Page 32 of Traces of Kara

“A distraught kid, hardly a felon.”

Mark flipped the pages, pushing the file toward Lieutenant Huang. “Look,” he said, poking his finger on the page. “Found Roland Greer in the bed of Marissa Greer. Found Roland Greer holding Marissa, Marissa crying. Roland Greer withdrawn from Marissa’s bed again.” He pointed to the page again. “It’s all here. The guy’s a freak, I’m telling you. Probably raped his sister and that’s why they moved her.”

Huang sighed. “You’re reading a lot into this.” He looked through the file. “This shit was years ago, Agnew. I hope you’re not wasting my time.”

“What about the shrine—those photos?”

“No law against having photos, until he does something. Peeping Tom? Abduction? Stalking? Indecent behavior? Give me something concrete.”

Mark knocked the box with his fist. “Damnit, detective. This guy’s trash, and I know it.”

“Like you knew about Charles Maynor?”

Mark’s stance softened. He wiped his hand down his face and turned his back to Lieutenant Huang. That was seven years ago, and his inability to see through the perp’s guise still hung over his head like a dark cloud.

Mark turned back to face Lieutenant Huang, whose dark eyes narrowed. “Detective,” he said in a softer tone, “this shrine, these newspaper clippings…there’s something more here. He’s left town. I’ll bet that other detective will want to know about this.”

“No one’s contacting anyone outside of this precinct until we have something concrete. You can’t just go off accusing someone. Besides, we handle our own issues. Greer has no PFA. There’s no reason he has to stay in town. And you don’t even know if he’s left town.” Lieutenant Huang stared at Mark in silence, then said, “He’s just a guy who had a PFA years ago, Mark. This is your hunch, and you’re already in deep shit for entering his place of residence.”

“But—”

Lieutenant Huang interrupted him and sat behind his desk. “We’ll run the APB, see where he is. If it looks like there might be trouble, we’ll deal with it then.” Huang cleared his throat. “If there is an issue, FBI will take over, crossing state lines. You know the drill.”

“Agnew, come back in here,” Lieutenant Huang’s voice boomed through his open door a little while later.

“Yeah, boss?”

Lieutenant Huang’s desk was now covered with Marissa Greer’s files. “His twin,” he said, tapping one of the olive green accordion folders. “No word on the vehicle yet.”

Mark sat across from Lieutenant Huang, waiting for more.

Lieutenant Huang shuffled the folders. “Mark, this whole thing is fucked up.” He shook his head. “According to this,” he pushed the folders toward Mark, “they never spelled out anything inappropriate, just a…an obsession.”

“What about the PFA? I researched and—”

“Yeah, I got it. I know. He grabbed her. He was a kid. There’s nothing on him since he’s been an adult. Not even so much as a speeding ticket. I’m afraid you might be way off base.”

“The shrine—”

“I’m not saying it ain’t weird.” He eyed the folders again. “This guy is supremely weird, but they haven’t found his car, and no one’s been reported missing. Marissa Greer’s identity was changed years ago. I’ve got Storenson looking into that.”

Mark looked at the mess of files. There was more. Something nagged at him. “I’m sure it’s something. I can feel it.”

“Mark, take it easy. This feels weird, but we’ve got nothing. You broke into a guy’s apartment.”

“I had probable cause.”

“Because he didn’t show up for work? Cut the shit.”

Mark looked away. He pushed himself up from the chair and grabbed the doorknob. “I’ll find this guy, and when I do, you’ll be thankful I’m on this force.”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Every second brought more pain to Roland’s stomach. Gripping cramps sent him to his knees. Roland’s hand vibrated on the blackened floor of the crusher room. The crusher roared beneath him. He had to make it back to Marissa. He waited until the two men disappeared before moving.

Roland circumvented his usual interior path, taking a chance by moving along the outside of the building. With the cameras disabled, and the seclusion of the plant, he jogged around to the side of the building without too much concern. He pressed his back against the cold brick, staring into the coal yard as he moved toward the rear of the building. He passed the hopper—an underground catchall for the coal. He leaned over and peered into the twenty-foot deep abyss. A delivery would come later that day. Roland wondered how much time had passed, and if he’d be alive to hear the truck. He wrapped his fingers around the cool bottle of alcohol.