driver’s license? How did
you do that? You don’t live here.”

  “I do now. You want to see my rental contract?”

  Bowled over, he blinked. “You rented an apartment?”

  “A house.” She really was staying a while.

  “In Dutton?”

  She nodded. “I’m not leaving until Bailey’s found, and Hope can’t live in a hotel.”

  “I see. Are we still meeting at seven?”

  “That was my plan. Now if you don’t mind, I still have a lot to do before then.” She’d run up a few more stairs before he called her name.

  “Alex.” He waited until she stopped and turned again.

  “Yes, Agent Vartanian? What is it?”

  He ignored the ice in her voice. “Alex. You can’t take a gun into the police station. Even in Dutton. It’s a government building.”

  Her shoulders sagged and her frosty expression melted away, leaving exhaustion and vulnerability in its place. She was afraid and doing her damndest to hide it. “I forgot. I should have come here first. I wanted to get my driver’s license before the DMV closed. But I can’t leave a gun in the car. Somebody might steal it.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her unpainted lips, tugging at his heart. “Even in Dutton.”

  “You look tired. I’m going to see the sheriff. I’ll ask him about Bailey. Go back to your house and get some sleep. I’ll meet you at seven in front of the GBI building.” He eyed her satchel. “And for God’s sake, make sure the safety is on on that thing and you put it in a lockbox so Hope can’t get to it.”

  “I bought a lockbox.” She lifted her chin, a gesture he was coming to anticipate. “I’ve coded enough children in the ER who’ve played with guns. I won’t put my niece in any more danger. Please call me if Loomis refuses to file Bailey as a missing person.”

  “He won’t refuse,” Daniel said grimly, “but give me your cell phone number anyway.” She did, and he committed it to memory as she started back down the stairs, her steps weary. When she got to the street she looked back up at him.

  “Seven o’clock, Agent Vartanian.”

  Somehow the way she said it made it seem more like a threat than the confirmation of a meeting. “Seven o’clock. And don’t forget to change your suit.”