“Go where?”
“To Montana. She had an obsession about the place.”
“Why?”
“Look, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”
“I’m not here to judge her, but I need to figure out who killed her.”
“How did she die?”
“For now, let’s focus on why she wanted to come to Montana. That’s a long way from Maryland.”
“She had an obsession with a guy out there. He was in prison, if you can believe it.”
“Elijah Weston?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“Mr. Weston had a solid following of women while he was in prison. He maintained an extensive correspondence with Ms. Riley.”
“When I found out about it, I was pissed. But she swore that it was all over and she wasn’t writing him anymore. I saw a picture of the guy. Good looking in a movie-star kind of way. Didn’t look like he would set fires.”
“He didn’t, as it turns out. The charges were dropped against him. Many of the women who followed him lost interest once he was released from prison.”
“Women like the bad boys.” Reynolds’s tone signaled bitterness. “Plain old working stiffs like me just aren’t exciting enough.”
“Did you hear from Dana at all after you two broke up?”
“She texted me a few times. She sent me pictures while she was driving west. When did you say she died?”
“Early July.”
“That can’t be right. We must have exchanged a dozen texts on the thirteenth. I remember because it was my birthday. She was actually really nice and seemed interested in me.”
“What did she ask you?” Bryce asked.
“She wanted to know how I was doing. It was nice. Normal. I can send you screenshots.”
“Do that. Did she say where she was?”
“Anaconda, I think. She said she was on her way to Missoula.”
Dana had not sent those texts. The killer, who clearly had a sick sense of humor, had decided to engage in a conversation with Reynolds.
“Did she mention if she was traveling alone or with someone?” Bryce asked.
“I got the impression she was alone. After the thirteenth I never heard from her again.” He sighed. “If Dana was dead, then who texted me?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Bryce said.
“Was it whoever killed her?” Reynolds asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“Where’s Dana now?” he asked.
“She’s with the medical examiner in Missoula.”
“Sergeant McCabe, how did she die?”
“She was stabbed. And as I said, her body was burned and also mutilated, which is why it took us so long to identify her.”
“I want her sent home.” His voice faltered. “She doesn’t belong out there. She was working out some kind of fantasy, but sooner or later real life takes over.” He exhaled heavily, as if a weight were pressing against his chest. “I thought she’d return to me after she realized this was her home.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
He spoke to Reynolds a few more minutes. The man’s voice cracked several times, and by the time they ended the call, he could barely speak.
Five minutes after they hung up, screenshots of Dana’s July 13 texts to Reynolds appeared on his phone.
Dana: Hey, babe. Missing you.
Reynolds: Where are you?
Dana: Living the dream. But I’m lonely. Thinking about you.
Reynolds: Since when?
Dana: Always at night, when I’m lying in bed. Alone. Naked.
Reynolds: What do you do when you’re naked?
Dana: What’s the best nude memory you have of me?
Reynolds: You know.
Dana: I want you to say it.
Reynolds: In the red pickup.
Dana: Have you slept with anyone else?
Reynolds: No.
Dana: Good. Keep it that way.
Reynolds: Are you coming home?
Dana: What are you wearing?
Reynolds: Jeans. You?
The killer followed with a blushing emoji, and the conversation continued as he or she fed Reynolds enough vague sexual comments to keep him talking. This went on for an hour, and then the texts stopped. Why the hell had the killer played games with Dana’s old boyfriend?
Elijah sat in the coffee shop at the corner table. As always, his back was to the wall, and he faced the door. In prison he had learned quickly to protect his back. He supposed this quirk would never leave him.
He often got out of his house or office simply to prove to himself that he could do whatever he wanted now. Freedom was a precious thing, and he intended to not only guard his but savor every moment of it going forward.
When the door opened, he looked up over his book and noted the entry of the tall, thin man. He was only a few years older than Elijah, but the guy had a youthful energy that hinted he had never been tested by life. A bad day for this guy was a delayed flight or a cold latte.
Elijah sipped his mug of black coffee. He dropped his gaze to his book, stealing a side glance here and there to track the man. No introductions were necessary. Since Ann had told him about Paul Thompson’s visit, Elijah had done his own research.
He waited until Thompson was settled in a booth before he picked up his coffee and book and slid into the seat across from him.
Thompson looked up from his phone, his expression mirroring first outrage, then shock, and finally interest. “Mr. Weston.”
Elijah knitted his fingers together and rested them on the table. “Mr. Thompson. I understand you’ve been talking to some of my friends.”
“I have.” He set his phone down but kept his hand close to the device, as if it would protect him from Elijah. “You’ve heard I’m doing a podcast.”
“About me.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“You’re fascinating. Yours is the classic tale of David and Goliath.”
“Me being David?”
“The system was stacked against you, and you did come out on top,” Thompson said.
“There are plenty of stories like that. How did mine catch your attention?” Elijah asked.
“My work has a following,” Thompson said. “I receive tips on stories like yours all the time.”
Elijah’s eyes narrowed. “Who tipped you off about me?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“I can’t reveal my sources.”
“A classic response.” Elijah sat back, sipping the coffee, disappointed it was no longer piping hot. “Have you spoken to Ann?”
“I have. She’s promised to give me an interview on Saturday. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Did you threaten her?” Elijah asked softly, setting his cup down.
“I don’t threaten.”
“Maybe not technically, but I’ll bet that you’re good with words and can dance right up to the line of a threat.” Elijah knew the technique well.
“I didn’t say anything like that to her.”
“Did you mention Nate?” Elijah asked carefully.
Thompson sat back, looking a little like a cornered animal.