She set it aside and picked up the next one, recognized it by the feel. “Gabriel, this is a gun.” She unfolded the fabric, carefully cleared the weapon to confirm it wasn’t loaded. “It’s a .22.” It didn’t smell of either gunpowder or the cleaning solvent commonly used, but then it had been stored for a long time.
Gabriel sucked in a breath. “The gun that killed Frank Ash?”
She nodded. “We put a rush on the request. We’ll know in a day if you can have a deputy run it over to the lab.”
“I’ll get that arranged.”
She wrapped the gun back in the cloth and handed it to him. “The Florists don’t strike me as the type to knowingly keep a murder weapon.”
“I’d agree.” Gabriel opened the evidence box he had brought and stored the gun inside.
Evie leaned against the wall as she watched Gabriel transfer the rest of the contents of the safe-deposit box over to the evidence box. “We found their money. And we just hit another dead end.”
He glanced over at her.
She elaborated. “Scott purchased new IDs for them. Susan used that new name to open an account and safe-deposit box. They were squirreling away cash. The gun—they probably secured a weapon that wouldn’t be traced to the family for security, as Scott would be leaving behind any gun known to be his. The fact this box is full, and that it’s all still here, says they didn’t run. Someone murdered them, probably that night, and my best new motive for why—the money—just went up in smoke. The money is right here.”
“I can hear your disappointment,” Gabriel said with a smile. “But look at it the other way. You’ve managed to prove they were in counseling, had acquired new IDs, were stashing away money, and you’ve found that money. Enjoy this discovery, Evie. It’s confirmation of what they planned.”
“But I haven’t found them. And as far as I can tell, I’m nowhere closer to the Florist family’s whereabouts than I was when this started.”
“The gun may go somewhere we can follow.” He closed up the evidence box. “Let me get this logged into evidence and locked away in the property room, get a deputy on the way to the lab with the .22. Then we’ll regroup, get on the road. Let’s go talk with Phil Peters and his wife.”
She nodded, wondering what it was going to feel like if the gun led nowhere and this interview also turned into a dead end. She’d have to put everything back in the boxes, store it back in the archives, and accept it was still a cold case. She didn’t like that kind of finish, not one bit, but she could see it coming at her like a train without brakes.
Phil Peters looked like the retired Navy guy and deputy he was. He had the size for it, both height and strength, and a bluntness that fit, though nothing about him was harsh or intimidating. Evie appreciated that kind of directness. Jenna was a petite woman, cheerful yet quiet. They were a nice couple—that was Evie’s first impression. When they were comfortably seated, cold drinks in hand, pleasantries exchanged, Phil, in his down-to-business style, turned the conversation to the Florist family.
“I saw Scott that Wednesday night about ten p.m., took over charcoal and my traveling grill he wanted to borrow for camping. Everything seemed fine to me. Joe was casting fishing rods in the side yard to see if any needed respooling. Susan was around too; I saw her carrying out jackets and towels to the camper. They were looking forward to the three days away, it looked to me.
“I was butting heads a bit with Scott about them going with the Durbins, figuring they would be having anything but a restful weekend. But Scott was like, ‘Family is family, and it won’t be so bad.’ This was at a time when the Durbins were starting to squabble with each other, even in public—you’d hear them four tables away at the Fast Café. The wife had a yen to travel, and William’s solution was to go camping, which wasn’t exactly what Nancy had in mind.
“Scott mostly wanted to see me that night to go over reminders for my wedding on Sunday. I had the ring, the tux fit, even remembered the mints for my pocket. He was more uptight about the wedding than I was. Jenna and Susan had every detail planned in triplicate. I just wanted him to go camping, get out of my hair for a few hours.”
Jenna, shy as she seemed, laughed. “That’s about all Susan and I talked about that last month—flowers and decorations, invitations and seating arrangements. There was a wedding planner in charge of the final seventy-two hours, and even volunteers backing up the ones doing the decorating. She made sure I wouldn’t set foot in the church until the wedding march. I was supposed to stop thinking wedding and go enjoy a spa outing with my college roommates. It was a treat being at that point—there really was nothing left that was my responsibility, except getting my gown on.” Jenna laughed again. “We were already packed for the honeymoon cruise. Even our driver to the airport, another deputy, had a backup in case he got called into work. That was what Susan and I talked about that day they were leaving, the honeymoon cruise we had planned. Life was chaotic but normal, happy.”
Phil nodded. “Chaotic and happy, that about sums it up,” he agreed.
“You said you went over about ten p.m. Wednesday,” Evie mentioned to Phil. “That’s late for a weekday evening. Were you aware of where the family went on Wednesday nights?”
“If you’re asking did I know they were doing some counseling with a doctor in Decatur, I’ll say I had my suspicions,” Phil replied. “Scott had asked around about the doctor, was making plans to shift things when he was assigned a Wednesday evening rotation. You spend hours every day with a guy on the job, you know if there’s family trouble, marriage trouble. They were a content couple. A bit stressed at times, but normal. Scott had talked about having more kids, then stopped bringing up the topic. I figured, knowing who the doctor was, Susan was having some issues.”
Jenna said, “She never told me she miscarried, but you get a sense of things when a stroller goes by and she turns emotional. Babies were at least part of the equation for whatever was going on that needed counseling.”
Evie looked over at Gabriel. This wasn’t going as she had expected. Either Phil was clueless about his partner or he was covering for Scott.
“Did you know they were raising cash?” Gabriel asked.
Phil and Jenna shared a look. Jenna shrugged. “They were talking about remodeling the kitchen. Susan was collecting cabinet door samples, tile samples, color charts and sketches for how they might relocate appliances. I know they were conserving cash any way they could for the project, selling some furniture they had decided to switch, that kind of thing.”
Gabriel shifted in his chair. “Can you think of any reason the Florist family might have left here on their own, not under duress?”
“What?” Phil asked, looking genuinely surprised.
“Have you heard from Scott or Susan or their son, Joe, since they went missing?”
Phil’s blood pressure was rising—Evie could see it in his posture as he sat forward. “Come on, Gabriel. What are you implying? You’re crazy if you think that family left town on their own accord, or that I might have known and kept it under wraps!”
“There’s no reason you can think of they might have left? Would it surprise you to realize the family owned a .22 and Frank Ash was killed with a .22?”
“Who’s Frank—?” Jenna started to ask.
“A lowlife who got himself killed,” Phil interrupted. “Now you’re just smearing the name of a good cop, Sheriff. Scott worked that Ash case, we both did, the disappearance, and we worked that initial scene behind the truck stop when his body was discovered. But you’re barking up the wrong tree if you think Scott had anything to do with that death.”
“No question in your mind, Scott was a good cop.”
“No question in my mind,” Phil said firmly. “Scott was careful on the details, doing it proper—it’s why I chose to work with him. He didn’t cut corners on getting something right. Now, why are you asking these questions?” he demanded.
“Scott believed his son, Joe, killed Frank Ash.”
&
nbsp; “Little Joe?” Phil looked stunned. “I can see the kid shooting a burglar coming in the house. The kid knew how to safely handle a gun—Scott saw to that. And Joe had a protective streak about him for his parents . . . but to shoot a guy like Frank Ash? The body is at a truck stop just off the Interstate, shot three times in the chest. That doesn’t sound like Joe. Angles were all wrong, for one thing. There’s like a four-foot height distance. Unless Joe was standing on a lot of boxes, no way he shoots Frank Ash straight on in the chest. And the location isn’t somewhere Joe’s going to be, then get himself back home.” He stared at Gabriel, frowned. “That’s why they were in counseling?”
“One of the reasons.”
Phil shook his head. “Scott must have been blindsided to think Joe could have been involved. I can see a question until the body was found, but after that? It’s not Joe, no way. And before you ask, it’s not Scott either. For one thing, he was too serious about being a careful cop and good role model for his son. The man would toss a guy in jail for life where punishment meant something before he’d just shoot him dead—there wasn’t much justice in that.”
“Would you have done it?”
The two men stared at each other for a moment. But Phil must have seen in Gabe’s face that it was an honest question. “Probably,” he said, “if I knew there was a problem going on. Joe had a problem with Frank Ash—I’m gathering that from what you’re saying. But Scott would have handled it proper. Had Joe told me, I’d have handled it for the boy—maybe not so properly at first—I’d likely run the scoundrel out of town. But I would’ve believed Joe. He didn’t say anything to me. Neither Scott nor Joe ever made a comment regarding Frank Ash that I could put together toward what you’re suggesting.”
Gabriel nodded. “We don’t know why they disappeared, Phil. You’re willing to state you’ve never heard from Scott or Susan, from Joe, since they disappeared? No cryptic phone call, postcard, anything odd?”
“They haven’t been in touch. Until you sat here today and asked that question, I’ve never considered the fact they might be alive. They didn’t leave, Sheriff. Whatever is the answer, you can trust that.”
“Jenna?”
“I wish they had. I wish Susan was still out there . . . someplace.” Her eyes filled with tears. “They haven’t been in touch, in any way,” she added, her voice shaky. “I’d tell you in the hopes of finding them alive. They were good friends. They died that week. Whatever happened, they wouldn’t have walked out on their family, their friends.”
Gabriel nodded. “Okay. I appreciate your time.”
“It was a normal week,” Phil repeated. “I saw the family that Wednesday evening. They were going camping. We had the wedding coming on Sunday. There wasn’t tension in them—or between them—when I last saw them. It was a normal night. But something happened. They didn’t intend to disappear, Sheriff. No way, no how, was that family getting ready to disappear.”
“Sheriff, you can’t believe that of them either,” Jenna pressed. “You knew them. You’ve been looking at the case. What do you think happened to them?”
“I don’t know. I could give you as many reasons that say they were murdered as I can they planned to leave on their own accord. I just don’t know.”
Evie caught the look Gabriel gave her, but merely gave a brief headshake. She had nothing left to ask. This interview only confirmed where the case had begun. The Florist family had gone camping, and something had happened. Where the search began was where it was ending.
Gabriel Thane
Gabriel liked the house Evie had rented, with its tall windows and polished hardwood floors. He wondered how many hours she’d actually spent here, other than sleeping, during the last fourteen days. She had barely touched the food Trina had stocked for the visit. He put together a sandwich for himself, paused to stir the soup Evie had chosen.
His phone rang, and he listened while he wiped off the counter. “Thanks. If you could fax over the paperwork to the office, that would be helpful.” He finished his sandwich, considering matters. The soup was beginning to steam. He turned it to low and walked back into the living room. “Evie.”
She had stretched out on the couch and reluctantly opened her eyes.
“I heard back from the lab. The gun in the safe-deposit box didn’t kill Frank Ash, ballistics aren’t a match. It’s a cold .22, not in any database. The serial number isn’t registered.”
She grimaced. “Somehow that figures.”
Gabe walked over to the tall windows to watch a storm coming in—lightning flashes, trees beginning to sway in the wind.
“You should be getting home,” she murmured.
He nodded.
“I’m sorry today was a bust,” she said, swinging her feet to the floor.
He turned, smiled. “Don’t be. It was helpful to see Phil’s reaction.”
“You think he could have had something to do with whatever happened to Frank Ash.” She was now standing beside him as the rain began pelting the panes.
He realized he’d better work some more on his poker face. Gabriel shrugged. “This many years later, I think he remembered the details of the Frank Ash shooting with more precision than I would expect. The angle of the shots being too high for a kid like Joe? The way he said it didn’t sound like a guess.”
“Did Phil have a .22 registered?”
“I checked. He didn’t. But Jenna did. She reported it stolen a few years ago.”
“Jenna worked at the school district, liked kids, could have heard a rumor about Frank Ash. She’s dating a cop, so she’d probably mention it to Phil.”
Gabriel nodded. “He wouldn’t use a gun traceable to himself, but maybe use hers, then destroy the gun, trust she wouldn’t notice for a long while that it was missing.”
“Is it worth pursuing?” Evie asked.
“I’m going to stew on it for a bit, then decide.”
“I’m still stewing on whether Grace’s uncle had a hunting accident.”
“I haven’t forgotten that question either.”
Evie sighed as she turned toward the kitchen. “Old ghosts, Gabriel. Some of them can be laid to rest, while others are lost to history.” Another crack of thunder had her turning back to the window and the rain now coming down in sheets. “This is going to slow Josh getting the search finished.”
“A few days,” Gabriel guessed. “He’s not looking forward to that call to Grace that says he can’t find anything.”
“She’s resigned to it, you know, Gabriel. One could see that in her face before she left yesterday. She’s got her daughter and a future to build. I’d say she’s making a strong effort to close this door.”
They were quiet for a moment, simply gazing out at the storm together.
“You made any decisions, Evie?”
His voice was quiet, and she knew this was a new topic, a personal question. She didn’t bother to try to skirt it. “I’ll be going back to work on Monday. Beyond that,” she said with a wave of her hand, “a personal life is a complicated thing. I can’t put it in a box on a shelf and move on. The only thing for sure is that I’m not sure yet what I want.” She looked up at him with a little smile, then back at the storm.
Gabriel’s tone remained thoughtful. “I decided years ago I wanted to be the sheriff of this county, call it home, build a life around my family, some good friends. That hasn’t changed much. But I’d like to add more faces to that friend circle—namely, yours.”
She smiled again. “Thanks, Gabriel. That was a nice invitation, and I’d like that too.” She turned toward the kitchen. “There’s enough soup for both of us. Come have a bowl while the rain lets up.”
Gabriel followed her. “Do you want help boxing up the Florist case tomorrow?”
Evie got down two bowls from a cupboard. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. I’ll rethink the details of it one last time as I put it away. That can be useful, at least to me. I figure the whole task force might be back in a year or two, to look at
it again.”
“I just realized we’ve decided it can’t be solved.”
“It needs a major break, Gabriel, and as hard as we tried, we didn’t find one.” She ladled out the soup. “Although . . . I was thinking last night about those gaps in the interviews along their likely routes. Over the next few months, would you have the resources to do a phone survey? Maybe tie it in with news about a new reward offer: ‘The police are generating a list of things that happened in Carin County the week the Florist family disappeared. Call with your memories. Anyone who calls with a new item for our list will receive a check for fifty dollars.’ Something like that. Maybe it gets us that major break, the one useful fact we didn’t know.”
“It’s worth a try. I’ll work on the budget and schedule, get something put together.” He pulled two sodas out of the refrigerator and took a seat at the table with her, looked around the cozy kitchen. “Next time you’re going to have to be around this house enough to enjoy it. You should have some people over, a little party, actually have a day or two of vacation.”
“The car was fully appreciated, especially with the top down. So the days weren’t a total bust. And my dogs have never been happier.”
“True enough. You didn’t get your flight over Carin, though.”
“Something else to put on my list for the future,” Evie said.
Evie got out a loaf of fresh bakery bread and sliced a thick piece for herself, offered him the knife and the loaf. “So how should we say goodbye?”
“That tends to be such a forever word.” He gestured to the soup. “I do enjoy sharing a meal with you, Evie. We’ve done it more than a few times the last couple of weeks.”
“I could say the same.”
“I figure you’re going to put more than the case in a box. You’ll put the last two weeks in a comfortable box of your personal life, put this place called Carin on the shelf until you happen to travel through the area again. You’ll find I don’t mind. You and I . . . well, it won’t be as easy a friendship as the one I have with Ann. Sorry, but you’re not quite as comfortable as she is to be around.” He smiled to take the sting out of the words. “But she and I have known each other a lot longer. It will sort itself out, Evie. I’m good for a meal when you happen to be around. When you have stopped running circles in your mind and decide what you want, you’ll settle somewhere. Maybe it’s planting roots up north with your guy, or maybe it’s in Springfield around your job, or maybe you decide it’s fine to let someone else determine the patch of ground. In time you’ll figure it out.”
Traces of Guilt Page 31