He opened a file of thirteen photographs. Zander leaned toward the screen. The pictures had been taken at different times. The progression showed that Kyle had actively acquired more ink. He had an eagle across his upper back and a tiger on his calf. The most recent photo showed the tiger had been enhanced with color when compared to an older one where it was simply an outline. Kyle’s right arm had a tribal band around his bicep, and Zander eyed it, wondering if it was simply decorative or had a deeper meaning. The sheriff scrolled down the page, and a shot of Kyle’s right forearm rolled into view. The tattoo was a simple shield with two letters inside.
Ice touched Zander’s lungs.
“Is that the one you wanted to see?” the sheriff asked.
“Yes. Scroll back up to the right arm with the tribal band on the bicep, please.”
The sheriff did, and Zander noted the date. “Now back to the forearm view.” He checked its date, remembering Kyle had been in the prison system two years before.
The forearm tattoo had been added after his prison time.
Zander sat back in his chair. He’d been right but didn’t feel victorious.
“Well?” Greer was impatient.
“The E and K in the shield stand for European Kindred,” Zander said slowly. “I’ve come across it in a case before. It’s a white supremacist gang that originated in the Oregon prison system about twenty years ago and spread to the streets.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s real. On the streets it’s more about the drugs, but racism is the primary tenet. Did you say Billy and Kyle had drug arrests?”
“Both do.”
“Do you have tattoo photos for Billy?”
Greer nodded and started to search. A moment later he opened a file for Billy. In the photos, Billy had only one tattoo. A lion roaring on his right deltoid.
Zander was strangely disappointed.
“This photo is four years old. He could have more by now,” Greer stated.
“We need to have a talk with Billy Osburne.” Zander checked the time. “You want to meet him outside his work? I’m sure Kyle has let him know we paid a visit.”
“We definitely need to do that.”
“Ava left a voice mail asking if I’d heard about tonight’s community meeting regarding the Fitch murders,” Zander told him.
The sheriff jerked in his chair as his gaze flew up. “What? Tonight? We’ll see about that. Who on earth—oh, I can guess who organized that.” He glowered at Zander. “One of Emily Mills’s aunts.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because they’ve got their wrinkled fingers in every pot in Bartonville.”
Zander glanced at the sheriff’s weathered hands. He must feel entitled to use that descriptor since he had wrinkled fingers too.
“Where would they hold the meeting?”
“Probably the Methodist church hall. It’s the biggest place in town—every group rents it for their gabfests. It holds more sinners’ meetings than saints’.” The sheriff stood up. “Let’s go find Billy first.”
14
Madison burrowed her nose into the fuzzy collar of the thick coat and curled her cold hands inside her pockets. She was trespassing, but the dock supervisors wouldn’t care if they spotted her. The deserted employee bench behind the warehouses at the dock was hard and cold, but one of the best places to watch the sunset.
A half hour ago she’d noticed the sky far to the west had cleared, promising to show off the first visible sunset in weeks, so she had headed for the docks. She’d crammed an old Goonies baseball cap on her head, determined to ignore the icy air.
The sky started to change, and she sighed, watching the blues and pinks move across as the ocean turned a glassy silver, mirroring the colors of the sky. The wind had taken a rest, and the water was calm.
She could almost forget that Lindsay was dead.
Her eyes closed, and her friend’s warm smile took over her thoughts.
That FBI agent—McLane—had been gentle and tactful with her questions that morning, and Madison had respected the keen look in her eyes. The woman was determined to find out who’d killed Lindsay and Sean. Madison had answered her questions the best she could, letting the tears flow.
Tears were a good shield. They hid her eyes from exposing her thoughts and gave her time to consider each question. They also made other people tread carefully, not wanting to make the crying jag worse.
It’d been an effective tool for McLane’s interview.
Madison had nothing to hide from the agent, but she didn’t allow people to peek into her brain and explore what made her tick. The questions and answers were about Lindsay, but she knew the agent was studying and forming opinions about Madison as they talked.
She was a good actress. Skilled at deflecting and masking.
Keeping people away was her specialty.
McLane had asked when Madison saw Lindsay last. An easy question. They’d worked together the day before. Lindsay had been the opening solo waitress, sufficient for the off-season breakfast crowd. Madison came on for lunch, and the two of them had easily covered the mild rush.
The agent’s questions about Lindsay’s recent attitude and state of mind had been harder to answer. Madison had thought back, realizing that lately she’d barely spent time with Lindsay outside of work. That was unusual. But Lindsay had broken their plans a few times—meeting for drinks or heading to Astoria to shop. Even a trip to Portland.
Lindsay had been quiet. Less laughter, less lightheartedness. Fewer texts.
Madison hadn’t seen it until McLane asked.
“Did she mention any problems with her husband?” Special Agent McLane had asked her. “Was she worried about anything at home?”
Madison had no answers. But in hindsight, she had subconsciously known something was wrong. Something else had been taking up Lindsay’s time and depressing her.
Had she been a horrible friend to not see it?
Had Lindsay and Sean been having trouble?
She took a deep breath of the salty air, savoring the western sky as it grew pinker and more intense. The sun was close to setting—maybe another five minutes. Her cell phone stayed in her pocket. The colors could never be captured. Instead she simply enjoyed each sunset as it came, confident that there would always be another to see.
No more sunsets for Lindsay.
Her eyes burned.
Why Lindsay? Why Sean? And why was he hanged?
The last question disturbed her acutely because of the similarity to her father’s death. But she refused to let others see the depth of her feelings.
Madison liked walls. Protective barriers around her thoughts and fears.
Walls kept her heart safe.
If she didn’t feel anything for anyone, then she couldn’t be hurt if they were taken away.
Lindsay had sneaked under her usual barriers. Madison had thought getting to know the outgoing young waitress was safe. Now Lindsay had been forcefully removed from Madison’s life, leaving her insides in shreds.
She couldn’t let anyone in again.
She pulled up her legs, braced her boot heels against the bench, and wrapped her arms around her legs, enjoying the show. The sky’s colors now spread to the east, where they met the day’s dark-gray clouds. Gentle waves rippled through the colors reflected by the ocean.