“Exactly.” If Zander could understand the shooting, which had happened around the time when Carolyn met Frank, perhaps he could understand Frank’s change of identity.
“It’s unlikely. Ballistics information will only provide us with details on the weapon the bullet was fired from. Also, I’d only have cause to analyze the bullet if I was investigating a crime.” Headdressed Carolyn directly. “Which I’m not, since we know that Frank’s cause of death was a heart attack.”
“I understand,” she said.
The detective stood and said his good-byes.
“I’ll walk you out.” Zander fell in step with Kurt as they made their way down the front walkway. “Do you think Frank’s change of identity could have had anything to do with his death?”
“Are you concerned that it might?”
Zander gave a grim nod. “I don’t see anything in the paper work you brought that might have motivated a man to change his identity. What if he got involved in some kind of dangerous situation after his release from prison that caused him to take the extreme step of becoming someone different?”
“And?” They came to a stop near Kurt’s GMC.
“And that situation came back to haunt him last Friday?”
Kurt spun his key ring around his index finger once. Twice. “After lying dormant for thirty-five years?”
“Maybe.”
“I’d be willing to look into that possibility if I had evidence that pointed to murder. But I don’t. Frank died of a heart attack.”
“Possibly brought on by extreme stress?”
“But far more likely brought on the old-fashioned way, by a blood clot. While we were waiting for the autopsy results to come back, the chief and I went through Frank’s truck from top to bottom. We dusted for prints and searched for fibers. We hunted through his phone, his phone records, his work and home computers, his browser history. We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”
In other words, Kurt had completed his responsibilities concerning Frank. He’d gone above and beyond, in fact, by researching James Richard Ross and bringing his findings to them. Kurt couldn’t spend any more of the Merryweather Police Department’s time digging around in Frank’s distant past.
“What about the fact that Frank was missing for several hours before he died?” Zander asked. “Does that raise any suspicions in your mind?”
“It’s strange, but no, it doesn’t really raise suspicions. It’s not extremely unusual for people to stay out all night or go off the grid for a day.”
“It was extremely unusual for Frank, though.”
“I hear you. However, Frank was a grown man, free to stay out all night if he wanted to.”
Zander thanked the detective and returned to the now-empty living room. His aunt and cousins had moved to the kitchen. The subdued tones of their conversation drifted to him in snatches. The pages containing information about Frank stared up at him from what had once been a benign coffee table.
Zander memorized the sheets one by one, grief gathering in his chest. Grief because he’d never see Frank again, but also grief for the difficult childhood his uncle had faced.
What had happened to the teenager in the photo? What had his eyes seen once he’d become an adult? What could have occurred after his release from prison that might have motivated him to abandon his true identity as James Richard Ross?
Zander wasn’t on the Merryweather Police Department’s time. He couldn’t run ballistics on a bullet, but he could contact Frank’s relatives in Chicago and ask them for information on his uncle. He could search newspaper reports for shootings that occurred near Enumclaw in 1985.
He’d do his best to dig up Frank’s secrets. Because Carolyn had asked it of him. Because his sense of unease concerning Frank’s death wasn’t shrinking, but growing. Because there was a chance that Frank’s secrets might help him keep Carolyn, Courtney, and Sarah safe.
Text message from Britt to Zander:
Britt
I forgot to mention earlier that Nikki Clarkson came by the shop the other day and told me that you remindher of a Dickens orphan. Isn’t that hilarious? And also somewhat apropos?
Zander
A Dickens orphan?
Britt
