Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(82)

“Maybe Matthew Westover is the man we need to concentrate on,” Palmer said. “Maybe he’s trying to throw you off his scent.” He raised a hand. “For the record, I’m not serious about concentrating on Matthew Westover or anyone else, for that matter. I’m trying to help you see that we could theorize until we turn blue, but we’d be wasting our time.”

She shook her head. “Matthew Westover is a playboy. He’s a popular anchorman, so it’s not a big secret that he gets around.”

Palmer crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, so tell me again. Out of all his fans that day, why did Gage choose Kylie Hartford to go after?”

“She was an easy target. She liked sex. And she was obsessed with Waylan Gage. Besides Matthew Westover, I talked to a friend of Kylie’s at Good Day Sacramento. She wasn’t there the day investigators questioned Kylie’s coworkers, but she said Kylie told her flat out that she was going to that book signing, and she was going to get into Waylan Gage’s pants, even if it killed her.”

“You have the woman’s name and number?”

“I do.” She raised her hand. “If you’ll let me add one more tiny thing.”

“Go ahead.”

“After I left Good Day Sacramento,” Sawyer said, “I did some research on Waylan Gage. He releases one book every two years, and after each release, he tours the United States. Three years ago, he was in San Francisco. That same night a woman named Kathy Pollard was killed. Her murder was never solved.”

“And she was a fan of Waylan Gage?”

She nodded. “It gets weirder. A lot weirder.”

Palmer frowned. “You said you had ‘one tiny thing’ to add.”

She ignored him. “The only reason I know that Kathy Pollard was a fan is because of her obituary. In it, her family mentions her love of reading and how ecstatic she was to have met Waylan Gage that day.” Sawyer leaned closer, her gaze fixated on Palmer’s as she tapped her finger against his desk. “The family even buried her with his autographed book.”

“So your theory is that not only did Waylan Gage kill Kylie Hartford—he also killed Kathy Pollard.”

“And who knows how many others,” she said.

“Where is Waylan Gage now?” Palmer asked.

Sawyer glanced at her notes. “It’s been a week since he left Sacramento. He’s already hit Oakland, Fresno, and San Jose. His next stop is Los Angeles, and then San Diego.”

“And what are you proposing exactly?” Palmer asked.

“That we find a way to get Waylan Gage’s DNA to check it against the unidentified DNA found in Kylie’s apartment. I could fly to LAX myself. It’s a short flight. I go to Gage’s signing. I buy a book and grab his water bottle when I leave.”

“Assuming he has a water bottle.”

“Yes,” Sawyer said.

“The answer is no,” Palmer said. “You don’t have my approval to go anywhere near Waylan Gage.”

Sawyer crooked her neck in frustration.

Palmer picked up his phone and dialed a number. “But I do know someone who might be able to help us.”





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

One week later . . .

“This apartment is perfect,” Sawyer said as Derek Coleman followed her into the tiniest kitchen she’d ever seen in her life.

“This is not good,” he said. “Too many overgrown trees and shrubs outside, leaving you wide open to be mugged. No bark covering the dirt and no sprinklers. The property is falling apart. Let’s go.”

“I can’t afford perfect,” she said.

“You said you wanted a downstairs apartment with one bedroom. This is upstairs with no bedroom.”

True. It was a studio, nothing like the apartment she’d imagined in her mind’s eye, but still . . . the price was right, and this was the fifth apartment building she’d been to today. She opened the cabinet, and the door toppled to the floor. “A broken hinge,” she said. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“It’s not safe,” Coleman said.

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” she told him. “This place has controlled-access entry with an intercom system. And on-site laundry.” She opened the oven door beneath the stovetop and tried not to cringe when she saw thick grime covering the racks.

“That’s disgusting,” Coleman said.

“I don’t cook.” She closed the oven door. “Problem solved.”

“You’ll have to park on the street, and that’s if you can find parking. It’s way too dangerous.”

“Remind me again why I brought you with me?”

“Because this was as close as I was ever going to get to going on a date with you.”

“Ahh. That’s right.” Sawyer moved on to the bathroom. “This place is within walking distance to all the best restaurants. The entrance to the American River Parkway is close enough that I can bike there in a few minutes.”

“This place is too small. You can’t fit a bike in here.”

She pointed to the wall. “I’ll hang it right there.”

He shook his head in defeat.

“This is the only place that comes close to what I can afford. I’m going to take it. Because my only other option is to live with my sister and sleep on her couch.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Plus, this place takes animals.”