Chapter 19
Thursday morning
JP found Daniel Rourke exactly where Sabre said he would be, outside the Vista courthouse, leaning against the low wall like he’d been there long enough to belong.
He wasn’t what JP expected. Rourke was in his late forties, with a solid build. He was clean-shaven, but not polished, the kind of man who blended in until you observed twice. It was a good look for a PI.
Rourke glanced up as JP approached. “Are you Torn?”
“You must be Rourke,” JP said. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
Rourke pushed off the wall and offered a hand. “I’ve heard about you.”
JP shook it. The man had a firm grip, but no show.
“Likewise,” JP said. He’d heard the name, had seen it in the file, but names didn’t mean much to JP. People did. “Are you still working out of this court?”
“Mostly, North County work,” Rourke said. “I live out this way, so it’s easier than Meadowlark or El Cajon. And it’s enough to keep me busy.”
Then Rourke looked him up and down, assessing. “So,” the PI said casually, “have you and Sabre worked together much?”
“About five years.”
Rourke smiled faintly. “Does she ever slow down?”
“Not yet.”
“Is she married?”
There it was. “No.”
“She ever been?”
“No.”
Rourke nodded as if filing something away.
JP filed something too. Not the questions, just how smoothly he’d asked them, like a man checking whether a door was still unlocked. JP suppressed a smile. It didn’t matter. That door was closed.
JP glanced toward the courthouse. “I’m here on the Hannah Caldwell case.”
Rourke’s expression shifted. “That was a tough one. Cases like that don’t go away,” he said. “You just learn to carry them.”
“Did that one stick with you more than most?”
Rourke’s eyes drifted toward the street, then back. “She was five,” he said simply.
They moved to a bench just off to the side. Traffic hummed in the background. People passed without noticing them.
JP sat, hat low. Rourke leaned forward, forearms on his knees.
“Are you reopening the case?” Rourke asked.
“We’re looking at it,” JP said.
Rourke nodded. “It’s about time someone did.”
JP glanced at him. “Do you think it was done wrong?”
“I think it was wrapped up too fast.”
“Did you spend much time with Victor Hayes?”
Rourke’s jaw tightened. “Yeah.”
“What’d you think?”
Rourke straightened considering. “He was a problem, a bad boyfriend and inconsistent. And he made himself look guilty every time he opened his mouth.”
“Do I hear a but?” JP asked.
A flicker in Rourke’s eyes. “I never saw him as the kind of guy who plans something like that.”
“Meaning?”
“He reacts,” Rourke said. “He screws up. He lies to cover it. But taking a kid, disappearing her, leaving nothing behind…” He shook his head. “That’s not his MO.”
“Did you tell anyone that back then?” JP asked.
Rourke shrugged. “I raised questions. And I probably told Sabre. But mostly, I just reported the facts.”
JP pulled out the tattoo sketch and held it between them. “Have you ever seen this?”
Rourke gave it a measured look. “No.”
“Are you sure?” JP asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“It showed up recently on someone who may be connected. I’m following the lead.”
Rourke seemed intrigued. “Have you talked to Hayes?”
“I went to see him in Donovan.”
“Do you think he’s guilty?”
“It’s hard to know, but let’s say it’s not Hayes.”
“All right.”
“Who else did you look at?”
Rourke paused, like he was reaching back. “I suspect everyone when I’m on a case like this. The cops had a few possibilities on their radar, but none of them stuck.”
JP waited and let him talk.
“There was the crossing guard,” Rourke added. “He was the last adult who claimed to see her.”
JP’s eyes narrowed. “Claimed.”
Rourke glanced over. “He said he saw a girl matching Hannah’s description get into a car. Dark vehicle, older model, but he couldn’t give make, couldn’t give plate.”
“And?”
“He wasn’t sure it was her,” Rourke said. “And no one else saw the incident.”
“What did the police say about him?”
“They decided it didn’t fit Hayes’ timeline,” Rourke replied. “So, they set it aside.”
“Who else?” JP asked.
Rourke pulled out a notebook and skimmed through a few pages. “The neighbor kids were supposed to walk her home.”
JP nodded. “They said she never showed at their meeting place.”
“Yeah,” Rourke said. “But they were kids, eight, nine years old. Their stories shifted a little, depending on who asked and how.”
“Do you think they were lying?”
Rourke shook his head. “They were kids, which means you don’t know what they missed or were afraid to say.”
“What about their parents?” JP asked.
“I talked to them but didn’t find anything obvious. But…” He paused. “That’s a tight window. The kids were waiting. One was missing. And nobody sees anything. That always bothered me.”
“Who else?”
Rourke took his time thinking it through. “I questioned the school staff: aides, office personnel, anyone who knew her routine. Anyone she’d recognize.”
“Access without alarm.”
“Exactly,” Rourke said. “If someone like that had said, ‘Hey, your mom asked me to take you home,’ there wouldn’t be a fight or a scene.”
“Did anything come of that investigation?” JP asked.
Rourke shook his head. “No one stood out enough.”
JP suspected the PI was holding back. “Keep going.”
Rourke hesitated, then continued. “I considered the possibility of a passerby,” he said. “Someone watching the route and learning the pattern.”
JP’s eyes stayed on him. “That’s a big leap.”
“Not really. The girl left school the same time every day, used the same path, and had the same gap in supervision.”
JP didn’t respond.
“Opportunity like that quickly becomes visible,” Rourke added.
“Anyone specific?” JP asked.
Rourke shook his head. “There was one guy who lived about two blocks from the school. He had been convicted previously on several counts of child molestation.”
“Nothing came of that?”
“If I remember right, he alibied out.”
“Anything else?”
A longer pause this time. “The mother was under suspicion for a short while, as well as her teenage son.”
JP stood to leave. “Thanks for your time,” he said. “That gives me somewhere to start.”
“I’m sure you’ll find the same thing, that nothing fits clean.”
“Sometimes new eyes make a difference.”
Rourke stood too. “If you’re digging back into this, I can help. I’ve still got notes,” Rourke added. “Things that didn’t make it into the file. Leads that didn’t go anywhere or weren’t followed. I didn’t bring it up before because they didn’t seem worth your time.”
JP tilted his head. “Why now?”
Something in Rourke’s expression tightened. “Because this case continues to haunt me.”
“I’ll be in touch.” JP walked away.
Halfway to his truck, JP realized he was thinking about the questions Rourke had asked about Sabre.
Maybe they meant nothing. Maybe the PI had just been curious.
But JP had spent much of his life around men who wanted things they pretended not to want.
And Daniel Rourke looked like a man standing near a door he hoped might open again.