When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(35)

Shakily, the girl raised a single finger.

“No?”

Two fingers. D.D. knew it. The girl was plenty smart. Her “family” was taking terrible advantage her.

“Do they hurt you?” D.D. asked gently.

The girl didn’t move.

“Are you scared?”

Nothing.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. Even if they’re your family and they’ve told you that you have no place else to go, that’s not true. I can help you find options.”

To be honest, though, D.D. wasn’t sure just what those options were. She didn’t have jurisdiction here, let alone understand the available resources for displaced kids. But the sight of such a young girl already forced into a life of servitude because of—what, a childhood injury? The cop in D.D. was offended—not to mention the mother in her.

Almost as if reading her mind, the girl slowly held up two fingers. Followed quickly by a faint shake of her head. There was something in the girl’s eyes. Not fear, D.D. thought. More like stubbornness.

The sound of heels clacking across the marble foyer. D.D. quickly pocketed her phone. She and the girl turned as a single unit and headed back down the hall where Martha was already waiting for them.

The woman eyed D.D. suspiciously. Then regarded the girl even more harshly. When neither said a word, she pivoted on one heel and led them back to the sunroom.



* * *



—

THE SHERIFF WAS STILL TALKING to the mayor, keeping his comments brief. D.D. pulled her chair way out, the rude Yankee who didn’t know how to sit ladylike at a table. From this position, she had a clear vantage point of the mayor, his wife, and their niece, who was once more standing at attention against the wall.

Time for the real questions.

“In cases like this,” the sheriff said, “it’s best to keep an open mind. We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves.”

The mayor and his wife nodded encouragingly, as if they understood they were about to be taken into some grand confidence.

“Of course, we do have a suspicion.”

More supportive nods.

“Do either of you recognize this man?” Sheriff Smithers withdrew a photo of Jacob Ness. Not the best photo, D.D. thought, as it had been taken during his first arrest for beating his wife over twenty years ago. He was a hard-looking thirty even back then. Clearly a lifelong smoker, drinker, drug abuser, he stared into the police camera sullenly, his lip curled in a faint sneer.

Martha stifled a gasp. “Why, that’s Jacob Ness. Of course we recognize him. He kidnapped that college student. What was it, five years ago? He’s a monster!”

“The college student was from Boston,” the mayor filled in, eyeing D.D. with renewed interest.

D.D. took the photo from Smithers, made a show of positioning it on her knee, where it just so happened to be turned in the direction of the wall.

“Have you seen him around here?”

“Isn’t he dead?” Martha asked. “I thought the police killed him. Are you saying he did this?”

“Howard, Martha.” The sheriff held up a calming hand, regaining their focus. “These graves are old. Whatever happened here, there’s no need for immediate alarm. Having said that, something terrible happened in our own backyard. We need answers. And we owe it to the victims to get justice.”

“Do you have any recollection of ever seeing this man in this area?” D.D. prodded again. “Doesn’t matter if it was seven, ten, fifteen years ago. Just, did you ever see him here?”

“Absolutely not!” Martha answered first. “And we would know. We followed everything that happened in the news, the FBI raiding the hotel, saving that poor girl. Why, if we had ever seen that man in our town, you can believe, Sheriff, we would’ve rung you immediately. Thank heavens a man such as that never passed through our community!”

“What about this vehicle?”

Next the sheriff produced a picture of the cab from Ness’s big rig. This time both of the Counsels shook their heads.

“Other loners that spring to mind?” the sheriff pressed. “Maybe the kind of neighbor most try to ignore but everyone’s a little nervous about?”

The Counsels exchanged glances. Their shoulders had come down. If they were shocked before, considering a known serial rapist had passed through their community, they seemed more comfortable now. Back to the local misfits. All towns had some.

“There’s Walt.” Martha brushed the back of her husband’s hand, as if for confirmation. “Walt Davies. He lives in his own cabin above the ridge. An old family camp. He keeps mostly to himself, one of those off-the-radar types. We only see him when he comes into town for supplies. Let’s just say he’s not the most sociable . . . or hygienic . . . man.”

“I’ve never considered Walt dangerous,” the mayor spoke up, frowning. “I’d guess he runs some moonshine. Hell, maybe has his own herb business, if you know what I mean. But he’s never done anything untoward. Most of us leave him well enough alone, and he returns the favor. Having said that, Sheriff, I doubt he takes kindly to government types. Before paying a visit to his homestead, I’d take some precautions.”

Sheriff Smithers nodded his head at the warning, made a note. “Anyone else? Maybe a guest you see regularly, but who doesn’t quite fit? No hiking boots or interest in the great outdoors, keeps mostly to himself?”