Especially seeing the killer had used a sharp knife as his choice of weapon.
Dean Linn needed to give them answers. Now.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was just as well that Mrs. Edwards had given them the address of Dean Linn's family home, May realized, because when she looked him up, there was no current address listed for Dean personally. At least they had one clue on the hunt to track him down.
She and Owen were seated beside each other at the closest police station, where they'd borrowed a desk and a phone in a shoebox-sized office.
They'd found a few photos of Dean Linn online. He had a lean face, with a sharp nose and intense eyes that had a determined expression. His dark hair was cut short. His mouth was tight and unsmiling.
May studied the photos, getting the look and impression of this man firmly into her mind. With no address details, they were going to have to go to the family home and find out where he lived.
The family home was a small farm on the outskirts of town. Getting into the car, May and Owen headed there, hoping that the Linn family would be willing to divulge where Dean was.
That might depend how much they knew about what he’d been doing, May thought with a shiver. While en route, she tried to map out in her head what the best approaches might be. It depended so much on who she ended up speaking to, who arrived at the door. Human nature varied and assessing it on the fly was often a key to success.
She turned down the road that led to the farm, noting that a low wooden gate stood open, as if welcoming visitors. A few cows grazed in a field on the hill, and on the right side of the house, she saw a large, well-maintained pond. The driveway curved around, taking them to the parking lot between the house itself and a large barn. The place was scenic and unusually neat.
May parked the car and got out, Owen beside her. She paused, taking a deep breath of the clear air, feeling the silence around her. It was peaceful here. But in this peaceful and calm homestead, had a murderer been hiding?
She shook off the thought and stepped up to the front door, knocking firmly. A few moments later, a tall, thin woman in her forties answered. She had long, dark hair tied in a bun at the nape of her neck, and a mouth that didn't seem used to smiling. Without a doubt, May thought, this was Dean's mother.
Down at the bottom of the hill, she saw a ranch hand, leading two horses from the barn to another field. Glancing behind the woman, May saw the house looked as tidy as the grounds. The floor gleamed. There was nothing on the hall table at all.
"Good morning. We're from the Sheriff’s Department. We're looking for Dean Linn. We understand this is his family home?"
The woman stared at them incredulously. "What is this about?"
"We're here to investigate a case," May explained, feeling the tension gathering in the air. She could see the woman was already on guard. "We need to ask Dean some questions. Is he here? We just need to speak to him. Are you his mother?"
May kept her voice even and calm, trying not to sound too much like an interrogator.
The woman hesitated, her expression becoming shuttered. "I am, but he’s not here. He moved out some years ago."
"Do you know where he is now?" May asked.
"I don't think I have a responsibility to tell you that," the woman argued. "My son has a right to privacy, doesn't he?"
"It's a murder investigation," May pleaded.
"I won't have my boy harassed by the police. He's had a difficult life."
"We just want to ask him a few questions," May said, turning on the charm. "If you could just tell us where he is, we'd be very grateful. It would help us make headway with a serious crime investigation."
"I don't think I should tell you," the woman said, shaking her head. "In any case, it’s years since we spoke. And I think you should leave. I have no love for the police. We’ve had a couple of cases where we needed your help. When my bag was snatched, where were you? You never found it. And when my car was damaged in a hit and run, you never lifted a finger to help. So, I don’t see why I should help you now."
"No, please!" May was appalled that nothing seemed to be working here. She wasn't making any progress at all. This mother looked like a person whose emotions were shut firmly away. Charm wasn’t getting through to her. Nor was pleading. She had a grudge against the police, and that was that.
"Does he live nearby?" She was doubtful that it really had been years since this mother had spoken to her son. Why was she defending his privacy so fiercely if they were estranged? More likely, she was protecting him, May reasoned to herself.
"I'm not going to tell you anything," the woman repeated, her voice firm and impatient. "I want you to leave now. I've got work I need to get on with. I've got a life here, and I'm not going to let you disrupt it."
"I must ask you to cooperate with the police," May said, trying a tougher approach. "He's not in trouble." At least, not yet, she thought to herself.
"I repeat, I'm not telling you anything about my son," the woman said. "Now, I'm asking you to leave."
What was holding this woman back? May wondered. Why was she being so stubborn? Was it really just disappointment with the local policing, or did she know something about the murders? If she did, why wasn't she cooperating? Was she protecting him because she knew?
