Keep Her Safe(104)

“Surprise, surprise . . .” Klein mutters, his steely gaze set on the backyard. “That’s fine. His blood isn’t going anywhere.”

“Tell him he should probably get a tetanus shot. Maybe one for rabies, too.” Gracie smirks, tossing Cyclops a strawberry.

“You haven’t had that dog vaccinated?” Silas glares at me. As if that’s my fault.

I don’t know what’s been going on behind the scenes, but per typical Silas, within fifteen minutes of stepping in here, he gained approval from Klein’s higher-ups to involve the APD in the break-in investigation and has smoothly inserted himself into the middle of it.

Now, Boyd and his partner are canvassing the neighborhood for potential witnesses, the APD has Stapley in an interrogation room, and Silas is getting regular updates from the acting police chief.

Of course, Stapley is feeding the APD the same bullshit excuse I heard him give Klein earlier—he caught his leg on a rake. Before the meeting with the FBI, he was home, cleaning up the yard. His wife can vouch for him.

Klein is right, though; there’s nothing Stapley can do to hide the blood that courses through his veins. It’s only a matter of time before they have him.

Silas drums his fingertips across the table. A tic of his when he’s frustrated. It’s because Klein is being Klein—closed off, talking in riddles, unwilling to tell Silas what he wants to know. “So, is it safe to say that Lieutenant Stapley is a person of interest in the Abraham Wilkes murder investigation? I presume that’s why Noah would have called the FBI instead of the APD for a break-in. Though I’m not sure why you guys wouldn’t have called for APD assistance.”

Gracie and I exchange a glance. Silas knows there is an official investigation. I have to assume he’s also figured out that we’ve told Klein everything.

“Sure. I think that’s safe to say,” Klein answers in his laid-back, “nothing really matters” tone, his arms folded across his chest.

Uncomfortable silence hangs for a few beats, before Silas shifts his attention back to me.

“Did you find anything on Grace’s aunt in the arrest records, Noah?”

“No, sir. Nothing in the death and marriage records, either.”

“And the FBI is looking for her too. Right?” Gracie peers at Kristian, expectantly.

“We will be. We’re tight on resources at the moment.”

Gracie’s disapproving huff says she doesn’t like that answer.

“Relax. It shouldn’t take too long using facial recognition software, with that picture you gave me. If she’s alive, we’ll get a hit eventually.”

“You have a picture of her?” Silas asks.

“Just one. My mom had it in her things.”

Silas frowns in thought. “Agent Klein, why don’t you let the APD help with tracking Betsy down so you can focus on your case? I’ll make sure it’s a priority for them. Or, at the very least, they can check out the leads you come up with.”

Klein regards him curiously. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll let you know.”

The kitchen chair creaks as Silas leans back against it. “Hey, if we can give Dina Wilkes back her sister . . . it should be a priority. It’s the least we can do.” It’s the first semi-civil exchange between these two since Silas walked through the door.

And everything about it sounds off.

One of the FBI evidence collectors pops his head in to say they’re wrapping up.

Boyd trails in right behind them.

“Got anything?” Silas asks.

“Yes, sir. A lady on the other side of the park noticed a dark blue pickup truck parked on the street during the time frame of the break-in.” They’re not calling it “theft.” As far as anyone can tell, nothing was taken. “She also noticed a tall, white male walking across from this side, in a hurry.”

“So you’re thinking Stapley parked over there, came through the park, and used the gate in the back to get through?”

“Yes, sir,” Boyd says.

“And do we know what Stapley drives?”

“A navy-blue Ford F10, sir.”

Silas smiles with grim satisfaction. “God bless idiots. What was he thinking, driving here in broad daylight to break into the late chief’s house?”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t expecting a vicious guard dog lying in wait,” Klein muses. “But the bigger question is, why would he want to plant cocaine and a gun in Jackie Marshall’s house?” A gun last registered to Abraham Wilkes, they’ve confirmed.

“You mean, besides trying to frame Jackie Marshall with my father’s death to cover his own tracks? His and Mantis’s?” Gracie’s lips twist bitterly.

A faint smile flitters across Klein’s face, saying that’s the conclusion he’s come to as well. It vanishes almost instantly. “And we’re sure that gun wasn’t in there before?”

“I don’t recall checking that shelf thoroughly, no,” Silas begins. “It could have been—”

“No, that gun was not in there,” I say with firm resolution.

Silas’s brow raises. “I don’t recall you checking that thoroughly, either.”

“I did. And besides, it would make no sense for her to put a bag of money and the gun holster in that hole under the floorboards, and not the gun.”