I parked my car and climbed out. Sloan’s truck was a few feet away, and as soon as I got out, he opened his door.
“Easton,” he said.
“Sloan.”
We shook hands.
“Why the fuck am I out here?” he asked.
“I wanted to talk to you about Luisa Suarez.”
“I figured.” He gave me a serious look. “It’s dark and I’ve had a long day, so let’s make this fast.”
“Did you bring what I asked?”
He nodded. “All the pictures you could possibly want.” He held out a manila folder.
I took it from him. “Come on.”
I walked off toward the tree where Luisa was found, Sloan in tow. We stopped in front of the spot and stared in silence together. Without the body, it was just another tree standing in a small clearing. There was nothing significant about it, not since the scene had been cleared by forensics.
But we both knew that only two days earlier, it had been the spot of a grisly, gruesome murder. It still held weight, almost as if the residue of the horrible crime still hung thick in the air.
I opened the folder and began to page through the pictures. I stopped when I found what I was looking for.
“Remember this?” I asked Sloan, holding up the photo.
“Of course. We still have no clue what ‘TON’ means, though we have some theories.”
I nodded. “I know what it means.”
He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “You could have told me over the phone instead of bringing me out here, son.”
“No. I needed you to see. Otherwise I’m not sure you’d believe me.”
“Okay then. Go on.”
I took a deep breath, not sure if I was doing the right thing or not. “Which way was Luisa’s body facing?” I asked him.
He pointed. “That way. Her back was up against this tree.”
“Right. And which direction is that?”
He thought for a second. “East, more or less.”
“Right. Luisa was facing east, and this sign said ‘TON.’ Sheriff, I think this was a message for me.”
He looked at me silently for a minute, maybe more. “So you think the killer was spelling your name.”
I nodded. “It was just obvious enough for me to find it, but not too obvious for someone else to notice.”
“I have to admit, it’s a tempting theory.”
“You know about my involvement with the original case.”
“Of course.”
“Then you know how close to all this I am. I think whoever is doing this is coming after me.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know.” I paused and paged through the photographs. “There’s one more thing.”
“You’ve been busy,” he muttered.
“This one wasn’t me, actually.” I stopped when I found what I was looking for and pulled the picture out. One glance confirmed my suspicions. “How much of the original case file did you see?”
“Some. Not much. What the FBI sent had a lot of redactions.”
“That’s because I still have the original.” I held up a hand when I saw the look on his face. “Sorry, Sloan. I didn’t know who to trust.”
“Jesus, Easton. You said you were going to share that with us. I figured you didn’t have it.”
“I’m sharing it now. I didn’t know who to trust with this. But look.” I pointed at the picture. “See this? Her left hand. The pinky finger is cut all the way to the bottom.” I fished in my pocket and pulled out a photocopied picture. “This is from one of the original killings. Left hand, pinky finger cut only to the second knuckle.”
Sloan studied the pictures. “So what does this prove?”
“We never released the detail about the pinky. It was meant to prove whoever we caught was the real killer.”
“I see,” he said slowly. “So whoever is doing this killing is very intimate with the case, but not an insider.”
“Right. I think it rules out someone that worked with Seed originally, or Seed himself.”
Sloan shook his head, handing the pictures back to me. “This is a lot to take in, Easton. And you holding back information from us is a big deal.”
“I’m aware. But I think I can narrow down the number of suspects to just a few.”
“And are these people you’ll let me investigate?”
I nodded. “No more secrets, Sheriff. I want to catch this mother fucker.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “So do I.”
We stood there in silence for another minute, surveying the scene together. Anger rushed through me again, anger at the killer, and a profound sadness for all the lives lost.
Back during the original Seed case, I hadn’t meant to kill him. That was self-defense. But if I got another chance, I’d go ahead and do it all again. I’d pull that trigger without a second thought.
I handed Sloan his file back, turned, and walked back to my car.
“Send me those names,” he called after me.
I just waved, climbing into my car.
My mind was still on Laney as I drove home, despite my conversation with Sloan.
I knew I should be working the case harder, but I also knew that I couldn’t do it alone. Laney had made me realize that. I had seen something in her from the start, saw that she was smart as hell and braver than I could have guessed. But it wasn’t until she’d noticed a detail that I had completely overlooked that I realized just how close to the case I was, and just how much I needed her help.
Part of me wished she were just the normal college girl that she seemed. I wished she was boring, regular, nothing special. That way I wouldn’t be spiraling into something with her, spiraling into the deep-seeded want for her body.
As I drove, it became clearer and clearer to me that I needed to come clean to her.
For as long as I could remember since the case, I had been holding in a secret. It was something that I swore I’d never tell anyone, something I swore I’d take to my grave. But I knew that it was an important detail, and something that Laney should probably know. She may even make a connection that I was overlooking.
Still, I wasn’t going to tell Sloan. I’d have to make her promise to keep it to herself; otherwise, everything I’d gone through would be for nothing. Whether I could trust her or not wasn’t totally clear, but I knew I had to take the chance.
If I was going to catch the bastard, I had to do everything I could.
Now, I had Sloan working with me. He knew just about as much as I did, and he would likely have more resources. Once he had the full case file, maybe he’d even be able to crack the fucking thing.
Ultimately, I didn’t care who caught the guy, so long as he was caught and the killings stopped.
I hated asking for help. I hated needing help. But I knew I needed Laney and the police department. I wasn’t in the FBI anymore. I didn’t have a partner or the resources that I had once been used to.
I turned into the driveway to our house. The lights were mostly off, and our parents still weren’t home. I knew Laney was upstairs somewhere, and she had better have the security system set.
I climbed out of my car and walked up toward the front door.