Emory could see the growing anguish on Jeff’s face. They had just come from Virginia’s apartment, which showed no signs of foul play.
From the passenger seat, Jeff banged his fist on the dashboard of Emory’s car. “I should’ve started looking for her sooner.”
“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you spoke to her last, and you’ve been working the case. Stop beating yourself up.” Emory parked the car outside the Rutherford Geophysical Survey Company. “We’re going to find her, and she’s going to be fine.”
Jeff leapt from the car to the sidewalk. “It’s getting late. I hope they’re still open.”
Once inside, they asked the first person they encountered who handled surveys for the TVA, and they were directed to the office of Fred Leakey.
The bearish man at the desk looked up through his shrubby eyebrows to see who entered his office. “What can I do for you?”
Emory shook his hand. “Hello, Mr. Leakey. We’re here looking for a friend of ours.”
“Does he work here?”
“No, she was supposed to call here to inquire about the survey report for the TVA windfarm property in Brume Wood.”
“No one called. A woman came by here yesterday asking about it.”
Jeff showed him a picture of Virginia on his phone. “Is this her?”
“She’s the one.”
“Did she get the report on the TVA windfarm property from you?” Jeff returned his phone to his pocket.
“I told her Clayton Barnes hadn’t submitted the report yet.”
Emory typed the name into his phone. “What else did you tell her?”
“I said he works out in the field most days, so he usually just checks in when he’s done with a job. She insisted on speaking with him, so I called his cell and left a message.” Fred looked at his desk phone. “No messages, so I’m guessing he hasn’t called me back yet.”
Emory waited a second for anything else. “Is that it?”
“Yep. She left after that.”
Jeff thought about the argument he had with Virginia outside Becky’s home. “Maybe she went to find him. Does Clayton have a home number or a family member we can call?”
“Family? He moved here from Idaho a couple of years ago. I don’t think he has any family here.”
Jeff was growing impatient. “Can you just give us his number and address?”
“The number I can give you. The address wouldn’t be appropriate.” Fred wrote the number down for them.
Emory shook his hand again. “Thank you for your time.”
As the PIs exited the building, Emory pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Clayton to—” His phone rang before he could finish. “It’s my dad. I need to take this.”
Jeff took the number from him. “I’ll call Clayton.”
Separating from his partner, Emory answered the phone. “Hi Dad.”
From the sheriff’s station in Barter Ridge, Sheriff Rome greeted his son. “I had the picture and envelope you gave me tested. Everything was clean, except for one thumbprint on the picture.”
Emory raised a celebratory fist. “You got a print? That’s excellent! Were you able to identify it?”
“I was.” The sheriff sighed before spitting it out. “Emory, the fingerprint belonged to your father. It was Carl Grant’s.”
“Wow. Well, okay. That’s to be expected. He had to be the one to take the picture from Granny’s house, so that makes sense. Whoever took it from him must’ve kept it in a safe place and only touched it with gloves before delivering it to me.”
“It’s possible, but…”
Jeff came back to him and mouthed, “No answer.”
Emory nodded that he understood. “What is it, Dad?”
“The picture, front and back, was totally clean except for that one clear print right smack dab in the middle of the picture. It was like someone wanted you to find it.”
The weight of the sheriff’s words piled onto Emory’s heart, leaving him without enough breath to speak.
“And you’d think after eight years, the print might’ve been smudged a little or a bit worn, but it was like it was touched yesterday.”
Emory inhaled enough to say, “But he’s dead. We saw it.”
“I know. I know, Son.”
“His fingerprint is on file. Someone must’ve gotten ahold of it and fashioned a way to transfer it. Latex or something.”
“There’s something else.” Sheriff Rome cleared his throat. “The envelope. It looked familiar to me. Then it hit me. It was your mother’s.”
“He kept a memento from her?”
“Not your birth mother. Lula Mae. It’s the same as the envelopes in the stationery set she keeps in her desk at home.”
Emory tried to picture the postcard-sized envelope. A thin red line bordered the entire edge of the white paper, and a curious red tornado garnished the flap. “It looked pretty ordinary to me, apart from the little whirlwind.”
“That’s actually a vortex. Lula Mae bought the stationery when we went to Sedona for our twenty-fifth. Some little bo-tique shop.”
Emory shook his head. “That letter was slid under my door a month ago. That would mean your house was broken into twice.”
“Emory, I don’t think the TBI is behind the break-in at your place or mine. Something else is going on here.”
Emory nodded. “But what?”
“But she’s missing! Do you not get that?”
From behind the wheel, Emory listened as Jeff argued with a representative from Virginia’s car recovery service and waited for him to hang up. “Can’t they track her car?”
“They can.” Jeff added a mocking tone to his voice. “But I’m not authorized to receive that information. Between them and the police just telling me they’ll ‘look into it,’ no one is taking her disappearance seriously.”
Emory looked at the clock and the street for their current location. “I have an idea.” He spun the car into a U-turn. “He’s going to be getting off work soon, so we have to hurry.”
“Who?”
Emory ignored him and pushed his Bluetooth button. “Call Wayne Buckwald, office.”
“Wayne? Why the hell are you calling him? He’s not going to care. He’s just going to tell us to call the police.”
As Wayne answered the phone, Emory held up a finger to silence his partner. “Hello Wayne. It’s Emory.”
“Emory? Why the hell are you calling me?”
Jeff put his palms before him as if to say, “See!”
“I’m calling because I need your help.”
Wayne snorted. “Why on Earth would I help you?”
“We’re working on the Corey Melton case—”
“That case is closed, you idiot. Haven’t you heard?”
“I know you’ve arrested Peter West, but surely you’re smart enough to realize by now he didn’t kill Corey.”
“You’re wrong, once again.”
Jeff cupped his mouth to silence a laugh, and Emory gave him the “Shh” sign.
“Virginia Kennon’s car is missing.”
“Who’s that?”
“One of my new partners.”
“So file a report with the police. What are you bothering me for?”
“Out of respect for you and your reputation, I wanted to help you avoid embarrassment when proof surfaces revealing the real killer is not the one you’ve arrested.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Virginia was chasing down a lead and was given evidence explaining the real motive behind Corey’s murder and implicating the murderer, but before she could look at it, her car disappeared. The car is registered with a recovery service, but they won’t tell me where it is because I’m not the owner. They would, of course, assist law enforcement in finding it.”
“Why doesn’t this Virginia just call them and get her car back?”
Unsure how to answer, Emory shrugged at Jeff, who then imitated Emory’s voice. “She’s out of the country. She was on her way to the airport when she came into possession of the evidence.”
“So her car was stolen with this so-called evidence inside?”
Emory didn’t answer Wayne’s question. “My fear is that if the police find the car first, they’ll see the evidence and then realize the TBI – you, really – got it wrong. I’d like to work with you to get it before that happens. Then we could share the information, and you could announce the new suspect. If you’re the one who found the real killer, people would overlook the fact that you initially charged someone else by mistake. Will you help me track down the car?” Wayne was silent, so Emory added, “For old times’ sake?”
“What’s her name again, and what’s the name and number of the recovery service?”
Emory gave him the information. “So you’ll call me back once you have the location.”
“Yeah. Just wait for my call.”
As soon as the line disconnected, Jeff made a prediction. “He’s not going to call you back.”
“I know that.” Emory parked his car across the street from the Knoxville Consolidated Facility of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. “That’s why we’re here.”
A few minutes later, they saw Wayne exit the building and get into his car. As he pulled out of the parking lot, Emory waited until he had driven far enough ahead before following him.