Henry. When I was investigating Alice’s disappearance, several people told me Henry and Derrick were best buddies. Hung out together quite a bit.”
“Did you ever question Henry about Alice?”
“I tried, but he took off at the same time she did. No one knew where he went. Someplace in Louisiana, I think.” He took another drag. “People said Alice went with him. I figured she’d pop back up when she tired of him.”
Except Alice never returned.
Emilia stuffed her hands in her pockets. She pictured the whiteboard in her mind. There was a year gap between Alice’s death and the next murder. If Henry killed Alice, did he disappear from town to evade being caught? Once the case went cold, he could’ve moved back to Fulton and begun killing women from the surrounding counties.
“Henry Stillman lives here now,” Emilia said. “Do you know when he moved back?”
The sheriff cocked his head. “Uhhh, I’d say Henry returned to town about a year after Alice went missing. You’d have to ask him to be sure.”
“When he returned did you question him about Alice’s disappearance?”
“I did. He claimed to know nothing about it. By that time, the trail had gone cold. I had my suspicions Henry was involved, but I couldn’t prove it.”
Emilia suspected he hadn’t worked hard enough. Anger heated her cheeks, but she tamped the emotion down. The sheriff had made many mistakes, but beating him over the head with them would get her nowhere.
She switched gears. “What about John McInnis? Was Derrick close to him?”
“His boss? I think they were friendly, but nothing more than acquaintances.” Randy tossed his cigarette down and snuffed it out with the heel of his boot.
Emilia lifted the photograph. “Where did you get this?”
“Pardon?”
“The photograph.” She kept her tone easy and light. “Where did you get it?”
“I don’t rightly remember. Probably from one of Alice’s friends.”
Sheriff King was lying. Bennett sensed it too. His gaze narrowed. “Did Malcolm attend this party?”
“I doubt it. My son was never much for parties.” Randy fiddled with his car keys. “Like I said, if you’re looking for Derrick’s partner, I’d start with Henry. When I get back to the house, I’ll pull all my notes about Alice’s disappearance and drop them off at the sheriff’s office.”
Emilia nodded. “Appreciate it.”
“If you have any other questions, let me know. And thanks again for last night.”
He ambled to his truck and gave a wave before driving off. Emilia watched his truck disappear around the corner. “Do you get the feeling we were being manipulated?”
“Yeah, Malcolm was definitely at that party, and I bet that picture is his.” Bennett removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t tell if Sheriff King is trying to simply protect his family’s reputation, or if there’s something more to it.”
“Let’s head to town and check in with Claire. Maybe she’s reviewed the surveillance video back from the diner where Kathy Rose worked. I’d like to know which of our three suspects—Doug, Malcolm, or Henry—were patrons.” Emilia tapped the photograph against her hand. “Alice and Kathy’s cases are linked. The first murder and the last. Somewhere a thread ties them together. We just have to find it.”
Ten
Bennett held open the door to the sheriff’s department for Emilia and then stepped in behind her. Phones were ringing off the hook. Several deputies were manning a hotline for tips. It smelled like coffee and stale pizza.
Claire, looking haggard and exhausted, waved Bennett and Emilia back to her office. “It’s a mad house here. How many reporters did you have to wade through to get in?”
“Five,” Bennett said, shutting the office door behind him. “But there were more television trucks parked in front of the courthouse entrance.”
“The story’s been picked up by the national media. I’ve got the mayor and most of the city council popping in for checkups.” She picked up a coffee mug from her desk and sniffed the contents before taking a swig. “Okay, enough about my silly problems. Let’s get down to business.”
Claire sat in her chair and flipped to a page in her notebook. “The bullets taken from Bennett’s truck weren’t a match to any crime. So that’s a dead end. The only fingerprints recovered from the poinsettia plant given to Emilia at the park belonged to the little boy. There was nothing on the notecard. Killer was smart enough to use gloves. Another dead end.”
“What about the composite sketch?” Emilia asked, pulling a wrapped package from her purse. She pushed it across the