Page 19 of Go Alone

That lead had fizzled out, and Carla Finch had fizzled out as a suspect. She had seen the five o’clock showing of The Bride’s Boy, some godawful romcom, at the Cinemark on Taurus Court in Cincinnati.

Strictly speaking, it was possible that she killed Howard Greer in time to make the show. Cincy was three hours from Millbrook, so if Howard was dead by two, Carla would have made the show in time.

But that was pushing it. Dottie would have had to meet her at the theater, and Carla would have had no time to clean up. Also, Carla definitely didn't match the description of a forty-year-old man. She could have hired someone to kill him, but that was reaching too far. He was grasping at straws, and that frustrated him to no end.

“You’ve got nothing on the Sutter side?” he asked.

Kate stared at him. “Take a walk.”

Marcus got to his feet, grumbling, but he didn’t argue. Sometimes walking helped. Not usually but sometimes.

Kate’s phone rang just as he pushed the door open. He held on for a moment and heard Kate say, “God damn it!”

His shoulders slumped. He knew what that phone call was.

“Yeah, I got it. You want us to pick you up, or do you want to pick us up?” After a pause, Kate said, “Got it. We’ll be downstairs.”

She hung up and said, “Ten bucks says you can’t guess what that was about.”

“The killer turned himself in and handed Elijah Cox to the authorities hogtied and badly beaten?”

Kate laughed humorlessly. “You say the sweetest things.” She rubbed her forehead, then pulled herself to her feet. “Anita’s going to meet us in front of the hotel. Bexley City Police Department just called in a scene matching the Howard Greer murder.”

“Where’s Bexley?”

“It’s an enclave within Columbus. I’m not exactly sure where. Anita’s going to take us there.”

Marcus sighed. His earlier irritation faded, replaced by a great weariness. This always happened. They’d get a lead, it would look good, then they’d follow up on it and find nothing. Then their killer would take another life, and they’d be back to square one.

Marcus touched his arm, and he felt both grateful and guilty for the warmth that spread through him at her touch and the accompanying smile. “Hang in there, tiger. We’ll get through this.”

He managed a smile in return, but that was all he trusted himself with.

Anita met them ten minutes later. She looked exactly the same as she did when Marcus met her: calm, laconic, focused, far sharper than a small-town sheriff’s deputy had any business being.

Maybe she’d bring fresh eyes and help them unravel this mystery before it took more lives.

“I think the key to all of this is Linus Varne,” she told them.

Marcus’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Linus Varne?”

“Oh. He’s the third Greer victim.”

“What do you have so far?”

Anita scoffed. “Jack shit His records are all muddled up or, I believe, eliminated.”

Marcus sighed. “Well, that’s helpful.”

“Let’s just focus on this scene,” Kate said. “Maybe we’ll find something there that will give us a new direction.”

Sure, Marcus thought. But we won’t know if it’s the right direction until we find the killer or slam headfirst into another dead end.

***

Marcus spoke with a white-faced detective who looked just about old enough to drink. He also looked on the verge of losing his dinner. Kate examined the cipher while Anita spoke with the other neighbors.

“The home is owned by the Mirzoyan family,” the detective told him. “They’re on vacation right now.”