“Because the killer knew a zone member related to each of the victims, and the only one we knew was Nolan,” Austin explained.
“And because we believe your grief is real. Also…you’d have to be idiots to accuse him of killing your wife—” I turned to Austin. “—and your sister, if you’d actually killedhissister. We knew nothing about this until you brought it to our attention. Well,” I amended with a frown. “We didn’tknowwe knew anything about this until then.”
“And you’resureit isn’t Nolan?” Bishop asked. “I mean, doesn’t he fit the profile?”
“Hedoesfit the profile. But we don’t believe he’d kill his own sister, just like we don’t believe you guys killed Yvette.”
Bishop shrugged. “So maybe he didn’t. Maybe all the other victims are somehow in revenge for Emily’s murder.”
“Except that he didn’t know his sister was murdered. And Emily wasn’t the first victim.”
“Oh,” Bishop said.
Austin’s gaze narrowed on me, and my pulse spiked. That admission may have been a tactical error.
“What I need to know from you guys…” I said, determinedly pressing on, “…is that you’re not going to be a problem when I release Nolan.” I glanced at my wrist, even though I’d never in my life worn a watch. “In about ten minutes.”
Bishop leaned forward in his chair, looking straight into my eyes. “If you’re sure he’s not the guy..?”
“I’m sure he didn’t kill his sister, and he’d have no reason to avenge her death before she even died. Or if he didn’t know she was murdered.” I could only shrug. “There’s no evidence against him, and the timeline doesn’t line up.”
“She’s not wrong,” Austin said.
“Okay then.” Bishop rapped on my desk with the knuckles of his right hand, evidently putting the issue to bed. “I have no beef with him.” He stood and backed around his chair, headed for my office door. “Let him go.”
I glanced at Austin, who nodded, but remained seated. “Have a beer,” he called over his shoulder to Bishop. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Make it quick,” Bishop returned. “We still have a killer to find.”
Austin nodded, and the door closed at his back.
I exhaled and rolled my chair closer to my desk. “I take it you have questions.”
“Nolan’s sister was not the first victim?”
I nodded slowly. “We have reason to believe there was at least one before that.”
His knee began to bounce. I could feel his question coming like a storm on the horizon, and I tensed before he even opened his mouth. “Who’s buried out there, Charley? Deep in the common run. Whose grave did you go visit that night?”
“No one’s. That was a grave, but I wasn’t visiting it.”
Austin exhaled slowly. “I’m guessing that grave is around three years old?” I blinked at him, but he held my gaze. “I’m further guessing that you were infected around three years ago? Not long before Emily Blake Forrester was murdered?”
I folded my hands together, pressing them into the surface of my desk. “I don’t owe you my personal history.”
“Of course not,” he conceded. “But you do owe me any information relevant to my sister’s case.” He gave me a moment to consider that. “Who’s buried out there, Charley?”
I exhaled, fighting the urge to pull open my bottom drawer. To dive into that bottle of tequila and live there for a while. “His name was Silas Morelock. We don’t know much about him, except that he was already a stray when the Pride was formed. I was not.”
“But you were local?” he asked, gently prompting me to continue.
I nodded. “I was born in Buford. My parents bought this bar when I was in the third grade. I basically grew up here. Davey and I did our homework in this very room, though it was my parents’ office, back then. We weren’t allowed to sit at the bar, of course, but we often ate dinner with our parents at the corner booth. I’ve been here my whole life. I felt safe here.”
“Until…”
“Until one day, not long after my parents moved to Florida, I left after closing for the night, and while I was unlocking my car, some asshole hit me in the back of the head. Hard. I have no idea what happened after that until I woke up cuffed to one corner of a bed in some shitty little cabin. There was a window, and I could see trees through it. In one corner, there was one of those old-fashioned wood stoves, vented through a rough hole cut into the wall, and it was burning bright, but I was shivering. Shaking. Covered from head to toe in both goosebumps and a cold sweat. I ached all over. In every joint. Even my goddamn toes. I’d been kidnappedandcaught the flu.” I huffed. “Worst luck in history, right?”
Austin nodded, but he said nothing. He just listened.
