My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(39)

“Like the Hoover Dam.” Clark slumped in his chair. “I thought you said you’d convinced her to let this go.”

“I thought I did.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “She’s never let this go, Roy. Not from the very start.”





[page]CHAPTER 27





Ryan Hagen opened his front door and greeted Tracy with a sheepish smile. Then he acted as if he didn’t recognize her. Four years since the trial, it was possible he didn’t, but Tracy saw that moment of hesitation in his expression that indicated he remembered exactly who she was.

“Can I help you?” Hagen asked.

“Mr. Hagen, I’m Tracy Crosswhite. Sarah was my sister.”

“Yes, of course,” Hagen said, quickly resorting to his salesman’s demeanor. He shook her hand. “I’m sorry. I see so many faces in my line of work they tend to blend together. What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions,” she said.

Hagen glanced over his shoulder into the small house. It was Saturday morning, and Tracy heard what sounded like cartoons coming from a television. Hagen had testified that he was married with two young children. He stepped out onto the tiny porch, closing the door behind him. His hair, currently not held in place by hair product, fell across his forehead, and his round shape was more pronounced in a T-shirt, plaid shorts, and flip-flops. “How did you find me?”

“You gave your address at trial.”

“You remembered it?”

“I ordered the transcripts.”

Hagen’s eyes narrowed. “You ordered the transcripts? Why would you order the transcripts?”

“Mr. Hagen, I was wondering if you could tell me the television station you were watching when they ran the report on Edmund House that triggered your memory.”

Hagen crossed his arms and rested them on his stomach. The smile faded. He looked bewildered. “I didn’t say it was a report on Edmund House.”

“Sorry, I meant the report on my sister being missing. Do you remember the station? Or maybe the broadcaster?”

His brow furrowed. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

“I know it’s an inconvenience. It’s just that . . . well, I have the newscasts for that time period and—”

Hagen unfolded his arms. “You have the newscasts? Why would you have the newscasts?”

“I was just hoping you could tell me—”

“I testified to everything at trial. If you have the transcripts, you know what I said. Now, I’m sorry, but I have things to do.” He turned and reached for the door handle.

“Why did you say you saw the red Chevy stepside on the road, Mr. Hagen?”

Hagen turned back. “How dare you. I helped put that animal away. If it wasn’t for me . . .” Hagen flushed.

“If it wasn’t for you what?” Tracy asked.

“I’d like you to leave now.” Hagen pushed on the door but it wouldn’t open. He shook the handle.

“If it wasn’t for you saying you saw the Chevy truck, we wouldn’t have gotten the search warrant. Is that what you were going to say?”

Hagen banged on the door. “I told you I’d like you to leave.”

“Is that what someone told you?” Hagen banged harder. “Is that why you said it? Did someone say it would help get the search warrants? Mr. Hagen, please.”

The door pulled open. Hagen ushered a small boy away from the door and stepped across the threshold, turning to face her, already closing the door. “Don’t come back,” he said. “I’ll call the police.”

“Was it Chief Calloway?” Tracy said, but Hagen had shut the door.





[page]CHAPTER 28





Dan had figured he’d hear from Roy Calloway, though not this quickly. Cedar Grove’s sheriff sat in the lobby of Dan’s office, casually flipping through a months-old magazine from a collection on the coffee table and biting into an apple. He was dressed in full uniform, his hat resting on the chair beside him.

“Sheriff. This is a surprise.”

Calloway put down his magazine and stood. “You’re not surprised to see me, Dan.”

“I’m not?”

He chewed another bite of apple. “You did list me as a witness on that pleading you filed.”

“Word always did travel fast here in Cedar Grove.” With no court appearances, Dan had dressed casually in jeans and a button-down. He liked to wear slippers in the office. Now he wished he’d worn shoes, though the discrepancy in their heights wasn’t nearly as significant as it had been back when Calloway used to stop Dan on his bike to ask what he was up to.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“How is it going to impact your business when word spreads you’re representing Edmund House, the convicted murderer of one of Cedar Grove’s own?”

“I suppose my criminal practice could pick up.”

Calloway smirked. “Always the smart-ass, weren’t you, O’Leary? I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Well, unless you have some stock tips to go along with your prediction for my legal career, I have work to do.” Dan turned to leave.