The Last Sister (Columbia River)(91)

Zander waited.

Licking his lips, Harlan went on. “He had a bunch of questions about shanghaiing around here. One of my ancestors ran a tavern that was infamous for it. Along with the information I had on my relative’s operation, I showed him some old trinkets that I had. Some scrimshaw, some rings and bracelets, a diary.” He scowled. “A pocket watch.”

Aha.

“He flipped the watch open, looked at it, and then set it back with the other stuff. He asked if he could come back again if he had more questions, and I agreed. He was back two days later. He brought a few historic pictures of Bartonville from Simon. Some weren’t that old. He’d told me Simon had identified most of the men in one of the pictures, and he asked if I knew the rest since I was in one of the photos.”

“I think I know the photo you’re talking about. Are Lincoln Mills and the sheriff in it?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know it was still around. Simon keeps everything. I said I couldn’t remember the two unidentified men, and Sean didn’t believe me. He was fired up and angry. Got in my face. Said his research told him Lincoln was involved with some nationalist groups and shoved the pocket watch in my face like it was some sort of proof. I told him he was full of shit, but he was raging.” Harlan glowered. “Then he asked about Cynthia Green’s disappearance.”

Surprise struck Zander. “He figured out you were involved in that?”

“Not exactly. I think he was grasping at straws, but he caught me off guard, and my reaction convinced him he was onto something. He kept pushing—wouldn’t shut up. He jumped to Lincoln’s death and asked me if I’d specifically chosen a hanging to make a point.”

Zander tried to imagine what it had taken for the young man—who everyone swore was the nicest guy around—to accuse the town mayor of murder. Twice. Sean’s dead face flashed in Zander’s mind, and admiration for the high school teacher flared.

Why do people like that get punished while the slime before me still lives?

“Sounds like Sean had your number.”

“When he left that night, I saw the pocket watch was gone. The watch has Mills’s initials in it along with—”

“A Klan saying. I’ve seen the watch. It was found at the Fitch murders. Sean saw it in your possession, saw you in a photo with other white supremacists, probably did a little research into the Mills hanging and discovered a mention of a missing pocket watch—”

“Yes, there’s an article where Brenda Mills is quoted begging for the watch’s return, saying her husband always carried it with him.”

Zander enjoyed the sullen expression on Harlan’s face as he acknowledged that his own actions had tripped him up.

“I searched for the watch at the Fitches’,” said Harlan. “Didn’t find it.”

Sean must have had it on him when he was dragged outside.

“You decided Sean had to die before he went to the police and suggested that they look at you for Lincoln Mills’s hanging.”

Harlan was silent.

“How’d you get Billy to help you?”

“A little money goes a long way with Billy. And a threat to turn in evidence that he was dealing GHB.”

“Who drugged the Fitches?”

“Billy. He and his brother deal a little GHB on the side. It’s not hard to make. He added it to a bottle of wine and told Lindsay to share it with Sean that night. She and Billy had a thing going, you know.” Harlan’s leer turned Zander’s stomach. “Well, maybe not a thing. She was a little drunk one night at the bar a few weeks ago and hooked up with him. After that he blackmailed her by threatening to tell her husband about that night. Claims he had pictures.”

“I can’t see Lindsay having anything to do with an ass like Billy, no matter how much she had to drink.” Both Emily and Madison had adored the woman.

“Well . . . I suspect Billy mighta put something in her drink that first night.”

Zander wasn’t shocked; Billy Osburne’s actions no longer surprised him. “Why Lindsay?” he asked. “You didn’t have to kill her too.”

“She’s a race traitor.”

Chills locked Zander’s limbs at the ugly words. Harlan Trapp was pure hate. The medical examiner’s description of the huge number of stab wounds in both bodies echoed in his head. Zander had suspected a high level of anger was involved.

He had been right.

“I had more issues with her actions than Sean’s. She married the piece of shit and then cheated on him with Billy. Cheap whore.”

“I assume he drugged Nate Copeland’s beer before killing him. Did Nate see you at the Fitches’?”

“I wasn’t sure. Billy and I were in the woods behind the home when Emily and then Nate arrived. We stayed too late trying to get the fire to take hold . . . shoulda left as soon as we saw Emily, but I wanted as much evidence destroyed as possible.”

“You decided to play it safe and eliminate any possible witnesses.” Zander held very still. “You shot at Emily.”

Harlan scratched his arm. “Was just trying to scare her.”

“Bullshit. You were starting to panic and getting sloppy. You don’t scare people, you kill them. You nearly killed an FBI agent and Emily that day.”

The man simply looked at him. No regret.