A fine powdering of glass was also found in the grill and on the hood of the vehicle. Forensics couldn’t ascertain whether or not it came from Nina White’s car, only that it was consistent, but Hank had no question about it.

A botanical expert was consulted, and he affirmed the rose found in the mouth of the victim was the same species as the ones which grew along the rear wall of the Thorburn house.

The search of the Thorburn residence turned up nothing incriminating and contained no clues as to where Adam Thorburn might be hiding out.

His cell phone rang and he answered it. It was Teddy White—again.

“Detective, do you have any news for me?”

Hank held his patience. “Nothing yet, Mr. White. You need to allow more time. Adam Thorburn is on the run and we’ll track him down, but at this point, we don’t know where he is.”

“I’ve hired some private investigators,” Mr. White said.

Hank frowned at his phone. There were several PIs in this town and he didn’t want any of them mucking around with the evidence and getting in the way of a police investigation. “That’s well within your rights,” Hank said. “But it might be a little premature.”

“The Lincolns promised they would help.”

Hank’s vision of an interfering gumshoe vanished. There were none so thorough and as caring as his good friends, Jake and Annie Lincoln, who were always careful to stay out of the way of law enforcement. He had worked alongside them in the past, helping him to crack some tough cases. And though Captain Diego rarely admitted it outwardly, they often had his unwritten blessing.

“Mr. White,” Hank said, “I’ll call you as soon as we have anything concrete.” He didn’t want to give the grieving widower the brush-off, but he needed to be firm. “I’ll inform you the minute we find the suspect.”

“Very well. I’ll call you again tomorrow. Thank you, Detective.”

Hank hung up. He always felt deeply for the victims, and he sympathized with Teddy White. Though he had never personally experienced the loss of a loved one at the hands of a violent killer, he’d seen enough heartache and senseless murders as head of RHPD Robbery/Homicide to do him a lifetime.

He was a little surprised the Lincolns hadn’t called him regarding their involvement, so he dialed Jake’s number.

“We just got back,” Jake explained. “I haven’t have a chance to let you know yet.”

“I’ll drop by and see you guys after work,” Hank said. “It’s been a while.”

“We’ll fill you in on our visit to Virginia Thorburn while you’re here.”

Hank hung up and glanced toward Detective King’s desk. He didn’t expect to see King for a while. Hank had him organizing the neighborhood search for Adam Thorburn, and it could easily take him the rest of the day.

He looked up as the front desk officer approached and handed him an envelope. A scrawl on the front revealed it was from Richmond North High School.

Hank dumped its contents onto his desk. It was a five-page report on Adam Thorburn, retrieved from the school’s record storage. Hank leafed through it. The neatly stapled report contained Adam’s vital information along with Nina White’s handwritten notes on her meetings with the student.

Among other things, the report showed Adam had barely made passing grades during the two years he attended Richmond North High School. Those grades were inconsistent with his above-average IQ of 130. In her notes, Nina attributed his poor grades to a lack of applying himself. It was noted Adam was schizophrenic but rarely showed negative signs at school.

But that was all seven years ago, and according to his mother, his condition had deteriorated since then.

During Adam’s counseling sessions with Mrs. White, her notes showed she had attempted to encourage him but had been unable to impress on him the importance of a good education. He had seemed distracted and had been easily discouraged. She’d made note of his occasional comments regarding the bullying he received from other students.

At Mrs. White’s request to interview Adam’s parents, Adam’s mother had attended several meetings with her over the two years. His father hadn’t bothered to show up for any of the appointments. It was noted at the final meeting that, in Mrs. White’s opinion, his home life was less than ideal and might be a detriment to his desire to learn. There were no details as to exactly what she meant by this opinion.

Hank put the report aside. He had a good idea what Adam’s home life must’ve been like. The Thorburns lived on the edge of poverty, which was no excuse to commit murder, but it wasn’t an environment that would foster a lot of motivation to succeed. He wondered what would’ve turned the quiet boy into a vicious murderer.

He glanced across the room when he heard his name called. Captain Diego stood in the door of his office, waving him over. Hank stood, went into Diego’s office, and took a seat.

Diego sat forward, rested his arms on his desk, and looked at Hank. “Anything positive on the Nina White murder yet?”

“Lots of positive,” Hank said. “We have a solid suspect. We just can’t locate him.”

As Hank went over the evidence with Diego, the captain brushed at his dark mustache with two fingers, listening intently.

When Hank was done, Diego sat back, a frown on his round face. “I’ll give you all the support you need on this, Hank. Whatever you want. Just find the guy.”

“I’m doing my best, Captain. We’ll get him.”

“Keep me informed.” Diego dismissed him with a wave and went back to his paperwork.

Hank returned to his desk and called King, but the detective wasn’t having any luck. “It doesn’t look like he’s hanging around the neighborhood. Nobody’s seen him.”

“Keep at it,” Hank said and hung up. It was doubtful Adam Thorburn had much money or food. He would have to surface eventually, and Hank wanted to be there when he did.

Chapter 15

Tuesday, 4:29 p.m.

ADAM EASED DOWN onto the rough floorboards and laid his head back against the wall. He would be safe here for now, but how long could he last with no food and nothing but a tumbledown shack in the swamp for shelter?

He might be able to pick some wild berries or apples that grew along the edge of the wetlands, but it would hardly be enough to nourish him. And when the cold came, the swamp would sleep until spring, and he couldn’t survive without a constant source of food and heat.

The heat he could take care of. There were enough dead and dying trees in the area to furnish him with fuel, and he could insulate the hut with grass or straw hauled from a farmer’s field a mile or so away. He could survive the winter without fear of freezing to death, but food was his main concern. The small wildlife in the area would all but disappear in the winter, and even if he could trap the occasional rabbit, meat of any kind would be scarce.

He had some life-and-death decisions to make and there was no one else he could turn to.

But winter was still a long way off, and it was impossible to tell what might happen to him in the meantime. For all he knew, and sometimes for all he cared, he could be dead by then. That might be for the best anyway. He was a burden on society, a burden on his mother, and always a burden to himself.

He glanced around the single-room hut. He had discovered this place many years ago and enjoyed some peaceful times here—away from the rest of the cruel and uncaring world, and away from his parents’ arguing. He hadn’t been here since his father had died, and he’d kept this place a secret. It was a safe haven, and a place where he could be alone and not have to hear about what a loser he was.

But back then, he’d known he could always return home after he’d recharged his soul. Now, this was home, and there was no turning back.