After eliminating a number of people with the same name who didn’t match the description, they both came up with zip.
Next Ethan phoned Heath Ford. “I’ve got a name,” he said when his friend answered. “Anonymous tip came in this morning. Pointed to a suspect who fits our profile.”
“Anonymous? That your way of telling me not to ask how you came up with the info?”
Ethan smiled. “Yeah. Suspect’s a twenty-five-year-old white male named Byron Mahler. He’s Amish, Heath, or at least he was until they ousted him ten years ago for the attempted rape of a young Amish woman. He was raised in a community near Stephenville. I’m on my way back from there now.”
“You get a description?”
“At fifteen, he was tall and thin. Very light blue eyes and a ten-inch scar on his forearm. A lady who lives there gave me the info.”
“That’ll help, if we can find him.”
“I tried the Internet. No sign of him on Google or Facebook.”
“We need to get a sketch artist out there to talk to the woman. Any chance of that happening?”
“Could be, but it’ll take some doing. Graven images aren’t popular with the Amish. You’d have to computer age it anyway.”
“It’s not a lot to go on, but it’s way more than we had before. I’ll put out a BOLO with that description, try to locate Mahler as a person of interest.”
“One more thing. His father was a furniture maker. Kid learned the trade. That’s how he got the scar.”
“I’m on it. Thanks, Ethan.” Heath ended the call, and Ethan pulled the car out onto the road.
“You’re convinced it’s him?” Val asked. “The copycat?”
“Yeah. Feels right. Has since I got the e-mail from Sadie this morning.”
“Sadie? She’s a . . . friend?”
He flicked her an amused glance. “Why? You jealous?”
Val sat a little straighter in the seat. “No, of course not.”
Ethan chuckled. “Sadie Gunderson is a fifty-year-old grandmother. She works with me at the office. Believe it or not, she’s a computer genius.”
Val grinned so wide her dimples popped out. Ethan felt the familiar kick and his groin tightened. He clamped down on a rush of lust that wasn’t going anywhere, at least not at the moment. Those damned dimples were going to be the death of him.
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s hard to believe. It’d be more likely Sadie was a ten-year-old kid.”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t believe it either if it weren’t for the info the woman comes up with.”
Val relaxed back into her seat. “So what’s our next move?”
“Our?” He shook his head. “Sorry, honey. You’re a hundred miles from Dallas. That’s as close as you’re getting to this case. My next move is searching the Internet for stores in the Dallas area that sell handmade furniture. If that was Jacob Mahler’s trade, there’s a chance that’s what his son is doing for a living. Heath Ford will be following that angle. If he comes up empty-handed, I’ll have Sadie take a look.”
“Heath was the guy on the phone? Your detective friend?”
“That’s right. I’ll let him have a go at it while we’re driving back to the city.”
She leaned forward, tilting her face into the cool air blowing out of the air-conditioning vents. “I’ll be glad when we get there. I turned the A/C down when we left the suite so it would be nice and cool when we got back.”
He flashed her a sideways glance. “Considering how hot I plan to make your luscious little body as soon as I get you upstairs, that was very good thinking.”
Her big blue eyes widened.
“Maybe you ought to take a nap on the way. I promise you won’t be getting much sleep tonight.”
