“Copy that, partner.”
She ended the call, feeling steadier than she had all day.Outside, the sky had gone the color of wet slate.The waitress refilled her mug without asking.Kate managed a small smile of thanks, dropped a few bills on the table, and headed for the door.
The road was empty.
Rain had started—just a fine mist that turned the neon sign above the diner into a bleeding smear of red.She zipped her jacket, crossed the lot—and stopped.
Her car sat beneath the single streetlight, silver glinting faintly with moisture.
And right beside it, patient as a spider, was the Oldsmobile.
For a second she thought her brain was playing tricks.But no—the shape was unmistakable, that squared-off hood, the chrome grille dulled by age, the same, seasick blue paint.She stepped closer, pulse quickening.The windows were fogged, the interior dark.
No movement.
She leaned forward, cupping her hands to peer inside.
Nothing.
Just her own reflection and the faint smell of damp leather.
Then the bushes beside the lot rustled.
Kate spun, hand already on her weapon.
A man stepped out, slowly, one hand raised in peace, the other adjusting his trouser zip.Late sixties, maybe older.Thick moustache.Sallow skin.The look of someone who’d spent too long under strip-lights.
“Agent Valentine?”he said, his voice low, rasping.“Name’s Hal Topju.Detective, Portland P.D.— retired.”
Kate didn’t lower her gun.“You were following me.”
“No.Watching.There’s a difference.I needed the bushes because, well, I couldn’t wait.Sorry.The old man’s curse.”
“You’ve got ten seconds to explain before I make this a police matter.”
He smiled faintly, although the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.“Fair enough.I need to talk to you.About your father.”
The words landed like a blow.“You knew my father?”
“I was number two on the investigation into his murder,” Topju said.“You must have been… what, twenty-three?We didn’t meet.”
Kate stared.The name tugged at a memory — a newspaper clipping, a voice at the funeral.“Your name’s familiar,” she said flatly.“But the only cop I had any contact with was George Palmer.”
“He was my boss.”
“He was murdered by Elijah Cox last year,” she said, trembling slightly as she remembered, once again, how enmeshed her life seemed to be with the serial killer.
“I know.George was… maybe he was a better detective than I was, because he was able to move on from that case. I wasn’t so lucky.”
“I’m sorry for your misfortune,” she asked, sharply.“And there was me, thinkingIwas unlucky losing a father.”
He held up a hand, of surrender, apology.“Not at all.I’m sorry.I just mean, he was able to draw a line and move on.Made lieutenant.Whereas I… I couldn’t leave it alone.And I ended up finding things I wasn’t supposed to.”
Kate’s grip on her cup tightened.“Meaning?”
“The man who killed your father is in prison.Has been for years.He’ll never get out.”
Her stomach turned to ice.“You’re wrong.We never found the killer.”
