Paranoid(101)

Lila Kostas, now his stepmother, had sworn she was at the other end of the cannery at the time of the shots, though she’d admitted she’d been searching for Luke, her then boyfriend.

Nate Moretti, Luke’s best friend, had been smoking near a broken window and had seen the cops approach. He swore he hadn’t heard the report of a gun, nor seen its flash, but he was too far from his friend.

Reva Augustus, now Santiago, had been “near the chute” where the unused fish guts and scraps had been tossed during the cannery’s operation. But she, too, had a link to Luke. She was the girl he’d tossed over for Lila and, according to all reports, had been bitter about it. But she’d done well for herself, become an attorney.

Mercedes Jennings Pope had been hiding out in an upper story, this confirmed by Billy Dee Johnson, who’d been with her when people started yelling, “Cops! Run!” Mercedes had never liked Luke and had made no bones about it. Billy Dee had been his friend until a football “accident” in practice had ruined Billy Dee’s chances at a scholarship. Luke Hollander had been the kid who had tackled him, the reason he’d had to settle for community college.

Annessa Bell Cooper had not been far from the spot where Luke had fallen. She’d sworn that she’d seen another flash, behind Rachel, that she thought someone else had killed Luke. Though Rachel had thought she’d shot her brother with the very weapon her brother had handed to her earlier in the day.

That was the hard part to swallow.

Why would he do that?

She could have killed or wounded anyone with that weapon. And it just happened to be unregistered, not linked to any previous crime. Where had Luke gotten it? No one knew; he hadn’t confided in anyone, or anyone who would admit to it.

Back then, there was a missing gun: the one that had killed Luke Hollander.

But Rachel’s own testimony, that she’d fired while trying to leave the building, dragging Violet with her, had been the reason she’d been arrested. Freaked out at what she’d done, that she’d actually shot and wounded her brother, she’d dropped the pistol after firing.

No other bullets had been found, no casings or shells.

One shot had hit Luke and he’d eventually bled out, being declared DOA at the local clinic that served as the emergency room for the area back then. And the doctor in charge who signed the death certificate? Richard Moretti.

The case had been far from open and shut. Rachel’s confession had nearly sealed her fate, but her friends’ conflicting testimony and her young age and a soft judge had changed things.

And she’d never gotten over it; never really let it go.

Now, there was another missing pistol: a gun registered to Leonard Sperry.

He glanced at the clock again and put the file away. Moretti wasn’t calling him back. “Screw it.” It was time to take matters into his own hands.

After shutting down his computer, he grabbed his wallet, badge, and sidearm.

“I’m heading out again,” he told Voss, who was sitting at her desk sipping iced tea while tracking down and reviewing footage from security cameras belonging to businesses not far from the crime scene. “Gonna track down Moretti’s dad.”

“Let me know how that goes. I’m here if you need me.”

“I’ve got this.”

She nodded. “Looks like it could be a long night, but I think footage from The Right Spot tavern shows a car like Nate Moretti’s parked in their lot until about eleven-thirty last night. A deputy is picking up a copy and taking it to the lab to enhance. Turns out Moretti was a regular, so I’ve got a call in to the bartender who was working last night to see if he was there. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Let’s hope. We could use a break.”

The Right Spot was a dive located about three blocks east of St. Augustine’s, a local watering hole where Cade had spent more than one night after his divorce.

She gave him the high sign and he made his way to his truck. No reason to take a city-issued vehicle—after his conversation with the doctor he planned on going home. Eventually. After checking in with Rachel and the kids. He knew they’d spent the day at home and just wanted to double-check on Harper, go see how she was doing, and to make sure Rachel was working to get the security system installed.

But first things first: Richard Moretti.

Sometime during the afternoon most of the fog had dissipated, though a fine layer of mist hung close to the river. He found his sunglasses in the truck’s console and slipped them onto his nose and drove into the direction of the lowering sun, toward Astoria and the hospital. He pulled into the parking garage to the area reserved for physicians and settled in to wait, but it didn’t take long. He recognized Moretti the minute the doctor stepped off the elevator and with remote key in hand unlocked the doors of a silver Audi. The car’s lights blinked.

Cade got out of the pickup, slammed the door shut, and intercepted Moretti just before he reached his car.

“Richard Moretti?” he asked.

“Who are you?” Moretti was instantly wary. On guard. In khaki-colored slacks and a blue button-down, he was tall and slim, the resemblance to his son unmistakable. His dark hair was graying at the temples and wireless glasses sat upon an aquiline nose.

Cade showed his badge. “Detective Cade Ryder, Edgewater Police.”

“Oh, yeah.” Behind the clear lenses, his eyes narrowed. “You’re one of Charlie’s boys.” He wagged a finger. “Married to Ned Gaston’s daughter.”