5
Evan made a half dozen phone calls on his way to Rod’s home. He’d silenced his phone while he went through Sophia’s house, and as he left, he discovered he’d missed several calls, texts, and emails.
Everyone wanted to say something about Rod.
Evan ignored the social communications. He had no time for polite replies; he had a case to get off the ground. There had been no results yet on the BOLO for Rod’s truck, and Rod’s cell phone was turned off or destroyed. At the junkyard, Evan had called the phone and then lost his breath at the sound of Rod speaking on his voicemail. The recorded voice of his dead friend had been a gut punch.
He’d filled out a warrant online to get Rod’s cell phone records and requested the phone’s last known location. He’d also requested the phone’s locations over the last two weeks. At least they had Sophia’s phone, and he requested the records of her calls, too, knowing some of them could have been erased on her phone.
Results didn’t happen instantly, as they did on TV. In the past, he’d had to wait weeks for cell phone records. To speed up today’s process, whenever he spoke with an actual person, he told them his request for information was for a murdered law enforcement victim. The person’s tone would immediately change. Everyone wanted to help.
His final call was to Rowan. She was on the road but still an hour from Bend, and he asked her to go directly to Sophia’s home instead of theirs. By the time she arrived, the property would be crisscrossed with the scents of many deputies, but he trusted Thor’s ability to sift through all of them. Evan wanted to know if Sophia or Zack had been taken through the backyard.
He ended their call as he turned onto Rod’s street. A lone sheriff’s deputy’s SUV was at the curb in front of Rod’s town house.
Evan parked and strode to the deputy’s open window, recognizing the officer as Steve Hartley. The officer had a McDonald’s shake in one hand.
He left for lunch?
“All quiet, Detective.” Hartley lifted the shake. “I had my lunch delivered,” he explained. A crinkled McDonald’s bag was on the passenger seat.
“Good idea. I want you to come inside and clear the house with me. I’ve got a key.”
The deputy took a long pull on his shake and got out of the vehicle.
Evan’s stomach rumbled as he went up the wooden stairs to the front door. He’d worked through lunch, and the smell of the deputy’s fries made him want to order his own meal.
No time to eat.
The men stood to each side of the door as Evan rang the doorbell, and then Deputy Hartley pounded on the door and shouted, “Deschutes County sheriff! Open up!” They repeated the warning twice. Evan took out the Mickey Mouse key chain and slid the key in the lock. To his relief, it turned. Evan pocketed the key, removed his weapon, shoved the door open, and stepped inside the home, covering the space to the left as the deputy covered the right.
Evan suspected there wasn’t a threat inside. But procedure had been created for very good reasons, and entering the home of a murder victim for the first time required precautions.
Because shit happened. Unexpected shit.
Their job was to be prepared for anything.
“Deschutes County sheriff’s office!” yelled the deputy. “Make yourself known!”
Silence.
Working together, the two men made quick work of clearing each room, checking closets and every possible location a person could hide. The home was quiet and neat and showed no indication that a crime had taken place inside.
Evan’s younger sister had vanished when he was in college, and although he hadn’t seen Sophia for a while before her disappearance, the feeling of dread and worry had come rushing back, very similar to how he’d felt for nearly fifteen years, wondering what had happened to his sister.
As if his guts had been hollowed out and nothing else would fill the space.
He hadn’t missed that feeling.
He’d had a small irrational hope that he’d find Sophia and Zack inside. But instead of people in the house, he found more of Rod’s familiar obsession with labels and organization. A home office upstairs was the last room the men cleared, and then they holstered their weapons. Evan turned his attention to the office desk. It was set up exactly like Rod’s desk at work had been. A blotter with a huge calendar. Several stackable letter trays, neatly labeled but empty. A spinning organizer with a variety of pens, pencils, paper clips, and other home office needs.
Evan turned away, the déjà vu painful, and found himself facing two large paintings. He immediately recognized Ellen’s work. It had been a hobby, but Evan had believed she had loads of talent. One painting was a rugged, rocky ocean landscape, and the other was of rolling country hills. He peered closer, looking for the tiny person he knew Ellen had integrated into each work. It was always Sophia, painted from the back. He found her near a big rock on the beach in one and under a tree in the country hills in the other. The detail had always charmed him.
Now he was angry.
“Two big gun safes,” said Hartley, looking in the office closet.
The doorbell rang. Evan and the deputy glanced at each other, and then Evan moved to the window, angling to get a view of the front patio. A blonde woman stood there, holding something covered with tinfoil. No new vehicles were in front of the townhome. “Let it go,” said Evan, stepping back from the window. “Probably a neighbor.”
The doorbell rang again. But this time the sound was drawn out, the woman making a point that she wouldn’t be ignored.
“Maybe she saw something,” said Hartley.
“Maybe. I’ll talk to her. Can you look for Rod’s wallet and cell phone?” He left the room and jogged down the stairs. He studied the woman through the peephole in the door. She appeared to be in her sixties and held some sort of casserole or dessert in a rectangular glass dish. She looked pleasant and harmless, dressed in yoga clothing. With perfect hair and makeup. He opened the door, and she instantly scrutinized him from head to toe.
“Can I speak to Rod?” she asked. Frown lines appeared around her mouth, and she eyed Evan with a heavy dose of skepticism.
She doesn’t know.
“Sorry. He’s not here.” It wasn’t time to share the truth.
She lifted her chin and glared. “Who are you ? I don’t recognize you.”
“I’m a friend. We worked together.”
“If you worked for the sheriff’s office, then you’ll understand why I want to see some identification,” she stated. “Because right now you’re a stranger in his home.”
There was a juxtaposition between the neighborly tinfoil-covered dish—which had apparently been made for Rod—and her demand. She meant business.
Amused, Evan pulled out his identification. She studied it closely and took a long look at his face, comparing it to the picture. “How do I know that’s not a fake? Anyone with a printer can make that, and I know they sell fake badges online.”
She had a point, and Evan was momentarily stumped.
Her gaze went beyond him, and her suspicion vanished.
“What’s the problem?” asked Deputy Hartley.
Evan stepped back, relieved that the deputy’s uniform and presence were enough proof for the woman.
“Oh! I assumed that sheriff’s vehicle was for the Struetts across the street,” said the woman. “They’re always causing some sort of ruckus and getting visits from the police.”
“That’s true,” admitted Hartley. “I’ve been there a few times.”
“Rod’s not here,” Evan said, ready for the woman to leave. “I can put that dish in the fridge.”
“When will he be back?”
Never.
Evan couldn’t speak.
“Not sure,” answered Hartley. He put out his hands for the dish.
She seemed to grip it tighter. “Tell him it’s from Celia. And it needs an hour in the oven at three seventy-five. You probably should write that down.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hartley’s hands were still extended.
Celia looked down at the tinfoil for a long second and finally passed it to him.
A budding romance?
A relationship that would never grow.
Fuck. No one deserved that more than Rod.
Rod had always said he’d never marry again, but Evan had hoped he’d find someone special to keep him company. Rod had had too much to give and deserved someone to share it with. Ellen would have understood. Evan mumbled some sort of thanks to Celia and closed the door.
Numb, he stood motionless in the hall as Hartley took the dish to the kitchen. The day had delivered blow after blow to his heart, and he wondered how much more he could take. As he trudged up the stairs to the home office, he prayed that Sophia and Zack were okay.
In the room, he gloved up before he slid the closet door open a little farther for a better view of the two giant gun safes. He knew Rod had at least a dozen weapons. Both safes were locked, and Evan suspected they’d need an expert to get into them.
“Computer tower is gone,” said Hartley, who’d silently entered the room.
Evan whirled around. “Shit.” He hadn’t noticed at first because a large monitor sat prominently on the desk, but on the carpet underneath he saw a faint rectangular outline.
“Maybe he took it in for a repair.” The deputy gestured at the neat desk. He’d gloved up too. “It doesn’t look like someone came rooting through here, searching for something.”
Evan said nothing. It was possible. But considering what he had observed that day, he strongly suspected it’d been taken.
He turned to the tall filing cabinet. A key sat in the lock.
Rod would never leave a key in the lock.
Someone has been here.
He opened a drawer and instantly recognized Rod’s filing system. Rod had arranged the hanging files so that the tabs created angled lines from one side of the drawer to the other. No tab would ever be blocked by the tab in front of it. And each one had a perfectly centered label printed in an identical font and size. Evan scanned the tabs. This drawer was for Rod’s home. Utilities, insurance, maintenance, and so on.
“He was organized,” commented Hartley, eyeing the drawer.
“You have no idea,” said Evan. He closed the drawer and opened another.
The same perfect angled rows of tabs. On the tabs were people’s names and dates. Evan pulled out one and leafed through the papers. “Shit.”
“Is that from a case?” said Hartley, looking over his shoulder. “He shouldn’t have that.”
“Exactly.” No original documents were in the file on the fifteen-year-old robbery case. Evan noted they were photocopies, and that the case had been closed. He checked two more files and found similar contents. Photocopies of closed cases. “I guess they’re some sort of souvenirs of his cases.” He shut the drawer and opened the last one. More of the same. But his gaze stumbled as he skimmed the neat rows. There were gaps.
Evan had seen Rod relabel more than thirty files to avoid gaps. The man had claimed his brain couldn’t stand an interrupted pattern.
Three files are missing.
Evan whirled around to the desk and yanked open every drawer. No files. He briefly closed his eyes, dismay flooding him.
“Get a forensics team here. Now.”