and when Eric Lane answered, they made arrangements to meet the next morning at nine thirty. Before he disconnected, he asked Lane if he’d ever encountered a case involving erotomania. The detective hadn’t, but said he would research it before Sam arrived.
Sam left word for the detective in Oxford to call him, along with a request that he research erotomania. His gut told him these two cases were connected to Mary Jo’s case and therefore Emma.
Brooke stood. “I’m headed home.” At the door she turned and looked at him. “The person who dug up Ryan’s body knew how to operate a backhoe. Have you checked with Guy Armstrong about employees who worked in maintenance ten years ago? If the person who killed them worked for the park service, they would have been familiar with the backhoe . . . they might even know how to start the machine without a key.”
Sam gave her a thumbs-up. “Good thinking.”
When she left, he looked up Armstrong’s phone number and dialed. After Sam identified himself, he said, “Can you get me a list of employees from ten years ago? And how many of them are current maintenance employees?”
“Can I get back to you tomorrow?” Armstrong said. “I’ll have to research that.”
“Sure.”
“Do you just want the names of permanent workers?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we had and still have a lot of seasonal employees,” the manager said. “Workers like Trey Carter. Every summer when he was in college, he worked for me. I can probably name a couple more if I think about it.”
“Yeah, I’d like a list of the seasonal workers as well.” Sam stared at the files on the desk. “Did Trey ever operate the backhoe?”
“Yeah. And he was a good worker. I really hoped he’d stay on, but his daddy wanted him in the sheriff’s department. Anyway, I’ll get you a list of names tomorrow.”
Sam hung up and tented his fingers. So, Trey Carter was working as a park service maintenance employee ten years ago.
56
Sam gathered the files scattered across the desk and slid them into an envelope. He’d tried to reach Trey, but he didn’t answer. After he tried again, Sam dialed Nate’s number.
“Rawlings,” the sheriff answered.
“Ryker here. I’m trying to reach Trey, but he’s not answering.”
“He took a few days off to go deer hunting before the season ends,” Nate said. “Whatcha need?”
“Did you know he worked for the park service ten years ago as a seasonal maintenance worker?”
“No. Are you saying he might be involved in Mary Jo’s and Ryan’s deaths?”
“Not yet, but according to the maintenance director, Trey worked for him most summers during his college years, operating a backhoe. I want to talk to him.” Vehicle lights flashed across the window. “Do you know where he is?”
“He’s at his cabin. I’ve been there, but it’s been a while. I’ll get the directions and call you back.”
“Good deal.” After exchanging a few more words, Sam hung up and walked to the door. He frowned. Was that a motor running? Maybe Clayton had returned from his rounds. When he opened the door, a tan Civic that looked a lot like his sister’s car idled in the parking lot. What was she doing here? If there was an emergency, she would have called. It was too dark to see who was driving, and he rested his hand on his gun as he approached the car. The window lowered, and Sam stepped back when he recognized his father behind the wheel.
“Hello, Sam.”
“What do you want?” he asked through a rigid jaw.
“You won’t come to me, so I thought I’d come to you,” his father said, then he took a deep breath. “I want to apologize and ask your forgiveness.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m not.” His dad’s gaze skittered away, and neither of them spoke. He lifted his chin and looked Sam in the eye. “I was a terrible father, and I’m sorry for everything I ever did to you.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for an apology?”
Even in the dim light from overhead, his father’s face turned white. Or had it already been white?
“I don’t blame you for being angry, son—”
“Don’t call me that.”
His dad dipped his head, and he pressed his lips together. “All right, but I wanted you to know I’m not the person I used to be.”
He waited for his dad to continue, but the silence grew until it was broken by the haunting sound of an owl’s hoot. Sam tapped the side of