Cold Case Cover-Up. Virginia Vaughan

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      However, when she stood and pulled back her hair, he saw the redness in her eyes and the way her hands shook as she held one out to him. Was it possible this wasn’t a ploy to draw him here after all?

      “Thank you for coming, Deputy. My name is—”

      “Dana Lang. I know who you are.”

      She gave him a gracious smile he was certain she used for fans of her show. He’d never said he was a fan.

      He nodded, deciding it was better not to draw attention to himself in case she hadn’t yet realized who he was. She couldn’t have known tonight was the night he’d finally conceded to his father’s urgings and decided to work. “Can you tell me what happened?”

      She nodded and took a deep breath, and as she began talking, he could see her hands quiver. She was shaken up. That couldn’t be faked. “I was returning to my room when I noticed the door open. When I entered, someone was in there going through my belongings. I said something and he turned to look at me, then pushed past me and ran down the hall into the stairwell. He knocked me down as he fled.” She motioned to her stained blouse. “That’s how I spilled iced coffee all over me.”

      “Did you recognize him?”

      “No, and I didn’t get a good look at him. He was tall and thin, but his face was hidden by a ski mask. And when he ran toward me, I was too startled to really get a good look.”

      “What was missing from your room?”

      “Nothing.”

      “He didn’t take anything?” That surprised him. Most break-ins were burglaries. Had she interrupted him before he could find anything of value?

      “Not that I can tell. My belongings were scattered, but I don’t think anything was missing. I had my cell phone and wallet with me and I didn’t bring anything valuable, so there wasn’t much for him to take. But he did leave something. A threatening message spray-painted on the wall.”

      He jotted down notes, then asked her to follow him upstairs. Now that she had the benefit of time and someone else with her, perhaps she would notice something else that could help pinpoint who’d done this deed.

      She walked with him to the elevator, her arms curled over her chest and her head low, and stepped inside with hesitation.

      “No one’s going to hurt you,” he assured her. “I’m here with you.” He touched her elbow, trying to reassure her, but instantly regretted it as a spark raced up his hand. He had no business noticing how dainty and soft her arm was or breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. This woman could ruin his life with one story. He had to remain on his guard around her at all times.

      He cleared his throat as he tried to regain his composure and act professionally. “How long have you been in town?”

      “I arrived last night,” she told him.

      Welcome to West Bend, he thought, hating that this would forever be the image she’d take from his hometown.

      The elevator doors slid open and she hesitated a moment before getting out, then let him take the lead as they walked down the hall.

      He unlocked her door with the key Milo had given him and pushed it open. Clothes were scattered from a suitcase onto the bed. Drawers were open. Someone had been searching for something, and by the look of the room, he’d been here a while. If he hadn’t stolen anything, it was either because he hadn’t found anything of value, or else that wasn’t the reason he’d come.

      He turned and saw a display on the wall of photos and notes, along with the threatening graffiti Dana had mentioned. It looked like she was making an evidence board. He glanced at the date on an Associated Press article about a murder in his hometown and realized it was referencing the Renfield murders, a thirty-year-old cold case.

      “Is this all for an upcoming show?” he asked her.

      “Sort of. It’s a case that’s recently caught my interest. What do you know about the murders?”

      He let his gaze fall back to the wall of what seemed to him random information. Was it possible this was the reason she was in town and it had nothing to do with him? Please, God, please. “Just what I’ve heard throughout the years. Rumors, gossip, folklore, that’s all.”

      “Do you think he killed her? Paul Renfield? The article says he killed his wife and child. Do you think he did it?”

      He shrugged. “That’s what they say.”

      “Did they ever find him? I have the AP article that got picked up, but the local newspaper’s files aren’t online so I don’t really know what happened after the initial report. I had planned on spending this evening digging into the files at the sheriff’s office, but after this, I think I’ll stay in tonight instead.”

      He remembered hearing about this case when he was a kid. His grandfather had been the sheriff at the time of the murders and Quinn knew the murder of that mother and little girl had haunted him until his dying day. It was a case he’d never been able to solve. “It was a long time ago.”

      He wasn’t really in to having this conversation with her. All he wanted was to take her statement and get out before her radar zeroed in on him. It was too coincidental that she was in his town when Rizzo’s story was splashed all over the news. “It was before my time. I didn’t know any of these people so I can’t really say.”

      But as he scanned the wall again, his gaze landed on one of the handwritten notes and he realized he recognized that writing. He pulled it from the wall and read the short missive.

      Please take care of this child. She just became an orphan.

      “What is it?” she asked him, suddenly alert and beside him, her face anxious with curiosity.

      “It looks like my grandfather’s handwriting. He was the sheriff back when the murders happened, so it’s not odd to see his handwriting. I guess it caught me off guard.” He pinned the paper back to the wall.

      She stepped closer to him and glanced at the sheet of paper he’d held. “You recognize this handwriting as your grandfather’s? Are you certain? And your grandfather was the sheriff at the time of murders? Sheriff Bill Mackey?”

      “That’s right. Why?”

      “This note, the one with his handwriting, was left with a child at a church sixty miles from here just days after the murders took place. It was the only clue pointing to who left her, since the preacher didn’t tell the adoptive parents.”

      He frowned. What was she talking about? “I’ve never heard that.”

      “Few people have.” She locked eyes with him. They were now on fire with excitement. “I don’t think Alicia Renfield died that night at all. I think she was found alive and your grandfather not only knew it, he hid her away and faked her death.”

      She was crazy. Or was she so hungry for a story that she would resort to making up nonsense? He shook his head and backed away from her, anger biting at him. His grandfather had been a hero in this town and to him. His death two years ago had rocked Quinn. Her accusations were unthinkable. He grimaced and locked eyes with her, his body now on СКАЧАТЬ