A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(17)

“If we’re done here, we’ll head out to examine the scenes in the daylight,” said Mercy. “But first I have an interview scheduled with one of Ned Fahey’s neighbors. The sheriff said he’d give him a ride to the Eagle’s Nest police department to talk.”

Jeff scanned some papers in front of him until he found a name. “Toby Cox? Is that who you’re interviewing?”

“Yes, I guess he helped Ned out around the property. As far as the sheriff knows, Toby is the only one who’s been in the house in the last ten years.”

“This report from the sheriff says Toby Cox is simpleminded.” Jeff met Mercy’s gaze. “I don’t think that’s a diagnosis or even a politically correct way to put it, but I get the feeling that the sheriff doubts the quality of this witness’s information.”

“We’ll evaluate what Toby has to say and see if he’s credible. Anything else?”

The four of them exchanged glances around the table.

“No? Then we’re off.” Mercy stood.

Jeff shook her hand, his eyes kind. “Good luck.”





EIGHT


Mercy and Eddie parked in front of the tiny Eagle’s Nest police station.

It’d sat in the exact same location since Mercy was a kid. Even the outdoor paint was the same dull shade of khaki. She held her breath as she stepped inside, expecting to see white-haired Mrs. Smythe, who’d answered the phone and managed the police station since Mercy was born. Mercy had no doubt that the busybody would instantly recognize her. Instead a very young man the size of an offensive lineman sat at Mrs. Smythe’s desk.

A welcoming grin crossed his face as they entered. “Are you with the FBI? The chief is expecting you.” The nameplate on his desk said he was Lucas Ingram. His smile was contagious, and Mercy wondered if he was old enough to have finished high school.

Maybe he’s the son of an officer.

Eddie held out his hand. “You’re Lucas? Do you run the show around here?”

“I am. And welcome to my domain. You need anything, let me know.” Lucas stood to shake hands and he towered over Eddie, who wasn’t short.

“How old are you?” Eddie blurted.

“Nineteen. I’ve been working out front here for over a year, and I’m damned good at it.” Lucas’s wide face grew slightly defensive, and Mercy wondered how often he’d had to defend his holding a job that was typically filled by a woman.

“I can tell,” she told the young man. “They’re lucky to have you.”

“And no, I don’t want to be a cop,” Lucas said. “That’s everyone’s next question. I like keeping the station’s stuff organized and doing what I can to make their day go easier. I’d much rather sit at this desk, answer the phone, and delegate than ride around in a patrol car.”

“You’re a born manager,” said Mercy.

“Yep.” Lucas beamed.

“If you’re done managing the FBI, can you get them some coffee and bring it to my office so we can talk?” a familiar voice asked.

Truman Daly had silently appeared in the reception area. “Morning, Agents,” he said with a nod to Mercy and Eddie.

“Good morning, Chief,” said Eddie as Mercy nodded back.

The chief looked as if he’d barely slept, and Mercy wondered if his uncle’s death or the pressures of the job had kept him awake at night. Surely it wasn’t too demanding to keep watch over Eagle’s Nest.

“Sheriff Rhodes already dropped off Toby Cox. He’ll be back in a half hour for him, so I suggest we get started.” He turned and headed down a narrow hallway, leaving Mercy and Eddie to follow.

“He’s been cranky this morning. Don’t let it get to you,” Lucas whispered conspiratorially. “How would you like your coffee?” he asked in a louder voice.

“Black,” Mercy said in unison with Eddie, bypassing her usual heavy cream in favor of being easy. The two of them followed the chief to his office. The hallway was lined with photos. Mercy wanted to stop and study them, positive she’d recognize some faces, but she kept her gaze on the chief’s back. As they moved into his office, another young man waited patiently in a folding chair. He looked up as they entered.

Toby Cox had Down syndrome.

Mercy wondered why Sheriff Rhodes hadn’t been more specific in his report, but maybe he didn’t know the difference. Some people were ignorant. Or assholes.

“Toby, this is Mercy and Eddie from the FBI. They’re the ones with the questions about Ned Fahey.”

The boy stood and shook their hands. Close up, Mercy realized he wasn’t a boy and wondered how old he was. His grip was tight on her hand.

“Don’t I know you?” he asked Mercy, hanging on to her hand.

Her mind raced. She didn’t remember a Cox family or a boy with Down syndrome.

“I don’t think s-so,” she stuttered. “How long have you lived in Eagle’s Nest?”

He peered closer at her, ignoring her question. “The coffee shop. You look like Kaylie,” he said in satisfaction. “You look like Kaylie a lot. Except she’s not old,” he added triumphantly.

Eddie coughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Truman grin.

“I’ve lived in Eagle’s Nest since I was twenty. We moved here ten years ago,” he answered, clearly pleased that he’d solved his mystery. “I knew you looked like someone.”