The boy turned and eyed Elijah. “You’re not in this class.”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
“Why?”
As people filed past them, Elijah thought about the DNA results in his pocket that vindicated all the feelings he had had since he’d first seen a picture of Nate six years ago. One of his Fireflies had taken the image and included it in one of her letters to him. He had known from the moment he laid eyes on the towhead with gray eyes that they were father and son.
“Did you read King Lear?”
“A couple of times.”
Prioritizing his own desires and dreams over the boy’s would be as easy as it was wrong. Nate’s feelings had to take precedence. The child would figure out their connection sooner or later, and when he did, Elijah wanted him to understand he was trying to do this right.
“I have another book for you,” Elijah said. He dug the new paperback from his jacket pocket. “It’s called Huckleberry Finn.”
“By Mark Twain.”
“That’s right. It’s a classic adventure story.” He held out the book, realizing he feared the boy would refuse this symbol of peace.
But Nate took the book and thumbed through the stiff, unbroken pages. “Have you read it?”
“Yes. I love books that involve travel.”
“Because you were in prison?”
The boy’s candor held no malice, but rather exhibited a scientific curiosity that Elijah understood. “I liked them before prison. I read them as a kid. It was the only way I could see the world. But I reread them all in prison.”
“What was it like?”
“Prison?”
“Yeah.”
“Not great being told what to do all day long, and I had no friends or allies in prison. But I’m good at finding the best in a bad situation.”
“I don’t have many friends other than Kyle.”
“You’re lucky to have Kyle, then.”
“Yeah.”
“Remember, the world does turn, Nate.”
His brow knotted. “What’s that mean?”
“It means nothing stays the same. And if we play our cards right, it’ll get better.”
“When?”
Elijah smiled. “If I could predict that, I would be worth a lot more money.”
The boy’s phone buzzed with a text, and he glanced at the display. “That’s my mom. I’ve got to go.”
“Sure.” He slid his hands into his pockets, wishing they had the kind of relationship that allowed him a hug.
“Thanks for the book,” Nate said.
“Sure.”
Nate started to walk away and then stopped. “Are you going to be in this class next week?”
“I could be.”
“If you are, I’ll tell you what I think of the book.”
Elijah smiled. “Then I’ll definitely be here. I can’t wait to hear what you say.”
“I can be picky.”
“Good. That makes you a man of discerning tastes.”
The boy tucked the book in his backpack, and Elijah stood in place, watching until he vanished around a corner. He had not said a tenth of what he had wanted to express to Nate, but discretion was the better part of valor. They had forged a start. And that was good enough.
Bryce was on the phone with the judge for nearly twenty minutes, arguing for a search warrant of Thompson’s motel room. Not only did Bryce have a vehicle parked outside Thompson’s motel room that contained evidence related to four murders, but he reiterated that the reporter had given Dr. Bailey a detailed list of the Fireflies. Finally, the judge had relented and given Bryce a warrant that allowed him to do a cursory search of the room.
When Bryce showed the warrant to the manager, Mike remained reluctant. He did not like the idea of invading a resident’s privacy, because he’d hear about it on Yelp.
Still, he complied, and Bryce, along with a technician, entered Thompson’s motel room at noon.
The room smelled of stale pizza, cigarette smoke, and faint hints of aftershave. At first, Bryce did not touch anything as he moved around the space, trying to get a handle on Paul Thompson’s work. The papers strewn on the second bed were printed manuscript pages that appeared edited, presumably by Thompson’s hand, in red ink. The pages at the top interview featured Sarah Cameron, and the ones after them introduced Dana Riley and Nena Lassiter.
He dug deeper into the stack and found interviews of people who knew Elijah back in college. There was a section with Elijah’s mother, Lois Weston. Also in the mix were the original police reports from Elijah’s case, a transcript from his trial, and a list of the jurors on his case. Thompson had spoken to five, including Edith Scott.
He picked up the Scott transcript.
Thompson: Thanks for seeing me today.
Scott: Sure.
Thompson: As I said on the phone, I’m doing a podcast about Elijah.
Scott: You’re going to expose him, I hope. Send him back to prison.
Thompson: His conviction was overturned.
Scott: Don’t be fooled. He’s not innocent. It’s a matter of time before he sets more fires. Or kills. I’ve seen the way he looks at me.
Thompson: You think he resents you for your guilty conviction?
Scott: I know he does.
Thompson: Are you worried for your safety?
Scott: I used to be, but not so much anymore.
Thompson: Why not?
Scott: Doesn’t matter.
He picked up Thompson’s backpack, and as tempted as he was to pull out the laptop, his warrant did not allow it. Right now, defying the warrant was not worth losing a case.
A knock on the motel room door pulled Bryce’s attention toward it. The deputy, a stout man with salt-and-pepper hair and a full mustache, jabbed his thumb over his shoulder toward the parking lot. “The tech says you’ll want to see this.”
“Right.” As he left the room, he said to the deputy, “Stay here and don’t let anyone in but the forensic techs. Tell whoever has the camera to photograph everything in sight. I don’t know how long we’ll have access to the room, and I want something to refer back to.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bryce strode across the lot as the technician lifted a knife. “Where did you find that?”
“It was in the trunk wrapped in a hand towel. As you can see, there’s dried blood on the handle and the blade.”
Bryce inspected the blade, noting its pointed edge had broken at the tip and resembled the metal shard found in Nena Lassiter’s sternum. This rough field examination would not be enough to prove this was the murder weapon. But once the evidence was processed off the knife, then the experts could compare the weapon to the wounds.
Why would Thompson kill the women he had interviewed? Why be so careless handling a victim’s car stocked with evidence? Either Thompson was not that smart after all, or someone had set him up.
Either way, Bryce understood one truth: Thompson had interviewed four dead women as well scheduled an interview with Ann, and in his mind that put Ann in the crosshairs of a killer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Missoula, Montana
Thursday, August 26
2:00 p.m.
Bryce drove to the police station and apprised Gideon of what he had found in the motel room and the abandoned car. Together, they went into the interview room where Thompson had been left with a cup of coffee and a pack of crackers.