CHAPTER 12
The boy had a buzz cut and freckles, and Brooke estimated his age at ten, maximum, because of his small stature. Despite his youthful appearance, he had a streetwise way about him as he glanced at Brooke and exited the restaurant. He stopped at a picnic table, where a little white dog waited, tail thumping, at the end of a leash.
Brooke paused beside the table.
“Thanks for the money.” He darted a suspicious look at her as he sat down and unpacked his food.
“No problem.” She glanced around. “They’re pretty crowded. Mind if I share your table?”
He gave a shrug and unwrapped his burger. He’d ordered two plain cheeseburgers. The first one went beneath the table, where the little dog quickly devoured it.
Brooke sat on the bench across from them.
“Cute pup. What’s his name?”
“Fenway.”
She smiled. “Like the park.”
He nodded and slurped his soft drink, watching her.
“I’m Brooke.”
“I’m Cameron.”
“Nice to meet you, Cameron. Where’d you get all the quarters?”
“Around.” He popped a fry into his mouth, then leaned down and gave one to Fenway.
Brooke opened up her food, although she felt too wired to eat. Her heart was racing as she sat across the table from this kid who had been a faceless figment of her imagination up to now.
“It’s not really that hard.” He popped another fry into his mouth. “I mean, you have to know where to look, but I do, so . . .”
She sipped her drink and watched him. “So . . . it’s like a hobby? Hunting for loose change?”
He nodded.
“Sounds lucrative.”
“Vending machines. That’s where you go. There’s a lot around town. You ever been to Wash-o-rama?”
“Over on Main Street?”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“That’s the best place. It’s my first stop. Then the car-wash place, the library, then Holiday House. Then the arcade at the truck stop, but only if I have time. Sometimes it’s a waste. I think someone who works there checks the machines.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of stops.”
He shrugged. “Not really. I mean, not if it’s a weekend.”
“The motel is on the interstate. Your parents let you go all the way over there by yourself?”
“It’s just my mom. And she doesn’t care. As long as I stay out of trouble while she’s gone.”
Brooke picked at her chicken. “Gone, like at work?”
“Yeah.” He dipped a fry in ketchup and handed it down to Fenway.
“Where does she work?”
His gaze narrowed. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
“This coffee place. Not Starbucks or anything, but it’s pretty good. It’s over on Elm Street.”
“Java House?”
“You know it?”
“Yeah.” She watched him and forced herself to nibble a french fry. “So . . . you drink coffee?”
“No, but if I go there after school, they always give me free hot chocolate.”
Brooke wished she could think of what to say to this kid. She wanted to know his full name and his address. And she wanted to talk to his mother immediately and tell her that her son was mixed up in something dangerous. But she couldn’t just sit here and interrogate a minor without a parent present. Plus, if her hunch was right, he’d get spooked in no time and she might never see him again.
She searched his face and his hands, looking for any hint that he’d been injured recently in a bike crash. His gaze stayed on her as he chomped his burger.
“Does Fenway like chicken?”
“He likes anything.”
Brooke tore off a bite and leaned down to offer it. The dog hurried over and licked it off her hand, and Brooke took a moment to stroke his ears.
“What breed is he?”
“He’s not, he’s a rescue. Mom says he’s got some of everything. You have a dog?”
“Just a cat. He’s a rescue, too.”
The boy scarfed the rest of his food, and Brooke could tell she’d made him uncomfortable with all her questions. His mom had probably taught him about stranger danger.
He stood and crumpled his food wrapper. “Well, we should probably get going.”
She forced a smile. “More vending machines to check?”
“Yeah. If I see you again, I’ll pay you back.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was nice meeting you, Cameron. Thanks for sharing your table.”
“Sure, no problem.”
• • •
Sean was relieved not to see Brooke’s car when he pulled into the Delphi Center. Hopefully, she was home right now meeting her locksmith. He suspected she wouldn’t hesitate to blow off the appointment if she got sidetracked at work.
Sean grabbed the paper evidence bag off his front seat. It contained a sixteen-ounce water bottle—luckily the only one he’d found perched at the top of the garbage bin. Because Mahoney had tossed it in a public place, he had no reasonable expectation of privacy, so Sean didn’t need a warrant for anything found on it—such as the DNA that would either implicate the man in a homicide or rule him out.
Sean’s phone buzzed with a call from Brooke.
“Hey. You get your locks done?”
“Not yet. Something’s come up.”
Sean stopped short. “What’s wrong?”
“I identified our witness. His name’s Cameron, and he lives at 267 Cherrywood Road. And get this. His mother works at Java House.”
“You interviewed him?”
“No.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I spotted him at Dairy Queen. He has red hair and freckles and a little white dog, Sean. He fits the description to a T!”
Delphi’s weekend security guard pushed open the door and held it, and Sean gave him a nod as he stepped into the lobby.
“There have to be a lot of redhead kids around town, and some of them probably have dogs, too. How can you be sure it’s our kid?”
“I snagged his food wrapper and ran it back to the lab earlier this afternoon. The prints match.”
“Jesus, Brooke. I can’t believe you did that.”
“I’m a CSI. That’s what I do.”
“Yeah, but you’re not a cop. And I already told you about interviewing witnesses—”
“It wasn’t an interview. It was a casual conversation.”
He could tell he’d put her on the defensive, and he didn’t give a damn. He needed to get through to her. She was putting herself in danger, not to mention jeopardizing the case.
“Sean, you have to get over here. Or send Ric over. Someone needs to talk to this kid’s mother.”
“Don’t tell me you’re at his house.”
“Why not?”
“How the hell did you get his address if you didn’t interview him?”
“It was on his dog’s collar. When we were talking—”
“Brooke. Listen to me. You shouldn’t be talking to potential witnesses or staking out houses. I don’t want you involved in this.”
“Too late. I am involved. And I found your witness for you, so you need to come see him. His mother has to be oblivious to all this. Why else would she let him roam around in public all day when someone just tried to run him down on his bike?”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“I sure as hell do. Now, could you please send someone over here?”
Sean gritted his teeth and looked at his watch. “I’m tied up with something right now.”
Silence.
“It’s important,” he added.
“What’s more important than this eyewitness?”
“We’ve got a new suspect, and I think I can prove his involvement.” Or disprove it. “I’ll call Ric. Maybe he can get by there and talk the mom into bringing the boy in for an interview. With any luck, she’ll agree to let a forensic artist sit down with him, and maybe we’ll get a suspect sketch.”
“I don’t want him interviewed, I want him protected! Someone tried to kill him the other night, and he needs to be in some kind of protective custody or something.”
“We don’t have the resources for that, Brooke. As much as I wish we did. We’re spread paper-thin already trying to keep an eye on a whole list of suspects while we pin down their involvement.”
She went quiet. Sean glanced up and noticed the guard was watching him, blatantly eavesdropping. Sean stepped over to the reception counter and signed in. The sooner he got this evidence dropped off, the sooner he could deal with Brooke, who was obviously dead set on making his evening as complicated as possible. Why couldn’t she have called him with this lead instead of going over there? Now she was committed. He could hear it in her voice.
The silence continued, and he figured she was seriously ticked off by his less-than-thrilled reaction to her discovery.
“So this Cameron kid, did you get a last name?”
“No.”
“Do you know his mother’s name?”
“No.”
“Well, how old is he?”
“I’m not sure. Ten, I’m guessing.”
The guard handed Sean a visitor’s badge, and he clipped it to his jacket as he headed down the hall to the evidence room to check in his package. He’d ask Mia to bump it to the top of her list in the morning.
“Kaitlyn Spence,” Sean said. “I’d bet money on it.”
“Who’s that?”
“One of the two Java House baristas who went to Samantha’s funeral. The other one is only eighteen, so she couldn’t have a kid the age you’re describing. I’m betting Kaitlyn’s his mother.”
“Okay, but why was Cameron at Samantha’s house that night if the coffee shop was closed? His mother would have been home, right?”
“Hell if I know. We need to interview these people, like I said. Is she there now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she is. It’s a little house with a carport, but I don’t see any cars.”
“Is the kid there?”
“I think so. His dog was in the backyard, and I can see a TV on in the living room.”
“And you’re sure it’s him?”
“Yes, Sean. I matched the prints.”
“I’ll call Ric. Meantime—”
“Don’t tell me to go home. I’m not going anywhere until someone with a badge gets here. Wait, hang on.”
“What is it?”
“There’s a car pulling into the driveway. Just a sec.”
Sean gripped the phone. He hated her in the middle of this. “Brooke?”
“It’s his mom, I think. Tall and thin. Auburn hair. She’s wearing a brown apron, like she just got off work.”
“That’s Kaitlyn Spence. Let me get Ric over there to talk to her.”
“Someone needs to tell her what’s going on with her son.”
“We’ll take it from here. You stay out of it.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Brooke? We will handle it.”
“Fine, then hurry up and handle it.”
• • •
Kaitlyn Spence walked across the weedy lawn and up the steps to her door. The woman looked tired. Just like her house. Just like her car, which had dings on the side and was missing the back bumper. She let herself in without a key, and Brooke cringed as she realized Cameron had been sitting inside an unlocked house.
Brooke’s phone chirped as a text landed from Sean.
Ric on his way. Can u send the plate?
Brooke looked at the Hyundai. Then she got out and glanced around, hoping she didn’t draw attention as she took a leisurely stroll past the driveway. She snapped a quick photo of the license plate with her phone and also committed it to memory in case the picture turned out fuzzy. After about half a block, she turned around and walked casually back to her car. Once inside, she checked the photo and texted it to Sean. He probably wanted to run a criminal background check on Cameron’s mother. The thought wouldn’t have occurred to Brooke, but Sean was much more suspicious of people than she was.
The front door opened, and Kaitlyn emerged looking completely different. Her long auburn hair was piled in a knot on top of her head now. She wore a black shirt, a black miniskirt, and tall black boots, along with a different apron—also black.
She had two jobs? Clearly, she was going out for the evening, and it looked like she was dressed to wait tables. Brooke checked her watch and cursed. She looked up and down the street, but no sign of Ric.
Damn it. How long would she be gone? And had she bothered locking the door? And what would Cameron do on his own all night? Maybe he’d get bored and go roaming around town hunting for loose change.
Kaitlyn opened her car door, and Brooke jumped out.
“Ms. Spence?”
She turned around. Her look was curious but not unfriendly, and Brooke fixed a smile on her face as she approached her.
“Hi. You don’t know me but . . . I need to talk to you about your son.”
Her brow furrowed. “What about him?”
The front door opened, and Fenway shot outside. Cameron stepped out behind him and stood at the top of the porch steps, looking at Brooke as Fenway jumped in hysterical circles at her feet, probably hoping for another chicken nugget.
“Fenway, no.” Kaitlyn walked over and tried to grab the dog’s collar as she glanced up at Brooke. “Who did you say you are?”
“My name is Brooke Porter. And I work with . . . some people who need to talk to you about something.”
“Fenway, here!” Cameron shouted, coming down the steps. But the dog was too busy barking to obey.
Kaitlyn gave Fenway’s collar a sharp tug as she looked up at Brooke. “I’m sorry, you’re . . . who? And how do you know my son?”
From the corner of her eye, Brooke spotted a dark shape moving down the street. And then everything happened in slow motion.
Cameron reached for the dog’s collar.
Kaitlyn stood and looked at Brooke with confusion.
The black pickup moved closer, and Brooke’s stomach plummeted as she spied the long black gun barrel poking from the window.