Three minutes later, Caden pulled to the curb in front of the million-dollar home and cut the engine. He’d already pushed Wendy from his thoughts and circled back around to his father. Ava seemed to think he’d “get there” in forgiving the man? Would he? Maybe. As long as his father continued to support Sarah and didn’t revert back to his old ways, then yeah, he might be able to let the resentment go for good in the future. He just wasn’t sure he could trust the man yet—or ever.
Ava swept an appreciative glance over the brick house. “Where’d the money come from?”
Grateful for the change in topic, Caden let his shoulders relax a fraction. “The senior Mr. Fields is a retired cardiologist, but still does some consulting work. She’s a high-end realtor.”
“A power couple, huh?”
He laughed. “Appears that way, doesn’t it?” His smile slid from his lips. “Michael and his family appeared to live comfortably, but simply. You’d never know he came from all of this. Privileged and lacking nothing.”
“Not a bad way to grow up.”
“No. I have nothing against living well. As long as you don’t shirk the responsibility of using your position to help others.” Caden’s phone buzzed and he swiped the screen. “Hey, Zane, what’s up?”
“Something very bad and very . . . weird.”
“Like your voice?”
“Not now, dude.”
The seriousness in his partner’s hoarse voice flipped Caden’s smile into a frown. “All right. Sorry. Tell me.”
“Daria just called. Another family was murdered.”
Caden’s heart dropped and he swallowed hard. No wonder his partner didn’t feel like joking around. “Who? Where?”
“Portland, Oregon. But get this. It was the sister of the guy who was killed in Texas. Her name is Bridgette O’Reilly.”
“What!” Okay, that was beyond weird. As well as heartbreaking and soul-shattering. “How many in the family?”
“Her and her three kids. There’s no husband. She’s a single mom.”
He could feel Ava watching him. “Where are the parents? What do they have to say?”
“I’m not sure yet. The crime scene is only a couple of hours old. We’ll know more in a bit.”
Caden pressed fingers to his eyes. “Fine. Where are you?”
“Just pulled in behind you.” His cough came through the line.
A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed his partner’s words. “Ready to do this?”
“Yeah. I’m going to keep my distance, though. I don’t need to be getting anyone sick.”
“I’m okay with that.” Caden hung up and summarized the conversation.
She shook her head and sorrow darkened her eyes. “How awful. We need to find this person, Caden.”
“I’m not arguing.” He squeezed her hand. “You ready?”
“Waiting on you.”
They climbed out and all three walked to the front door together.
Caden noted Ava’s relaxed composure. “How do you do that?” he whispered in her ear.
She frowned. “Do what?”
“Maintain such a serene outer façade?”
“Serene?” She scoffed. “I’m a bundle of nerves.”
Zane rang the bell and stepped back.
“That’s my point. You don’t look it. Remind me never to play poker with you.”
She wrinkled her nose at him but had no time to respond as the door opened and Jesse Fields stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry to bother you again, Mr. Fields,” Zane said. “However, we’ve thought of a few more questions, if you don’t mind. We’ve also had some new developments that we’d like to discuss with you.”
Grief flashed. “You found out who did it?”
“No, sir, not yet. But . . . could we come in?”
The man sighed. “Sure.”
He pushed open the storm door, and Zane stepped inside. Caden placed a hand at the small of Ava’s back and guided her in behind Zane.
Once they were all seated in the formal living area just off the massive foyer—with Zane keeping his distance by standing near the fireplace—Caden cleared his throat. “Mr. Fields, first question. Do you have any other children besides Michael?”
The man winced and shook his head. “No. He was an only child.”
“Okay, that’s what I thought, but wanted to clarify. Thank you.”
“Why?”
“Some other information has come up, but if you don’t have any other children, it doesn’t pertain to you or the case.” No reason to tell him another family had been murdered. “Do you remember the pictures I showed you yesterday? The man named Paul Jackson and you?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve remembered the name he went by when you knew him?”
Mr. Fields’s gaze held steady. “No. Sorry. I told you yesterday, it was a very long time ago. We met briefly at that café in Moscow. I think he was a salesperson or worked for a magazine or something. We struck up a conversation and . . . I had no idea someone was taking pictures or how they came to be in my son’s home. I’m sorry, I just don’t know.”
Caden still wasn’t sure he believed him. “All right. This is Ava Jackson, Paul’s daughter. She’s the little girl in the other picture.”
Mr. Fields paled and his blue gaze swung to Ava. She offered a sympathetic smile. “Mr. Fields, I’m so sorry about the circumstances of our meeting, but I wanted to come hear the details myself.”
He took a moment to gather his composure and Caden wondered why the reaction to Ava. Finally, the man shook his head. “There aren’t any more details than what I’ve already told these two.”
“All right,” Caden said. “We have a list of names that Ava’s father used as aliases when he was working in Moscow. Maybe you’d recognize one of them?”
“I doubt it.”
“Do you mind if I read them to you?”
Another heavy sigh. “If you insist.”
Caden read from the list on his phone. For each name, he’d mentally figure out how to say it, then look up and voice it aloud, watching for any kind of reaction. When he said Dimitri Golubev, he thought he got a slight blink. Caden lowered his phone after the last name. Either the man didn’t recognize any of the names or he was very good at hiding his emotions—except when it came to his son and family. Caden waited. “Nothing?”
“No. Sorry.”
“One more question. The picture that was taken from your son’s home, on the mantel. The killer made a point to come back and get it. You said you would try to remember which picture it was. Have you had any success?”
Another blink. Similar to the one he’d gotten when he mentioned Dimitri Golubev. A frown creased the man’s forehead. “I think it may have been a picture of the children when they went waterskiing last summer.”
“Actually, it looks like it might be a picture of five men. We just can’t make out their faces. And the photo was black and white. Does that help?”
The man’s face never changed and he shook his head. “No, sorry.”