Bryce lowered his voice. “Thompson suggested he might have information about Nate’s paternity.”
The lines in Gideon’s face deepened into a frown as he glared at Paul Thompson pacing back and forth in his room, phone pressed to his ear.
“Nate’s paternity?” Gideon glanced again toward room 107. “How the hell did Paul find out?”
“He said one of the Fireflies figured it out.”
“The only one who knows besides me is Joan, and she’ll take it to her grave. The source must be Elijah. He must have had some suspicion.”
“It’s getting harder to miss,” Bryce said. “Weston must see himself in the boy.”
“Shit.” Gideon slid a hand in his pocket and rattled change. “But why tell one of his Fireflies? Unless he’s using them for some reason.”
“I don’t know. But Nena Lassiter was a Firefly, and her car was seen at Edith Scott’s house right after her estimated time of death. One of Nena’s lovers also put her with Thompson. And now her car is parked in front of Paul Thompson’s motel room.”
“Why would Paul Thompson kill Edith?” Gideon asked. “And if he’s that smart to pull off those murders, he’s not sloppy enough to park Nena’s car outside his motel room.”
“That’s why we need to have a long conversation with him,” Bryce said.
Gideon rested his hands on his hips. “How do you want to play this? He’ll be lawyered up before he steps out on the sidewalk.”
“And I’ll be on the phone to a judge looking for a warrant to search his room after you take him in for questioning.”
“If I hold him, then I’ll have to Mirandize him.”
“If he goes willingly, you don’t. Dangle some case details. Tell him about the dead Fireflies. Even if he’s innocent, he won’t be able to resist the new information.”
“Basically, you need time to get into that room.”
“Exactly.”
Paul Thompson stepped out of his room, closed the door, and locked it behind him. He had washed his face, doused his hair in water, combed it flat, and put on a clean shirt. His backpack was slung over his shoulder.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Thompson, we’ll be taking my car,” Gideon said.
“Isn’t Sergeant McCabe coming?” Thompson asked.
“Someone has to oversee the evidence collection in the vehicle,” Bryce said.
“Whose car is it anyway?” Thompson asked.
“I’ll share that with you once we get to the station,” Gideon said. “Do you have your wallet and cell on you?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Gideon said. “Might want to put the backpack back in your room.”
“Why?”
“You won’t be able to carry it into the station. You could leave it in my car, but it’ll be safer here.”
“What the hell is going on here?” The outrage that had heightened the color in Thompson’s cheeks was washing out.
“Put the backpack away, and we’ll chat,” Gideon said. “I promise you that you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
“You have to do better than that,” Thompson said.
“I have information about the Fireflies that you’ll find very interesting,” Gideon said. “Most of what I have has not been released to the media.”
Thompson’s gaze shifted from Gideon to the car, which for the moment was not surrounded by cops. “I know that car.”
“Do you?” Gideon asked.
“It belongs to Nena Lassiter.”
“Yes, sir, it does,” Gideon said. “How did you know that?”
“What’s going on with her? Has she said something about me?” Thompson asked.
“This is one of many reasons why we need to talk,” Gideon said.
Thompson muttered a curse. Finally, he returned to his room, set his backpack behind his bed, locked his door, and rejoined Gideon. When the two settled into the police car, Bryce was on the phone to a local judge and left him a voicemail requesting his warrant.
While he waited for a callback, he returned to the crime scene and watched as the crew continued photographing the vehicle.
The tech tried the door, discovered it was locked, and then obtained a long string from his van, which he worked between the door and jamb at the window’s top corner. He tied a slipknot at the end and, using a pen, maneuvered the string around the weather stripping and down toward the door’s vertical lock. He tightened the loop with a gentle twist and then tugged until the knob popped open.
Once the door opened, the technician released the trunk, and the crew immediately inspected the space. Bryce noted several suitcases, blankets, several gas cans, and rumpled junk food wrappers.
“Sergeant Bryce, have a look at this,” the tech said as he held up what looked like a scrapbook.
On the title page of the handmade book was a picture of Nena and Elijah. His image appeared to have been generated from an online media report detailing his release from prison.
Each subsequent page was filled with similar versions of Nena and Elijah. In several of her pictures, she wore a wedding dress and was holding a handful of flowers. The edges of the pages were decorated with red ink drawn into the shape of flames.
The tech held up a purse, probed, and removed a wallet. He opened it and held up the California driver’s license for Nena Lassiter. He handed off the find to an assistant and continued to search the space. He discovered two more wallets. One had belonged to Dana Riley and the other to Sarah Cameron.
Bryce studied Sarah’s stoic features on the license. “Nena has Sarah’s belongings,” he said, more to himself. It made sense because links had already been established between the victims. And then to the technician: “Keep searching.”
Minutes later, the tech held up a credit card receipt. “It belongs to Dana Riley.”
Bryce now had a vehicle linked to four murders, and all the dead women appeared to be connected to Paul Thompson.
Elijah was waiting by the university classroom when the morning session started filing into the room, and he saw Ann bring Nate to the front of the building. She leaned over and kissed him, but he seemed to stiffen as he looked around. She did not force it and appeared to understand her boy was growing up and did not want to be mothered, but her smile was bittersweet.
Ann might be losing her boy, bit by bit, but at least she had had the last ten years. Cheated out of the time, he had not seen Nate take his first step, cut a tooth, or ride a school bus. Resentment clawed its way up his throat.
But he pushed the feelings back into the shadows and focused on the moment. When Ann walked away, he ducked into the classroom. Nate sat toward the front of the class, so Elijah chose a seat in the back, next to the door.
For the next hour, the teacher broke down several math problems, and when he asked for a volunteer, Nate raised his hand along with several other students. Each time the teacher chose someone other than Nate, Elijah sensed the old man did not want the kid showing up him or the other students.
When the class ended, Nate gathered up his books and made his way up the stairs. Elijah ducked out ahead of him and waited outside the room.
As the boy passed, Elijah said, “He should have called on you, Nate.”