Livvy continued to stare at him a moment later, and then she seemed to steel herself up. “The list,” she repeated, picking up a pen. “I’ll focus on what I can do to help with the investigation.”
“Good. I’ll do the same.”
And he took out his phone to try to chase down some preliminary reports of the crime scene. Later, he’d be doing his own list because anyone who wanted to get back at him might use Livvy to dole out some punishment.
Ethan had barely gotten started on his search when he heard the approaching footsteps, and several moments later, Gracecame in. Even though it was barely ten o’clock, she already looked exhausted and headed straight for her coffeemaker. She poured herself a huge cup and offered them one.
Both Livvy and he declined.
Grace had a long sip of her coffee and dropped down into her chair behind her desk. “I won’t ask how you’re holding up,” she said, aiming that at Livvy. “I can see you’re shaken. Do you want to talk about that or get on with what I have to tell you about the investigation?”
“The investigation,” Livvy replied without a second of hesitation.
Ethan could already tell that she was shaking off the shock and she was in the full cop mode now. Good. Because he figured these next few minutes—hell, the entire case—was going to add another level to her night terrors.
“All right.” Grace nodded. “Here’s what we know. The dead woman is Zadie Covington.”
Livvy muttered the name as if testing it to see if it rang any bells. She shook her head. Ethan had to do the same. He’d never heard of her, and he was certain he’d never seen her before either.
“She died from bleeding out from multiple stab wounds,” Grace added.
“Self-inflicted?” Ethan asked.
“Probably not. The ME will give us a determination on that soon though.” She paused, had more coffee and pulled up some notes on her phone. “We got a quick hit on identifying because her prints are in the system from a DUI she got a couple of years back. She was thirty-one and was born in San Antonio. No marriage on record, no kids. She was a certified nursing assistant, and her last known address is the New Hope Wellness Center.”
Everything inside Ethan went still. Because that facility was familiar to him. It was located about five miles from town and specialized in fertility treatments. Well, unconventional treatments anyway. Ethan had always figured the powers-that-be there preyed on women desperate to have a child.
That included his late wife.
“Isabel went there about six months before she died,” Ethan volunteered. “I didn’t go with her,” he added.
More guilt. More regret. If he’d gone with Isabel, she might not have been so desperate to try other measures to conceive. And since one of those measures had led to a stroke and then her death, Ethan wished he had something, anything, so that he didn’t feel as if he’d failed her.
Grace nodded, responding to what Ethan had said. “I’ll obviously need to go out to New Hope and have a chat with them,” she let them know.
“I can do that,” Livvy and he said practically at the same time.
Grace sipped more coffee and eyed them, no doubt trying to decide if that was a good move. “All right,” she finally agreed, “but let’s go over some things first. Tell me about that note. What do you think it means?”
Ethan wanted to blurt out an explanation, but this wasn’t his story to tell. It was Livvy’s.
Livvy drank more of the water before she spoke. “Since I was a kid… .since I was found at age six, I’ve had a recurring nightmare. A dead blond-haired woman in a bathtub. Lots of blood. Old house out in the sticks.” She swallowed hard. “That crime scene pretty much nailed my nightmare.”
Grace stared at her a moment. “I see. But you don’t know if you actually saw that scene before today or if it’s just a bad dream?”
“No,” Livvy assured her. “And I’m not sure why the note said I was a killer. I certainly don’t recall killing anyone, not even in the line of duty and especially not when I was six years old.”
Grace would have only been ten or so at the time Livvy was found, but she would likely recall the little girl who the sheriff had found wandering on the road into Renegade Canyon. She had also likely heard about Livvy being found with blood on her. But since no body or anyone injured had ever been found, that blood was essentially a twenty-eight-year-old mystery.
Of course, other things were a twenty-eight-year-old mystery, too. Including her name. Livvy, or rather Olivia, was what CPS had given her when she’d entered foster care. The Walsh surname had apparently been plucked out of thin air. Better than calling her Jane Doe, Ethan supposed.
“Who knows about this nightmare you have?” Grace asked.
Livvy glanced at him. “Ethan. He experienced the aftermath of it plenty of times. And Eden,” she added, referring to their fellow deputy Eden Gallagher, who’d also been raised at the Horseshoe Foster Ranch. “The half dozen or so doctors and therapists I’ve seen over the years. Oh, and your mother.”
Grace clearly wasn’t surprised by that. Her mother, Aileen, had been sheriff for several decades before she retired, and she’d been the one who’d actually found Livvy. Throughout the years that followed, Aileen had checked on Livvy often, and Ethan had been there when Livvy had told Aileen about the nightmares.
But Aileen wasn’t a suspect here.
