Jerk.
Years later he was still handsome, although his dark hair was now silver and his lean face was lined with wrinkles. As Mike got closer he was surprised to discover that the older man looked like he’d aged twenty years since the last time Mike had seen him.
Did he know his son was a sick bastard?
Blake was wearing a dress shirt with pressed slacks, but his jaw was unshaven and he’d forgotten to put on his shoes.
Mike halted in front of the man, removing his ball cap. “Mr. Hamilton.”
“Sheriff.” The older man gave a stiff nod of his head. “I called your office this morning, but no one answered.”
Mike felt a small stab of surprise. Carol was rarely late, even when she had to work weekends. The date must have gone better than expected.
Dang. He’d run out of ideas for wedding gifts for the woman. He’d already given her a toaster, a blender, and a microwave.
What else was left?
Giving a mental shrug, he met Blake’s pale blue gaze. “Where’s Christopher?” he demanded.
Blake’s lips thinned. “I’m not going to have you speaking with him without our lawyer present.”
“Fine.” Mike shrugged. “Then call your lawyer and get Christopher.”
Blake’s jaw tightened. He was a man used to having people bending over backward to please him. He didn’t like the fact he couldn’t tell Mike to go screw himself.
“He’s not home,” he said.
Mike’s stomach clenched. Had Christopher realized he’d been caught on camera and decided to make a run for it? With the Hamiltons’ limitless bank account, he could be across the world before Mike could even get an arrest warrant.
“Where is he?”
Blake stiffened at Mike’s sharp tone. “That’s none of your business.”
Mike’s patience snapped. He’d left the office the evening before intending to have an early night, only to be called by his neighbor when her husband came home drunk and tried to take a swing at her. He’d hauled the idiot to jail and spent hours trying to comfort the wife before he could finally fall into his bed at dawn.
Now he was running on caffeine, adrenaline, and fumes. Not the best combination.
“Do you think this is a game, Hamilton?” Mike clenched his hands, resisting the urge to grab his gun. He wasn’t a cowboy, and he didn’t need a weapon to intimidate a man twice his age. “A woman is dead and your son is a suspect.”
Blake made a sound of shock. “Suspect? In the death of Anne?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I never joke about death.”
Blake took a minute to gather his composure. He looked genuinely astonished that his son was being connected to the housekeeper’s death.
“I know local law enforcement has always held a grudge against my son, but this is beyond outrageous.” His gaze lowered to the star patch sewn onto Mike’s uniform. “Maybe it’s time we get a new sheriff.”
Mike resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Blake sounded just like the whining meth dealer, always blaming the sheriff’s office for his own troubles.
“And you always rush to protect him whether he’s innocent or guilty,” he countered, not in the mood to be diplomatic.
If this man wanted to put his money behind another candidate for sheriff, then more power to him. There were plenty of jobs. Most of them paid better, with a lot fewer headaches.
“He’s my son,” Blake said, his expression defensive.
Mike might have coughed up a little sympathy for Blake if he didn’t suspect the older man’s concern was for the Hamilton name, not for Christopher. Blake might not be as cold-blooded as his wife, but he was equally obsessed with avoiding any tarnish on the family dynasty.
“This time you’re not going to be able to protect him,” Mike told him.
Color streaked along Blake’s cheekbones. “Christopher didn’t have anything to do with Anne’s death. It’s absurd you would imagine anyone in this family could be responsible.”
Mike hesitated before deciding to take a gamble. Logically he accepted that it was best to hold back as much information as possible. That way he kept a suspect guessing exactly what he did or didn’t know.
But he’d already accepted that he had to keep the Hamilton clan off-balance. Otherwise he was going to end up dealing with one slick lawyer after another.
“Then why did you erase the security tapes?”
Blake stiffened, his eyes widening with shock before his face was wiped of all expression.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” Mike stepped into the older man’s personal space. “Listen, Hamilton, you can tamper with evidence in your own home, but you can’t erase the evidence of Christopher from Jaci’s video.”
Blake took an instinctive step backward. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Quick to take advantage, Mike moved forward, entering the foyer. He cast a covert glance around, looking for any sign of Christopher lurking in the shadows.
Nothing.
“Your son was captured on tape,” he informed the older man.
Blake shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Where?”
“I just told you. Jaci’s house.”
“Why would Christopher go to his sister’s house?” The man sounded genuinely baffled. “They have never been close.”
Anger seared through Mike. Once again Jaci had been terrorized. And worse, the locket meant there was a woman who was missing, maybe even dead.
“To leave one of his sick gifts.”
“Gift?” Blake looked even more confused. “What gift?”
“Ask your son,” Mike snapped. “And while you’re at it ask him where he put the body of the woman he just killed to create that twisted gift.”
An awful silence filled the foyer and Blake’s face paled to a sick shade of ash.
“There’s another dead woman?” he rasped.
“If she isn’t dead yet, she soon will be,” Mike said. He knew he was being harsh, but how else was he going to convince the stubborn man that he couldn’t protect his son? “Tell me where to find Christopher.”
“This is madness.” Blake rubbed a weary hand over his face, then his head jerked around as the sound of footsteps could be heard coming down the nearby staircase. “We can talk in my office,” he said, abruptly pivoting and heading down the hallway.
Mike followed without protest. They both halted as Blake pulled his keys from his pocket to unlock the door and push it open. Mike briefly wondered if the older man realized Payton had already figured out where he hid the spare key.
Then his thoughts returned to his reason for being at the house as they stepped into the large office and Blake firmly shut the door. He couldn’t afford to waste time. Not when there might be a woman in danger.
“Hiding Christopher from me isn’t doing him any favors,” he warned. “He needs to come with me and make a statement.”
The older man paced across the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to maintain his composure.
“Why are you trying to pin these murders on my son?” he at last demanded.
Mike swallowed a curse of frustration. He wanted to grab Blake Hamilton by the shoulders and shake him until he told him where Christopher was hiding. Thankfully, he’d been at his job long enough to know that nothing was ever simple. Especially when it came to dealing with people.
It was always one step forward, and two steps backward.
“Why did you erase the security tape?” he asked.
Blake stopped his pacing and slowly turned to face him. His arrogant bluster was gone, replaced by a stark concern.
“It had nothing to do with Anne,” he said. “Her death is tragic, but when I erased the tapes I had no idea that she was dead.”
“What did you think happened to her?”
Blake shrugged. “I assumed she’d hooked up with some man o
n the Internet and taken off.”
Mike frowned. From everything he’d learned about Anne Dixon she seemed like the last sort of woman who would do random hookups. Especially with some stranger she met on the Internet.
“Why would you think that?”
“She’d seemed different over the past few months. Distracted.” He gave a lift of his hands. “I thought she must be in love.”
Mike snorted. He hoped the man was more observant when it came to his business transactions than dealing with people. He didn’t have a clue about human nature.
“You still haven’t told me why you erased the tapes,” he said, his tone warning he wasn’t going to ask again.
“After we realized Anne was gone, I knew someone would decide to look at the recording,” he at last said, his voice hard with resentment.
Blake Hamilton wasn’t a gracious loser.
“You have something to hide?”
The older man hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the closed door.
“Maybe I should wait for my lawyer.”
“Christ, if you’re having an affair, I don’t give a crap,” Mike snapped, trying to keep him distracted. The longer he could avoid the appearance of the lawyer, the better.
It worked. Blake looked outraged by the accusation. “I’m not having an affair.”
“I know you haven’t been traveling to St. Louis.” Mike played his ace in the hole.
Blake was near the breaking point. He couldn’t let up now.
“How?” the older man breathed, then he held up a hand, his eyes darkening with defeat. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Tell me what you’re hiding,” Mike pressed.
Blake released a harsh sigh. “If you’re determined to haul Christopher in for questioning I suppose you’ll eventually find out.”
Mike folded his arms over his chest. “I intend to know everything about that boy, down to the color of his boxers, before I’m done.”
Blake sent him a frustrated glare before he was moving toward the desk and pulling out a dark bottle and a glass. Then, pouring himself a healthy shot of the expensive whiskey, he tossed it down his throat.
Seemed a little early in the day to start drinking, but Mike understood the necessity. It wasn’t easy for a man like Blake Hamilton to swallow his pride.
“You’re right.” The older man set the empty glass on the top of his desk. “I’ve always done everything in my power to protect my son. Even when I knew he was in the wrong. I told myself that he was young and I couldn’t let his immature decisions ruin his future.”
Mike’s lips twisted. His own father was eager to lay any blame at Mike’s feet. It was a perfect excuse to vent his perpetual anger at a life he’d wasted with booze and pills.
“It didn’t occur to you that constantly making his troubles disappear only encouraged his bad behavior?”
“It’s easy to judge when you don’t have children,” Blake snapped.
Mike silently cursed his impetuous words.
“You’re right,” he soothed, offering an encouraging smile. “Go on.”
Blake shifted to lean against the edge of the desk, his gaze moving toward the French doors that offered a view of the side terrace. For once the sun was shining, the golden glow emphasizing the elegant beauty of the manicured yard and nearby woods.
“Christopher had some trouble around the area,” Blake slowly admitted. “But it wasn’t until the year after he graduated from high school that I realized his occasional partying had turned into an actual drug addiction.”
“What was he using?”
“Pills, at first. Stuff he could get out of our medicine cabinet.”
Mike grimaced. It was an all-too familiar story in the area. Parents didn’t realize their old prescriptions left lying around could be the spark that ignited their kids’ descent into hell.
“And then?” he asked.
“Anything he could get his hands on. Heroin. Meth.” Blake’s face twisted with disgust. “I found him with a needle in his arm and gave him an ultimatum. He would go to rehab or I was throwing him out of the house.”
Mike had known Christopher was dabbling with trouble. Underage drinking, petty theft, and once stealing the mayor’s car and driving it into the Mississippi River. But he hadn’t realized the extent of his drug use.
“Did he go?”
“For a couple of weeks.” Blake lifted a hand to massage the muscles of his nape. It was obvious his concern for Christopher was a burden that had taken its toll. Had Loreen been equally stressed? Or had Blake hidden his son’s troubles even from his wife and daughter? “Then he came back and promised he was done with the drugs.”
“I’m guessing he wasn’t?”
“No. I wanted to believe him, so I turned a blind eye to the clues. It made it easier that he was spending time with my sister in Chicago,” the older man said. “I would go months without seeing him.”
Christopher had been in Chicago? Mike made a mental note to check on missing women and cross-check them with the precise dates the younger man had been in the Windy City.
“Was he working?” he asked.
“He helped my sister set up her computer and escorted her to her various social functions,” Blake explained.
Mike’s lips twisted. Is that what young, rich men did for a living?
“What does this have to do with what’s going on now?”
Blake hesitated, his jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder his teeth didn’t shatter. His reluctance to reveal the truth was a tangible force in the air and for a minute Mike feared he might clam up. Then Blake reached for the bottle of whiskey, pouring himself another shot.
“Two years ago he was with my sister at a charity auction and he was caught stealing an emerald ring that had been donated by a close friend of my sister.”
Mike’s brows arched. He didn’t know Christopher had a record.
“He was arrested?”
“No.” Blake shrugged. “The charity preferred to deal with the matter discreetly. I was called instead of the authorities.”
Ah. That explained why the younger man’s name hadn’t popped up in the system. And it was proof of what he’d always suspected.
With enough money you could get away with anything.
Maybe even murder.
“Yeah, it’s not very good press for the charity to have its patrons stealing the merchandise,” Mike said in dry tones.
Blake thankfully ignored his taunting words. “I went to Chicago and took Christopher to the nearest rehab facility, Hope Valley. He was warned that if he left I would insist the charity press charges of theft. He spent the past two years there. First he detoxed from the drugs, then he was put in a private apartment where he could take online college classes while still meeting regularly with his rehab counselor.”
Mike made another mental note. This one to talk to the supervisor of the facility and make sure that Christopher had been a patient there. He wasn’t going to take anything Blake Hamilton said at face value. He’d already proven he was willing to do anything to protect his son.
“And you told everyone that he was attending Washington University?”
Blake flinched at the sharp question. “I wanted him to be able to return home without carrying a lot of baggage,” he said. “So I told people that he was at college.”
Mike resisted the urge to ask if Payton knew her brother had been in rehab. What did it matter?
Except it did. He didn’t like the thought she’d been deliberately lying to him.
He gave a shake of his head. “So you got him clean and brought him back home,” he said.
“Yeah.” Lifting the glass, Blake once again swallowed the shot in one gulp. He shuddered, setting aside the empty glass. “For a few days everything seemed to be going well. He was talking about joining me at the office. Then I noticed he was disappearing from the house without telling anyone where he was going.”
“You assumed it was drugs?”
“Of course,” Blake said with absolute confidence.
Mike wasn’t nearly so sure. He might find it hard to wrap his head around the thought of Christopher as a cunning serial killer, but he had to agree with Rylan that the time lines fit. And now he was discovering that during the time Jaci hadn’t been receiving the lockets, her half brother had been in and out of rehab facilities away from Heron. It was likely he chose his victims from Chicago and brought them back to this area to bury them.
“It could have been something worse,” Mike said.
Blake stiffened, his face flushing with anger. “Christopher has never hurt anyone.”
Mike shrugged. There was no point in asking if Christopher had ever been cruel to animals. Loreen wouldn’t allow pets into her house.
“You don’t know what he might do when he’s high,” he instead said.
“I know that he hasn’t been killing women,” Blake snapped. “I’ve been following him for the past week.”
His words caught Mike off guard. “You’ve been following him?”
“Yes.” Blake tilted his chin to a belligerent angle. “Instead of going to work in the mornings, I would park at the bottom of the drive and wait. If Christopher took off I would follow him wherever he went.”
Mike studied him in disbelief. This man had spent his days shadowing his grown son?
“Did he know you were behind him?”
“Of course.” Blake’s sharp laugh echoed through the cavernous room. “It was making him crazy, but I think he assumed I’d eventually give up.”
“Where did he go?”
“Usually he went to places in Quincy.” His eyes narrowed. “A couple of times he went to the old Johnson place. You should do your job and get rid of the people who are living there.”
Mike felt a sudden pang of sadness. He didn’t have to like Blake Hamilton or his son to feel pity for the fact that their lives had been ruined by drugs. It didn’t matter if they were rich or poor, it was a terrible thing.
Still, he couldn’t let his pity distract him from the fact that Christopher was still his best suspect.
“None of this proves that Christopher didn’t kill Anne. Or that he wasn’t at Jaci’s last night,” he said.
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