“And again, that could be something you can look at, but it’s an indirect blame,” she explained. “You don’t get to turn around and confess again to say that it’s your fault in order to appease your own conscience after all this time, when it’s quite likely that somebody else did this, and it has nothing to do with you.”
He shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“What if they got away with it last time, laughing their fool head off because you were convicted. And now the urge has been something that they can’t hold back, knowing that you’re out of jail, and here it happened all over again.”
“But I’ve been out for five years.”
“Yes, but how long were you actually given as a sentence?”
He stared at her for a long moment and then slumped into his chair. “I was just thinking about that last week,” he admitted. “If I hadn’t gotten out early for good behavior, I wouldn’t have been out until this week.” When the reality of that statement sunk in, he blanched, and all the color drained from his face. “Dear God,” he murmured. “Somebody timed it so that I would look guilty again.”
She nodded. “Exactly, which also means that you are our best bet for finding this person because whoever it is knows what’s going on in your world. But apparently they aren’t too close to you, since they don’t know that you got out early. But they had to have known how to get ahold of your sister.”
He shrugged. “She was a good person. She was out doing good deeds all the time. She wanted to marry a minister and do God’s work,” he whispered. “I used to laugh at her all the time, thinking it was such a foolish thing to want to do, but she just gave me that gentle smile and told me that everybody had a pathway in this world, and that was hers. But she never even got a chance to have that.” He shook his head. And again his bottom lip started to tremble.
“Well,” she noted, “now it’s time for you to do your part and to get the answers that we all need for your sister.”
He stared at her, with tears in his eyes. “Okay, so what do I need to do again?”
“Good, I’m glad to see you get it,” she added. “You’ll come down to the station, where you’ll give us a full statement. Then you’ll help us figure out who could have had access to your place back then. And who would know what happened back then—enough to know that you were out of prison now.”
“Where was this woman? The one who you just found?”
“Downtown.” Kate pulled out a photo and held it up. “This is the victim. Do you know her?”
He stared at the image in shock, and then he started to bawl.
She slowly lowered the picture, looked over at Simon, then back at the kid. “And I guess that’s a yes, isn’t it? I’d like you to come down to the station with us now.”
He continued bawling, shaking his head, as he slowly stood.
Simon and Kate watched the young man carefully. They both shared a look and really hoped Rick wouldn’t do anything stupid. When the mother stepped out the front door, she was bawling too. The son rushed forward, and the mother engulfed him in a big hug.
Kate stood, looked over at the mother, and explained quietly, “I’m taking him in, so he can give us a formal statement. We are not charging him or anything like that. But I do need him to help us figure out who else could be involved in this.”
The woman looked at her, a hint of suspicion in her gaze, but nodded. “And you’re not keeping him, right?”
“No,” Kate replied. “I’ll take him down now, and I’ll bring him back later this evening.”
The woman stiffened, patted her son, and said, “You go do what’s right this time.”
He looked at her and, in a teary voice, said, “That’s what I thought I was doing last time.”
Chapter 8
Kate was gratefulthat she was getting Rick down to the station to give her a statement and to answer more questions. Even as she drove, her mind was full of all the questions she needed to ask. As they headed down the street, she glanced in the rearview mirror, frowning when she saw a muscle car pulling behind a little too close. Getting suspicious, she called back to Rick, “Know anybody who drives a muscle car?”
“Not now,” he replied. “I told you that I don’t really have any friends.”
“Any come into your shop?”
“Sure, all the time,” he noted, “but none I really know.”
“Anybody who was overly friendly or overly curious the last couple times?”
“Lots of times they’re friendly, but why are you asking?”
“Because I think we’re being followed,” she replied quietly.