“Tell me anything else you know about the Amy Cherny case.”
He stuttered a bit.
“I’ll keep your name out of anything I find.”
He didn’t look too assured, but it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice with the glock still in my hand. Even if the gun weren’t present, he wouldn’t have the option of not talking.
“All I know is someone didn’t want that girl’s disappearance looked into too deeply.”
“That’s obvious. Let’s start with Amy’s foster mother.”
“Patricia Heathrow.”
I nodded, already familiar with the name. Patricia had been the one to file the initial police report after Amy went missing.
“Do you know if she’s still in Abilane ?”
He shook his head. “Heard she moved a few months ago. Don’t know where.”
“Because you didn’t want to know,” I added.
I got a few more details out of the reporter before I finally put my gun away.
“Disgusting,” I grunted, shaking my head.
“I told you everything I know.”
“I bet. It only took you eighteen months to come clean. Who knows what’s happened to Amy in all that time.”
His lips pinched as he cast his gaze to the floor.
“You have a daughter, don’t you?”
His eyes met mine.
“Yeah, you do,” I answered. “She’s what? Thirteen? What if she went missing? I hope the reporters covering her case would have more respect for her life than you had for Amy’s.”
His face reddened. “I needed the money.”
I snorted. “Shut up. I’m going to walk out that door.” I dipped my head in the direction of his garage door. “This conversation never took place. If I hear anyone knows I was here, I’m going to use the tracking device and spyware I had installed on your phone, car, and laptop to track you down. There isn’t a corner of this state you can go that I won’t be able to find you. Understood?”
The crimson color in his face deepened, and he slowly nodded.
I patted him on the shoulder. “Good. I’ll keep your secrets, and you’ll keep mine.” I tossed him a wink and casually moved around him. With my gloved hand, I opened the door that led to the backyard, which allowed me to discreetly slip down the small hill in the yard that led to a long pathway. The trail led back to the main street, and about fifteen minutes later, I entered the parking lot of the strip mall where I’d left my truck.
Before pulling off, I sent Sy a text message for him to dig up more information on the reporter, including his bank statements and every article he’d written within the past five years. My instincts told me he was telling the truth, but everything needed verification for me to be satisfied.
If what he’d said was true, there was a hell of a lot more to Amy Cherny’s case than a troubled girl who up and decided to run away one day. The next place to start looking was to track down Amy’s foster mother.
That, however, would have to wait for the following day. There was a woman whose face I needed to see ever since we’d hung up the phone earlier.
Chapter Fourteen
I hate thunderstorms.
Those were my thoughts as I stared up from the porch and watched the ash-colored clouds in the distance as they drifted closer. The movement of the clouds was slow, as if they were taking their time threatening me with their ominous look and promises to wreak havoc on my nerves.
Shuddering, I ran my hands up and down my arms. This inner unease filled my body ever since Micah mentioned that it was going to storm that night. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pushed away a memory from long ago where this dislike of storms began. Instead of reliving the past, I turned and headed inside, locking the door behind me.
