In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(47)

Bibby’s shoes were in a shoe bin outside the front door. “My wife doesn’t want me tracking dirt inside,” he explained. He handed Kins a pair of Hokas. “My doctor recommended them for old, dilapidated men like me. He called them a miracle shoe because they allow men to run past the age of fifty. I’m happy just to walk.”

Tracy and Kins noted the make and the size—10?—and Tracy photographed the shoe and the soles for Kaylee Wright. The sole pattern was different than the waffle pattern Wright found in the park, but the shoe was muddy and looked to have been recently worn.

They drove from Bibby’s home to Northwest Hospital and spoke to a Dr. Dan Waters. Waters confirmed he had seen Evan Sprague earlier that evening, and that Franklin thought Evan could have the flu and wondered if he might need antibiotics. He would not say anything further without a court order, citing the patient-physician privilege.

From the hospital they drove to Stephanie Cole’s apartment. Scott Barnes let them in. Barnes had no objection to showing them his shoes. He owned a pair of Merrell walking shoes, size 9, that looked to have a different waffle pattern than the pattern Kaylee Wright found in the ravine. Tracy photographed them anyway. Barnes said he did not know Cole had driven to North Park, and he was unaware whether she knew anyone who lived there or had any reason to go there.

Before heading home, Tracy checked the tip line, and also called the North Precinct. Neither had any further information or promising leads.

It was as if Stephanie Cole had just disappeared.





CHAPTER 20

Franklin sat in the kitchen drinking a beer, feeling like he’d just dodged a bullet. He was glad he’d taken Evan into the emergency room and worked with him on how to answer the detectives’ questions on the drive home from Cle Elum. For once, the idiot hadn’t disappointed him. Still, it was clear that the detectives weren’t letting this go. He knew when he saw them standing on the Maxwells’ porch that they would come by the house. He needed more time to work with Evan, but he wasn’t about to get it. He made sure Evan knew what to say and what not to say. The idiot’s memory wasn’t good, but he could remember in short spells, which was why he could play cards and board games. It was anything beyond an hour that he had trouble recalling.

The detectives would now turn their attention to Carrol, and he’d start stuttering and spitting all over the damn place. Carrol couldn’t lie to save his life. Franklin’s only hope was to take his daddy’s advice to heart—that the best defense was a good offense.

He dialed Carrol’s cell phone. His brother answered on the first ring. “Wh . . . wh . . . what’s going on?”

“You having a nice time up there?”

Carrol didn’t respond.

“You touch my girl?”

“No. I swear it.”

“Evan’s?”

“No. I mean . . . she . . . she . . . she was crying, and I might have slapped her to shut her up, but that was it. Wh . . . wh . . . why? Wh . . . wh . . . wh . . . what’s going on, Franklin?”

“What’s going on is I seen those two detectives talking to the Maxwells when we drove home, and they came down here to talk to Evan.”

“Oh shit.”

“That’s right, oh shit. Evan did just fine though. Someone told them Evan goes walking the same time that girl went missing. They were asking him all kinds of questions about when he walked last and if he went into the park.”

“Wha . . . wha . . . what did Evan say?”

“He said what I told him to say, but I’m worried they might have some evidence putting him there.”

“B . . . b . . . but the woman isn’t there,” Carrol said.

“No, the woman isn’t there, but the police can do all sorts of shit nowadays to prove things. They can get DNA off almost anything. Fingerprints. Hair fibers.” Which reminded Franklin of something. “You wiped that car down like I told you?”

“Everything,” Carrol said, continuing to stutter. “And I wore the gloves and the ski hat like you said.”

Franklin gave that some thought.

“Fr . . . Fr . . . Franklin?”

“Shut up and listen. Tomorrow you’re going to call that female detective first thing—”

“What am I going to tell her?”

“Shut up and listen. You’re going to call her so she don’t come around here or the Home Depot looking for you. You go over that script I gave you.” Carrol didn’t answer, meaning he hadn’t. Lazy shit. “Get it out now and go over it. When you’re ready, you’ll call and tell her you can’t make personal calls while you’re working, that you had to wait for a break to call her.”

“Okay.”

“And for God’s sake, don’t go stuttering all over the phone. It’ll make you sound suspicious. Hold it together.”

“I’ll try.”

“You better do more than try,” Franklin said. “Or you’ll be in a cellblock.”

“What are you going to do, Franklin?”

Franklin reached down along the side of his chair and grabbed two white plastic garbage bags. Evan’s shoes were in one and the clothes he wore the previous Wednesday were in the other. The detectives asked if Evan ever walked in the park, and Franklin caught the woman looking at his and Evan’s feet. That likely meant they had shoeprints. This time of year, when the ground was wet, a shoeprint would be like a fingerprint.