Burke nodded.
“Owned the land back then. Or part of it. Same ridge. Same area.”
Izzy glanced at Caitlin.
The letter.
Sam.
It all clicked a little deeper.
“What happened?” Caitlin asked.
Burke shrugged one shoulder.
“Not much,” he said. “Search was conducted. Statements taken. No signs of foul play. No evidence of a struggle. No body.”
He tapped the file lightly.
“Case got labeled a walkaway.”
Izzy frowned. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Caitlin shook her head immediately. “No.”
Burke gave her a look. “Cate?—”
“No,” she repeated, more firmly. She gestured toward the table. “You don’t leave all of that behind. Not if you’re planning to walk away.”
Burke followed her gesture.
The canvases.
The sketches.
A life laid out in pieces.
“I’m just telling you what the file says,” he replied, even as the words sat wrong now that he was looking at the evidence spread in front of him.
Izzy stepped closer.
“What do you think?” she asked him.
Burke hesitated.
Just a second.
“I think,” he said carefully, “that twenty-seven years ago, with nothing solid to go on, that’s the call they made.”
Caitlin crossed her arms.
“Well, I think they were wrong,” Caitlin said.
“I figured you might say that.” Half a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Burke,” she said, stepping closer to him now, her tone shifting just enough to matter. “Look at this. Really look at it.”
