She sighed. “I haven’t talked to him yet. He’s still being interviewed, but I can’t imagine they have any hard evidence.”
“It’s still your case, isn’t it?” Ortega asked.
Probably not for long. “Yes, so far. Why?”
“Then I can share with you that the dog fur found on Rachel Raprenzi’s coat does match Aeneas’s.”
Her chin dropped. “Are you kidding?”
“No. I would never joke about something like that. Somehow this killer got hold of Aeneas’s fur or one of his blankets. I mean, she was covered in the fur.”
Laurel shook her head. It would have been easy for somebody to steal the blanket out of Huck’s vehicle while everybody searched for the kids the night before. To think that the killer had been that close to Huck. “All right. Thank you, Dr. Ortega.”
“You bet. Tell Huck we’re all pulling for him.” He ended the call.
Laurel texted Nester to apply for a search warrant when he returned so they could dump Zeke Caine’s phone—not only for the night before, but for the last couple of weeks. Nester could be very persistent when he wanted, and Opal’s mention of “the pastor” might give them probable cause. Maybe.
A ruckus sounded near the doorway, and she straightened, grabbing a notepad and starting to make notations about a poem she’d once enjoyed, anything to keep her focus off the new arrivals. She switched to a different language. It was doubtful Zeke Caine knew Chinese, so she started writing in Chinese.
Soon he appeared at the doorway with Monty and two muscled Fish and Wildlife officers behind him. She kept writing.
“Daughter,” he snapped.
She held up one finger from her left hand and kept writing. “Just a minute.” She could almost feel the anger pouring from him, so she waited another moment and then looked up. “Oh, hi. Yes. Just bring him inside. Sit him down.” She purposely did not address Zeke.
His eyes widened and a red flush covered his face. His nostrils flared. He still wore his pastoral robe with a pink stole this time.
Monty pulled out a chair and pushed him rather roughly into it.
Laurel looked past Zeke. “Thank you, Officers. Sorry to drag you in on a Sunday for a silly matter.”
Monty walked around and sat at the head of the table, leaving Laurel to face her father.
Zeke’s gaze flicked to the board she’d left revealed behind her, and then he studied the River Reaper board.
“You like what you see?” She tried to sound bored.
He shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m looking at.”
“Do you like being referred to as a pastor?” she asked.
He looked at her, anger still glittering in his eyes. “Yes. I’ve earned that moniker. People trust me. I guide them. Without me, they’d be lost.”
No ego there. “I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do,” he spat. “Your goons dragged me away from a large Sunday sermon in front of my parishioners. They pretty much accused me of being a murderer and hauled me away like a common criminal. You will pay for this.”
Good for them. They had done exactly what she’d wanted them to do. “Oh, will I?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re not nearly as frightening as you want to be. I’m an FBI agent. I deal with serial killers. You’re an older pastor who thinks he gets power by talking about God. God doesn’t care about you.”
His eyes bugged out. “God cares about me more than anybody else. I make this world better for Him.”
She chuckled and then looked at Monty. “Did you hear that? This simple man makes life better for God.”
Monty snorted. “That’s a good one.”
Zeke sat straighter, his shoulders going back.
“Do you like crampons?” she asked Zeke.
