Bryce stepped in front of Ann and brushed back his jacket. Her brother had made it clear that moments like this could be dicey. No telling what kind of trouble a cop’s arrival could trigger.
Inside the garage they found a short man with muscular arms covered in tattoos. He sported a white bandage at his right temple. He wiped grease from his hands as he eyed Bryce with suspicion and for Ann showed a flicker of appreciation. “I’m Cantrell. What can I do for you?”
Bryce showed his badge and identified himself and Ann. “We have a couple of questions about Nena Lassiter.”
Cantrell shook his head and dropped his gaze for a moment before asking, “What has she done?”
“Why do you say that?” Bryce asked.
“We hooked up three or four times while she was in town. And it was fun. Then she took off with a couple hundred bucks from my wallet. Did she rip off another guy?”
“Not that we are aware of,” Bryce said. “Did she talk about herself?”
Ann noted Bryce was avoiding a homicide notice, which likely would have put the man on guard. Once his defenses were in place, he would start filtering his responses.
“She was from California,” Cantrell said. “She had dreams of seeing the country.”
“What brought her to Missoula?” Bryce asked.
“Said she was here to catch up with a friend. They met once or twice, and then he dropped her.”
“Did you catch the friend’s name?” Ann asked.
“Thompson, I think,” he said.
“Paul Thompson?” she asked.
“That’s right. Don’t tell me those two are on some kind of Bonnie-and-Clyde joyride.”
“Nena is dead,” Bryce said.
The news struck the smirk from Cantrell’s face. “Shit. How?”
“Did you ever meet Paul Thompson?” Bryce asked.
“A couple of weeks ago. He and Nena met at her bar before it opened. When I got there, they ended whatever it was they were doing. He gathered up his papers and left.”
“Did she say what they were talking about?” Bryce asked.
“No. And I didn’t press. Our relationship wasn’t based on conversation.”
“Did Nena say anything else to you about Thompson?” Bryce asked.
“No.”
“What about Elijah Weston?” Bryce asked.
“That crazy guy that got out of prison? Hell no. With Nena and me, it was just about the sex. We didn’t talk much. And I sure didn’t do anything illegal with her.” He ran his hand over his head. “How did Nena die?”
“She was stabbed to death,” Bryce said.
“She suffered a horrific death,” Ann said. “If there is anything you can tell us . . .”
Cantrell rested his hands on his hips. “It sure as shit wasn’t me,” he said. “I don’t hurt people.”
“How did you hurt yourself?” Bryce asked.
“The day Nena took off, I damn near got killed by a hit-and-run driver. Ran me off the road outside of town, and my truck ended up in a ditch. I got a gash on my head that took ten stitches to fix.” As proof, he peeled off his bandage and showed them the ragged healing scar along his hairline.
Ann sensed the weight of Bryce’s stare on the man. “Did Nena mention anything that might have been a red flag to you?”
Cantrell shifted his gaze to her. “She liked that I’d been in prison. It was a turn-on for her. Said she’d been really into a guy in the joint once. They wrote letters. She asked me a couple of times what it was like being behind bars.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Said she hoped to hook up with him one day soon.” He paused. “Shit, she was talking about that Weston guy, wasn’t she?”
“Maybe,” Ann said.
“Everybody in town knows Weston’s story.” He leveled his gaze on Ann. “And your story, now that I think about it. You were at his trial, right?”
“Yes,” she said.
Cantrell leaned a little closer to Ann. “In the right light, you look like Nena. Her hair was longer and blonder, but she looked like you.”
Nervous energy coiled in her belly. How many of the Fireflies had altered their appearance to resemble her?
Bryce pulled up the Polaroid image of Nena on his phone. “Is this Nena?”
Cantrell studied the picture. “That’s Nena.”
Bryce handed Cantrell his card. “Call me if you think of anything else.”
“Sure.”
Outside, Ann rubbed her hands over her arms. Everywhere she turned Elijah’s shadow lingered.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Bryce said.
“I haven’t,” Ann said.
“You’re pale. You’re tense.”
“It’s not like I see Elijah everywhere I turn. He’s not physically following me, but he’s always there. Do you think he could have killed those women?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s so clever.”
“He’s not going to get to you.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but no one can protect me twenty-four seven.”
Bryce laid his hands on her shoulders. “That’s not going to happen.”
But lessons learned had taught her if someone wanted to kill you, there was no stopping them.
I sit outside Ann’s house, knowing it is a matter of time before he shows. She is the center of his obsession, and sooner or later he will come sniffing around.
The others have been a warm-up for him and for me. The main event is Ann.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Missoula, Montana
Wednesday, August 25
4:00 p.m.
Bryce parked in front of Elijah Weston’s house. The one-story rancher had neatly cut grass, a large poplar tree in the front yard, and mulch bags piled high by the flower beds. It was also within walking distance of Ann’s house.
He rose out of his car, settled his hat on his head, strode toward the front door, and rang the bell. Seconds later, footsteps echoed in the house, and the door opened to Elijah Weston. He was dressed in khakis and a blue T-shirt and wore dark-rimmed glasses. “Sergeant McCabe. This is a nice surprise.”
“You’re smarter than that. You knew I’d be coming by sooner or later.”
“The police do like to rope me into their investigations. What’s the latest case you are working on? Don’t tell me another dead Firefly.”
“That’s right. Nena Lassiter.”
Elijah seemed to search his memory. “Nena. From California.”
“That’s right.”
“Wait just a moment—I have something for you.” He vanished inside the house and returned quickly with a sheet of paper. “This is a copy of my calendar for the last three months. I’m assuming you’ll need to confirm my alibi. I have several copies in case any of your cop friends want one.”
Bryce took the paper and studied the computer printout. He keyed in on the dates in early June, July, and last Tuesday. Elijah had been attending back-to-back summer classes in June and July and last week had been volunteering at the university. Beside the dates he had written the names and phone numbers of several individuals.