Chapter 66
Sean had already examined Frank Maynard’s body, so he decided to go back to the Maynards’ room, hoping another look with fresh eyes might uncover something new.
The room was empty, save for the luggage. Sean figured Margaret and Stuart Maynard were still being questioned, so Sean had the room to himself.
The family’s luggage was packed, the suitcases filled with clothes and the toiletries they had brought. A few coats, jackets, and beanies hung on the wall rack near the door.
Candles flickered, the wicks nearly burned down to the nub, even though the power had come back on. The depleted candles were a reminder of the time that had passed in darkness, and the fast-approaching deadline to find Karla Grayson.
Sean blinked, pushing thoughts of the other cases from his mind.
Right now, he needed to focus on Frank Maynard.
Not because the man deserved justice for what had happened to him.
By all accounts, he was a monster. But Sean had learned a long time ago that once you decided you were above the rules, it was only a matter of time before you became the monster you had sought to destroy.
Sean checked the dresser drawers first, finding them empty, then turned his attention to the suitcases.
Sean took his time as he moved through Frank’s luggage.
He hadn’t been able to look through any of Frank’s things before because he didn’t have a warrant and also because Frank wouldn’t consent to a search.
But he was dead now, and searching the personal effects of someone who was murdered was standard protocol.
Sean avoided Margaret and Stuart’s luggage, not wanting to give any future defense attorney ammunition against the prosecution.
It was a constant struggle in Sean’s line of work.
But it wasn’t his job to prove who was innocent and who was guilty.
The courts decided that. It was Sean’s responsibility to follow the evidence and charge the person once the evidence gathered was insurmountable and impossible to ignore.
At first, Sean found nothing but clothes, but when he started checking the pockets, he found something buried beneath the toiletries. Past the toothbrush, floss, and water pick that Frank had packed was a small black notebook. No title was printed on the cover, but inside were journal entries.
The scribbles were difficult to read. Letters and words were smashed tightly together, but he caught a few sentences amid the chicken scratch.
Frank Maynard had some very violent thoughts.
He fantasized about crushing his wife’s skull, drowning his son, among other things.
The dark desire only worsened the further Sean read.
But as disturbing as the journal entries were, there was a difference between writing a thought down and actually committing the crime.
Still, the bruises on Margaret Maynard’s body indicated that perhaps Frank had struggled to rein in his violent urges.
On the very last page of the notebook was a list of names. There were dozens of them, but Sean didn’t recognize any of them. With the journal in hand, Sean set out to find Margaret.
The domestic abuse survivor had finished being questioned by the police and sat with her son in the lobby, a blanket wrapped around their shoulders, munching on a sandwich half-concealed in aluminum foil.
When the mother saw Sean coming, she gave him a brief nod, but when she saw the journal in her hand, she stiffened.
“Have you seen this before?” Sean asked.
“Once,” Margaret answered. “I tried finding it again to see what else he might have written down, but he was good at hiding it.” She stared down at the sandwich, which was already half gone. “He was good at hiding a lot of things.”
“There is a list of names in the back,” Sean said, and then he showed her the names. “Do you know any of these people? Or who they were to him?”
Margaret studied the page and then nodded.
“Well, I know some of them.” She pointed to one name on the list. “This one, that’s the kid whose parents said he abused him at the summer camp.
” She pointed at a few others. “These others were some kids on Stuart’s soccer team Frank helped coach.
” She shook her head. “I don’t know all of them. ”
Sean could guess why the names were in the book and why Frank had kept it secret. “Did he ever talk to you about them?”
“No,” Margaret answered, clearly not wanting to discuss this in front of her son.
Sean thanked her for her time and noticed that some of the deputies were still staring at him as he walked past.
Sean shot a quick text to Rivers, asking her to background check the list of names in Frank Maynard’s notebook and any connection they might currently have with him. She replied quickly with a thumbs-up.
Sean lingered in the lobby, noticing the deputies’ stares. He wasn’t sure what he had done to rub Johnson and his team the wrong way, but it was clear everyone here had taken issue with Sean’s handling of the case.
But Sean wasn’t here to step on anyone’s toes. He only wanted to find the truth.
Rivers didn’t take long to send back some replies, but it was all surface-level stuff: criminal records, photographs, that sort of thing. She assured him she’d do a bit of deeper digging, but as Sean flipped through the photos, he stopped on one.
The face was a bit more clean-shaven, and his hair was longer, but it was a face Sean had seen here at The Bonnie.
It was Ray Cranton.