Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(60)

“Any other family? Anyone else here who might be able to give us information on Byron’s whereabouts?”

“Not that I know of. No one’s been in contact with Byron for more than ten years.”

“One last thing,” Ethan said. “As I look around, I don’t see any photographs. I’m guessing you don’t have any pictures that might include Byron Mahler.”

“Exodus 20:4, Mr. Brodie. Thou shalt not make any graven images. Though photographs are occasionally taken of us by outsiders, you will rarely see anyone face-on.”

“The police need to find this man, Mrs. Bruckner. I was at the home of the woman who was murdered. What happened to her was brutal beyond description. Would you consider talking to a sketch artist, allowing someone to come here and draw a picture of Mahler as you remember him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can do that. At least not without speaking to the others. Perhaps they will agree. Murder is a serious crime. They will want to help if they can.”

“All right. In the meantime, could you at least give me a basic description? I understand Byron was only fifteen, but was he tall? Short? Blond? Dark? Anything would be helpful.”

The petite woman took a deep breath. For a moment, she closed her eyes, as if trying to dredge up memories. “At fifteen, Byron was tall for his age and quite thin, a gangly young man who rarely smiled. He was dark-haired, but his eyes were a very pale shade of blue. Aside from that, he was an average-looking teenage boy. Oh, except for the scar on his forearm.”

Ethan straightened. “Tell me about the scar.”

“He and his father were cutting wood with a whipsaw when something went wrong. The boy was badly injured. The accident left him with a scar about ten inches long on his forearm.”

When the woman fell silent, Ethan dug out a business card and handed it over. “You’ve been a very big help, Mrs. Bruckner. With luck, we won’t need to involve you in this any further. But if Byron Mahler is the man who murdered the young woman in Dallas, he needs to be stopped. With what you’ve told us, we may be able to make that happen.”

“You did the right thing,” Val said, reaching over to squeeze the woman’s hand. “I believe it’s what your husband would have wanted you to do.”

The woman’s eyes glistened. She brushed a drop of wetness from her cheek. “Thank you, dear, for saying that.”

Mrs. Bruckner walked them to the door, and they stepped out onto the porch. Ethan’s hand settled at Val’s waist as he guided her back to the rental car.





Chapter Twenty-Three



Just before they reached the highway, Ethan pulled the car to the side of the road. He didn’t turn off the engine, just left it running and the air conditioner on.

“What are you doing?” Val asked, watching him work his iPhone.

“Googling Byron Mahler. Seeing if there’s any chance he’ll show up on the Internet. These days you never know.”

“I’ll check Facebook.” Val pulled out her own cell and started working.

After eliminating a number of people with the same name who didn’t match the description, they both came up with zip.

Next Ethan phoned Heath Ford. “I’ve got a name,” he said when his friend answered. “Anonymous tip came in this morning. Pointed to a suspect who fits our profile.”

“Anonymous? That your way of telling me not to ask how you came up with the info?”

Ethan smiled. “Yeah. Suspect’s a twenty-five-year-old white male named Byron Mahler. He’s Amish, Heath, or at least he was until they ousted him ten years ago for the attempted rape of a young Amish woman. He was raised in a community near Stephenville. I’m on my way back from there now.”

“You get a description?”

“At fifteen, he was tall and thin. Very light blue eyes and a ten-inch scar on his forearm. A lady who lives there gave me the info.”

“That’ll help, if we can find him.”

“I tried the Internet. No sign of him on Google or Facebook.”

“We need to get a sketch artist out there to talk to the woman. Any chance of that happening?”

“Could be, but it’ll take some doing. Graven images aren’t popular with the Amish. You’d have to computer age it anyway.”

“It’s not a lot to go on, but it’s way more than we had before. I’ll put out a BOLO with that description, try to locate Mahler as a person of interest.”

“One more thing. His father was a furniture maker. Kid learned the trade. That’s how he got the scar.”

“I’m on it. Thanks, Ethan.” Heath ended the call, and Ethan pulled the car out onto the road.

“You’re convinced it’s him?” Val asked. “The copycat?”

“Yeah. Feels right. Has since I got the e-mail from Sadie this morning.”

“Sadie? She’s a . . . friend?”

He flicked her an amused glance. “Why? You jealous?”

Val sat a little straighter in the seat. “No, of course not.”

Ethan chuckled. “Sadie Gunderson is a fifty-year-old grandmother. She works with me at the office. Believe it or not, she’s a computer genius.”

Val grinned so wide her dimples popped out. Ethan felt the familiar kick and his groin tightened. He clamped down on a rush of lust that wasn’t going anywhere, at least not at the moment. Those damned dimples were going to be the death of him.