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  My eyes went to the time-stamp on the screen—which lined up with when Katelyn Willard was in the restaurant. No sooner had my eyes come back up to the image on the screen, than Katelyn appeared at the napkin dispenser, pulling out one after the other. I looked back at the man, seated just a table away from where she stood. He sat motionless—a chicken leg held before his mouth. He appeared to just be frozen, staring at her. A moment later, she walked off camera, back to the front counter. The man dropped the chicken leg to the box below it, lifted his tray by its edges, and stood. He walked straight to the trash bin and dumped everything in. Then he paused by the exit leading out to the parking lot.

  “He looks like he’s waiting,” Beth said.

  The man was staring back toward the front counter.

  “And watching her. Can you switch it back to her at the counter?” I asked.

  The kid did.

  A second later, we saw her exit, and I made a note of the time.

  “Put it back to where he was standing.”

  The kid did, and the man was gone.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Duffield.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  William neared his driveway and flicked on his blinker. He slowed to turn. William turned in, pulled up near the shed, and killed the motor. He stepped out and rounded the car. As he grasped the passenger door handle to open it and retrieve the bag of groceries, including the needed eyeliner sitting on the passenger seat, the sound of crunching gravel caught his ear. His head snapped to the left, and he stared down his driveway to see a dark sedan pulling up.

  “Shit,” William mumbled. He opened the passenger door, scooped the paper bag of groceries up into his arms, and then hip bumped the door closed.

  The approaching car rolled to a stop, and two suited men stepped from the front car doors.

  “Afternoon,” the driver said.

  William stared at the two men walking toward him over some celery poking from the top of the bag—the same two that had been outside his door earlier in the day. From what his neighbor Glen had said on the phone, they were feds.

  “Can I help you?” William asked.

  “Agents Tolman and Collette with the Louisville FBI,” the man on the left said.

  The agent pulled out a set of credentials from the inner pocket of his gray suit and held them up.

  William spotted a shoulder-mounted firearm as the man went into his jacket. The two men stopped directly before him. William craned his neck closer to the outstretched ID to get a look. The agent’s name was Rex Collette. The other agent produced a set of credentials from his jacket as well—his ID read Jerry Tolman.

  “What, ah, what can I do for you, Agents?” William asked.

  “Are you the homeowner here?” the man on the right, Agent Tolman, asked. He was a bit taller and heavier than the agent named Collette.

  “I am.”

  “Your name?” he asked.

  “William David.”

  The agent on the left, Collette, took a notepad from his pocket and wrote his name down.

  “Can I ask what this is about?” William asked.

  “We had an incident a few miles or so from here. We’re checking with the locals to see if they’ve seen a police vehicle driving around here that seemed a little odd.”

  “How does a police vehicle driving around seem odd?” William asked.

  “So you have or have not?” Agent Collette asked.

  William’s mind went to wondering how they knew about the car. He shrugged it off and put an elbow on the roof of his Volkswagen. “Have not. What was the incident that occurred?”

  They both ignored his question.

  “Is this your only vehicle, sir?” the agent named Collette asked.

  “Yes, it is. Can you guys just give me one second while I set these groceries in the house?”

  “This shouldn’t take too long,” Agent Collette said.

  “And I have a bag full of frozen foods that are in the process of melting. You guys can come in and ask whatever you need to ask while I’m putting this stuff in the freezer if you need to.”

  William walked to his side door, and the two agents followed. William rested the bag on his knee and stuck a key in the deadbolt to unlock the door. He paused for a moment, thinking of the state of the kitchen when he’d left. The mount had been moved to the back room before he’d gone for his groceries and eyeliner, the pot of wax emptied, cleaned, and replaced in the shed where it had come from. He continued to think but couldn’t come up with anything that would seem off. He pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe and entered. The two agents entered behind him.

  William’s eyes immediately went to the hangers dangling from the bottom of the cupboard, with some wax still on them. He walked briskly to the area and set down the bag of groceries in an attempt to block them from view. He glanced toward the stairs leading to the basement and saw some red smears of blood on the floor. William looked back over his shoulder. The agents both stood just inside of the doorway, looking around.

  “You guys can have a seat if you’d like.” William nodded his head toward the kitchen table and rummaged through the bag.

  The agents walked farther into the kitchen, nearer the table, but didn’t sit.

  “Okay. This will just take me a second to get the couple things into the freezer.” He pulled some frozen fish from the bag and opened the freezer door.

  “So what exactly do you guys need to know here?” William went back to the bag of groceries and rummaged around some more, removing a couple bags of frozen vegetables.

  “We’re just getting a list of registered vehicles in the area,” Agent Collette said. “So, just to confirm. You have no other registered vehicles?”

  “Nope. Just the VW,” William said. He knew his answer would immediately be proven false if, or when, they ran him through the DMV.

  “And that California plate,” Agent Tolman asked. “Did you just move to the area?”

  “A month or two ago, yes. I still have to get everything transferred over. I finally got my change-of-residence forms this week.” He placed the vegetables in the freezer and walked back to the bag, where he put his back to the counter.

  “Do you know the Emmerson family that lives in the area?” Agent Tolman asked. “Back out off of Flat Rock Road there. Beige brick single story?”

  “The Emmersons? I don’t believe I’ve met them. Did something happen to them or something?”

  “They’re fine,” he said. “Someone we’re after mailed something from their mailbox while they were out of town.”

  “Mailed something from their mailbox?” William asked.

  “Correct. You didn’t happen to see anyone near it, did you?”

  “I’m not even sure I know what house you’re referring to,” William said. “You said they were out of town while this happened. Do they know this is going on?”

  “They’re back,” Agent Tolman said. “They’re aware.”

  “Okay,” William said. “I guess I don’t really have anything for you on that which could help. Like I said, I just moved to the area and haven’t really met more than a handful of people around here.”

  “Sure. That shed out there”—Agent Tolman pointed—“anything in there?”

  “No, just a garage space and my tools and that. Storage for stuff I don’t want in the house. About it.”

  “Mind if we have a quick look?” the agent named Collette asked. “Then we’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Don’t know why you’d want to look in my shed, but sure, I guess.” William walked to the sink, gave the agents his back, and flicked on the faucet. He hit the pump on the dispenser of dish soap and washed his hands. His eyes went down to the bottom of the sink, strewn with miscellaneous silverware that he’d yet to load into the dishwasher. His eyes came to rest on a paring knife.

  “Just a quick look around if you don’t mind,” one of the agents said behind him.

  William could see hi
s fate unfolding—they would see the car in the shed after he’d just told them he didn’t own another vehicle. Even if they didn’t put together that it was a former law-enforcement vehicle, they would question the lie. Their asking if they could have a look around without a doubt meant they suspected him. If William told them to get a warrant, they most certainly would, and they would be back with more men. William wasn’t finished with Erin. He hadn’t sent off what he needed to send off. He needed more time.

  William used his elbow to bump off the running water and flicked his fingers down, shedding water from them into the sink. “I guess I could show you around.”

  He looked back over his shoulder and made eye contact with Agent Tolman, staring at him from a few feet away. The other agent, Collette, was looking out into the living room. William reached out with his left hand for a hand towel hanging from the handle of a cabinet door so his body would shield his right hand going into the sink for the knife. He pulled the towel from the cupboard door as he grasped the handle of the knife and lifted it from the sink. He used the towel over his hands to shield the knife.

  “Let’s head out there.” William jerked his chin toward the door, hoping the two agents would lead the way out—they stood in place.

  William tossed the towel onto the counter, causing both agents to look where the towel landed, near the corner on the counter by the refrigerator.

  William took a single step, reached up with his right hand, and slashed the blade of the paring knife across the throat of the nearer agent—Tolman. The delivery of the strike was flawless. William saw a splash of red, and the agent’s hands went for his own neck and, more importantly, not his weapon. With two lunging strides, William was on the other agent, who was going for his shoulder-holstered gun. William slammed the man chest- and face-first into the door leading outside, William’s chest to Agent Collette’s back. He could feel the agent’s hand thrashing for his weapon inside his suit jacket. William did his best with his left hand to interfere with the agent’s attempts to pull his gun while he plunged the knife repeatedly into the fed’s lower back.

  As William lifted the knife to wrap it around the agent’s head and pull it across his throat, Agent Collette jerked his head back, making contact with William’s nose. The impact stunned William, making his vision go black before the pain began. William’s eyes welled with tears. Another blow from the agent came a split second later—a mule kick. The fed’s heel caught William square in his manhood. William gasped and could feel his body wanting to drop and curl into a fetal position. His knees went weak. With his last bit of fight, William grabbed the agent’s face with his left hand and yanked the fed’s head to the side. William reached the knife around Collette’s neck and pulled it from one side of his throat to the other.

  The pair collapsed to the floor at the side door.

  William squirmed in pain. Through teared eyes, he saw Agent Collette’s left hand swiping the tile floor while his right held his throat. William watched blood pump through the fed’s fingers until his hand went limp.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The phone rang in my ear. Duffield answered just when I expected his voice mail to pick up.

  “Duffield,” he said.

  “It’s Hank. We have a tag number and vehicle.”

  I overheard the assistant manager tell Beth that he needed to attend to something and would be right back. He left the small office.

  “You got the guy’s car on video?” Duffield asked.

  “It looks like it. Are you ready to take down the plate number?” I asked.

  “One second—I need to get to a computer.”

  “Sure. Anything more on the missing mystery girl from California?” I asked.

  “Not yet. We’re doing what we can to look into it and still waiting on a couple of phone calls back.”

  “Well, we may have something more that ties in here. The tag on the car is a California plate.”

  “So things are starting to come together. Now, we just need to figure out how. All right, I’m at a desk. Give me the plate.”

  With the tip of my finger on my notepad, I followed the numbers and letters as I read them off, “6MHL880.”

  Duffield read the tag number back to me to confirm.

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  “Give me a second here. I’m just going to run it while we’re on the phone.”

  I could hear him punching away at computer keys.

  “It’s coming up now. The plate comes back to a William Allen David. Age: fifty-two; height: five eleven; weight: one eighty-five. Address listed is in Sacramento.”

  “Height and weight fit with our guy on video taking Katelyn Willard. What’s the make and model of vehicle that the tag comes back to? Not that it’s a stolen plate.”

  “It says 2005 Chevy Impala. Color gray,” Duffield said. “Also lists an older Volkswagen as a registered vehicle. Registration on the Impala is pretty recent.”

  “Okay. The Impala is the car we’re looking at here, which also fits with what could have been used as an unmarked squad. What else does it say on him? Any priors?”

  “Clean as a whistle. Nothing listed.”

  “Is there anything that links this guy to the Louisville area?” I asked.

  “Nothing here on this, no. We’ll have to start digging.”

  “There has to be a reason he picked the area.”

  “One would think,” Duffield said. “We’ll get going on the guy and see what we can find out. What does the video show, exactly?”

  I gave him the highlights. “He was in the restaurant eating prior to her coming in. She walked inside the building and placed an order to go. As soon as he saw her, he dumped his food, waited around for her to leave, jogged out to his car, and went in pursuit.”

  “Are you dealing with a manager there, owner, employee, what?” Duffield asked.

  “Assistant manager. Just a kid. Pretty sure the franchise is owned by the kid’s family, though. He’s been helpful so far.”

  “Can he make you a copy of the footage?” Duffield asked.

  “I’ll ask him when he comes back. He just left the office where Beth and I are sitting a second ago.”

  “Sure,” Duffield said. “Just get something set on how we can get a copy if he doesn’t have the ability to do it there.”

  “Yeah, I will.”

  “Okay, let me get on the phone. I need to get the ID, photo of this guy, and vehicle information out to everyone.”

  “Get someone going on banking, credit-card, and phone records right away. He has to be staying somewhere out here.”

  “Right,” Duffield said. “I’m going to bring a few new people in to work on what we need. Also will have to get looking into if there’s a way to connect this woman we have the print from and this William David.”

  The assistant manager appeared in the doorway.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll see what we can do about the video and meet you back at the office.”

  “Are you guys coming straight back?”

  “As of right now, yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit,” he said.

  I clicked off and gave my attention to the assistant manager. “Any way we can get a copy of all that footage?” I asked.

  “I actually don’t know how to make copies of it, to tell you the truth. We never had to before.”

  “Is it your own system, or is it something that was set up from a security company?” Beth asked.

  “It’s all part of the whole franchise package. But the hard drive for it is located in the store here.”

  “Do you think we could just send one of our tech guys out, maybe?” Beth asked.

  “I guess. I’d have to ask my dad to be sure, but I don’t know why it would be a problem.”

  “Do you think we can maybe give him a call quick to check?” she asked.

  The kid reached out for the telephone on the desk and paused. “You know, that will be fine.” He rolled open a de
sk drawer and removed a card with his name on it. “Just have whoever needs to contact me give me a call when they are on their way, and I’ll make sure they get whatever they need.”

  Beth took the card from the kid’s hand. “I will. We appreciate all the help.”

  “Sure thing,” he said.

  Beth scooted her chair back, and I did the same.

  We left the office and walked back through the kitchen and out from behind the counter. Beth made a left for the side exit. I followed her out to the car and got in on the passenger side.

  “He didn’t want to call his father and ask.” Beth pulled her seatbelt over her shoulder and started the rental.

  “He was probably trying to show that he can make his own decisions on how to run the place is my guess,” I said.

  Beth backed from our parking spot, turned, and started forward to make a loop around the building and exit.

  I pointed left at the giant cement chicken with the championship-title belt. “Pull through the drive-through so I can order.”

  “And here I thought you forgot about your chicken sandwich.”

  “I didn’t forget.”

  Beth pulled into the lane, and I placed my order at the sign under the chicken’s wing.

  As I held my meal in a white paper bag on my lap, Beth drove for the interstate that would lead us back to the Bureau office. I stuffed my hand into the bag, pulled out a couple french fries, and jammed them into my mouth. I chewed the fries while I dug back into the bag for the sandwich. I took it from inside and held it up. The paper wrapping it was wet with grease or sauce or whatever it was. I peeled some of the paper away from one end to get a bite. As my teeth sank in, some peppers fell and some sauce dripped onto the bag on my lap.

  Beth glanced over. “That thing looks like it’s about fifteen hundred calories. If I ate that, I wouldn’t have to eat again for a week.”

  I shrugged, licked some of the sauce running down the back of my hand, and took another bite. “It’s delicious,” I said through a mouthful of bread, cheese, peppers, and chicken. “You should try this.” I held the sandwich out by her face.