Bungee jump.
Suddenly she looked past him, and her face lit up. “Truman.”
The loss of her eye contact left him hollow, but he turned and raised a hand to Truman.
The lines on Truman’s forehead looked deeper than usual, and stress lurked in his eyes. But he looked a million times better than when he’d been holed up in Ollie’s cabin, a fever racking his body.
Truman greeted both of them and accepted the cup of brewed coffee that Kaylie had pulled the moment he stepped inside.
“Got a second, Ollie?” Truman took a careful sip and held Ollie’s gaze.
Something’s wrong. His stomach lurched.
Truman tipped his head toward the side of the room, and Ollie followed him.
“What time did you finish up at Lake Ski and Sports last night?” Truman asked softly, his eyes dark.
Ollie frowned. “Ten, like always.”
“Did you go straight home?”
“Yes. I had an early class today.” Truman hadn’t been at the house last night. He’d been at Mercy’s.
Truman glanced around the empty café. “Do you ever drive out on Simpson Road?”
“Of course. When I have sessions at Bree’s place.” His palm sweated against his cold cup. “What happened?”
His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath and met Ollie’s gaze. “A truck like yours has been seen out there recently.”
“So? I just said I’ve been out there.”
Truman grimaced. “There’s been some vandalism in the area, so I had to ask.”
Ollie froze and felt his world crack. “You thought I did it?” His voice was too high. “Are you talking about the vandalism at Bree’s?”
He doesn’t trust me.
Truman’s gaze narrowed. “Yes. How did you know that?”
Ollie pointed at Kaylie, his mouth instantly dry. “She just told me. Lucas was in here.” Hot anger flashed, and he stared back at Truman. “I would never do anything like that.”
“I know that, Ollie, but I had to ask because your truck fit a description. I don’t deserve this job if I don’t follow up.”
“Lots of people have shitty trucks like mine.”
Truman’s expression went blank, and Ollie knew he’d gone too far. Truman had bought him the truck.
Bile rose in his throat. “It’s not shitty. Fuck. I’m sorry. I think it’s an awesome truck.” He really did. The powerful growl of the engine made him smile every time he started it. “I didn’t mean it,” he muttered, wanting to take back the last ten seconds.
“I know.” But the usual warmth in Truman’s eyes hadn’t returned. “I can’t be surprised that you reacted that way to my questions.”
“I’m sorry,” Ollie repeated and longed to vanish. Did Kaylie hear me be an ass?
Truman clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s over. Now I can look for other beat-up red trucks.”
Ollie tried to smile, but his facial muscles refused to cooperate. “I hope you find who did it.”
“Me too. I’ll see you at home later tonight.” Truman waved at Kaylie and made his exit.
Ollie looked back at Kaylie, who studied him from across the room, her hands on her hips, a small frown on her face. He felt two feet tall.
Did Truman really consider me a suspect?
“It’s Ellis Mull.” Dr. Natasha Lockhart’s dark eyes sparkled as she shared the news.
“Are you sure?” Mercy asked as her inner child cheered. She’d held her breath during most of the evening’s drive with Eddie to the medical examiner’s office, fingers crossed for an identification. The doctor had stated on the phone that she had information but wanted to share it in person.
“Sweet,” said Eddie with a grin. “The pieces are falling into place.”
The petite doctor nodded enthusiastically, looking as young as a first-year medical student, not like the experienced forensic pathologist she was. Mercy liked the smart and witty woman, who was dedicated to scientifically cutting up bodies for answers.
“I can’t believe we’re celebrating someone’s murder,” Mercy murmured, guilt swamping her excitement.
“You’re not,” said Dr. Lockhart firmly. “You’ve identified someone who’s been missing for a long time. His family can now have some closure.”
Mercy eyed the broken eye socket of the skull, where Mull had been shot. What will his family think of that?
“You’re doubting me,” Dr. Lockhart said. “I’ve heard from too many families that not knowing is the absolute worst.” She gently touched the skull. “This is horrible, but it’s an answer. It will fill a gaping void for his family. Now they can start to heal.”
“Did the dental X-rays provide the confirmation?” Eddie asked.
“Yes. The medical examiner’s odontologist found Mull’s old films and did the comparison. She’s one hundred percent positive. The records match perfectly. She says that Ellis Mull hasn’t had any dental work done since the original films. I’d suspected the remains were quite old, so the lack of dental work may reinforce my theory that he died not long after the robbery.” She took a breath. “I’d already determined the remains weren’t Whipple. He was too short based on the length of the femurs. Age and race hadn’t ruled out Mull.”
“Is the gunshot the cause of death?” Mercy asked. “Did anything else happen to him?”
“Solely working with skeletal remains limits my conclusions,” Dr. Lockhart said, picking up the skull. “There’s no soft tissue to determine other injuries. I studied every inch of bone that we have and didn’t find any marks to indicate a stabbing or bludgeoning. Of course, not every bone is here. I’m missing several small ones from the hands. Probably carried off by some sort of vermin. The hyoid bone of the neck is missing. If it’d been present and broken, it could indicate a strangling.” She set the skull down and picked up a lengthy bone that had to be from a leg. “He has heavy bones. Very thick. I read he’d played football and was into weight lifting. His long bone structure supports that.” The doctor ran one finger down the length of the femur, stopping about halfway. “See this groove? It’s the linea aspera. He’s developed a hypertrophic lesion along it from heavy muscle use. He has similar lesions on his humerus at the deltoid insertion. This boy worked his body hard.”
Compared to the medical examiner’s tiny hands, the bone looked gigantic.
“His right clavicle and right fibula both had old, healed breaks, but I found nothing out of the ordinary on the rest of the skeleton to indicate how he died.”
“Except that.” Eddie touched the ravaged eye socket. “This is the entrance wound, correct?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Lockhart. She turned the skull to view the back. “See how this hole has circular layers of bone missing around it? It’s beveled. That tells me it’s an exit. It’d be a clean hole if it was the entrance wound.”
“The bullet continued through the wall of the shack,” added Eddie. “We haven’t found it yet.”
Mercy suspected they never would. She looked at Eddie. “So where are the other two friends?”
“And the mysterious Jerry,” he added. “The impression I’ve formed is that the four main guys were the best of friends. My money is on Jerry to be the hothead with a gun who wanted a bigger piece of the money pie.”
“I would have picked Gamble as the shooter if he wasn’t behind bars,” said Mercy. “He’s devious, and I can see him getting greedy.”
“Think Gamble will be any more forthcoming once he knows Mull is dead?” asked Eddie.
Mercy remembered Shane Gamble’s eyes. He craved information. His active brain was locked in a prison, and he was starving for more stimulation. Once Mull’s identification was picked up by the media, they could lose some leverage with Gamble. “It’s very possible. He enjoys the mind games. Now that I know how he thinks, I might be able to get something useful.”
“How can someone who’s been locked up for nearly thirty years help your investigation?” asked Dr. Lockhart.
Mercy pointed at the skull. “He was possibly stuck in a shed for thirty years. Has he been of help?”
The woman’s dark eyes turned thoughtful. “Touché.”
“Getting inside Gamble’s skull will be tough,” Eddie pointed out.
“I’ll let you borrow my Stryker saw,” offered Dr. Lockhart.
“I don’t think the prison will allow it.” Mercy grinned at the doctor, imagining the bone-cutting saw being used on Gamble.
“The media would love to hear you tried,” Eddie said dryly. “I can see the headline: ‘FBI Agent Threatens Inmate with Saw.’”
“Hopefully we’ll have more time to investigate before the story breaks,” said Mercy.
“I can’t believe it hasn’t broken yet,” said the doctor. “I’ve kept things quiet here, and I know the odontologist in Portland won’t talk, but the word is going to get out. People have wanted this mystery solved for decades.”
“We’ve been very lucky so far,” said Mercy. Her phone chimed. She glanced at the screen, and her heart sank. “I spoke too soon.”
“What happened?” asked Eddie as he tried to see her screen.
“It’s a text from Jeff. The office got a call from the Midnight Voice.”
Dr. Lockhart wrinkled her nose. “The tabloid? They got the story first? That doesn’t seem right.”
“I’m sure the reputable news outlets will be right behind them,” said Eddie.
Mercy sighed.
My job just got more difficult.
SEVEN
The next morning before work, Mercy darted across a street in Eagle’s Nest to Rose’s preschool and realized she should have scheduled a different time to see her sister. Parents were unloading their children from minivans and sedans. It was the morning drop-off rush.