FRIDAY, 10:45 A.M.
UNCLE JERRY’S HOUSE
Heath steered all the way up the drive this time. His gut tensed. “What is Lori’s SUV doing here?”
Liam unbuckled. “I guess you could ask her.”
Lori and Harper stood on the porch. Lori waved and smiled.
Heath’s gut soured. He didn’t like this. Not one bit.
He’d intentionally left Harper in the dark about their visit to her uncle while they followed up on this lead. The sheriff had given him the go-ahead to question the man about the rifle. Heath suspected he was quick to agree in order to get Heath off his back as he prepared for a press conference. All eyes were on the small town now. Heath was happy to be out of that circle and out of the spotlight should someone try to ask him about his cabin.
The old red truck that had been here last time was gone. Heath climbed out as Harper and Lori stepped from the porch. Heath contained his anger. “What are you doing here? I left you with Meghan at the sheriff’s office. You said you were okay to stay there for a while.”
“You’re not officially protecting me anymore, remember? And I thought you were going to check on something for Sheriff Taggart. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
He eyed the house. “So is he home?”
“Nobody answered. His truck isn’t here. I can only assume he’s gone. What are you doing here?”
Should he tell her the truth? He hadn’t wanted to share the news until they knew if there was an actual connection. If it even mattered. Heath drew in a breath.
Liam stole the words. “The custom rifle maker gave us this address for John Smith.” He hesitated, then said, “Your uncle could be John Smith.”
Harper frowned. She took in Liam’s words as if he spoke in a different language, and then her eyes moved to Heath. “What is he saying?”
“You heard him. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to check it out first.” He hadn’t been concerned that she would come back. She’d seemed so dead set against it.
She crossed her arms. “My uncle is not this John Smith guy you think could be the killer. I don’t believe that.”
“Well, let’s prove that you’re right.” He loathed putting that hurt in her eyes. Though she hadn’t known her uncle growing up, no one liked to think a relative would try to murder them.
“Even though he isn’t here, we could still look around the place,” Liam said.
“We stopped by to ask him some questions,” Heath said. “We can’t illegally enter the yard looking for evidence.”
“No, but those woods surrounding the house are public lands. National forest,” Liam said.
“How do you know?” Heath asked.
“The private property signs for one thing,” Liam said.
“He’s right.” Harper’s frown had deepened.
“We can walk all the way around the house in the woods and look for evidence. Maybe we’ll see something in plain view that will give us probable cause. I really think we should have tried for a warrant.” Liam left them to explore the woods near the house.
“I’ll get my camera,” Harper said.
Heath wasn’t sure that was a good idea. This guy was a relative. Add to that, her father had been murdered on this property. She probably wasn’t the best person to take pictures. There wasn’t any way she could be impartial, but he also understood her need to take them. No matter what. And he wouldn’t stand in her way.
“If y’all don’t mind,” Lori said, “I’m going to wait in the Navigator, where it’s cooler and possibly safer.”
“I’ll bring Harper, Lori. You can go on home.”
Lori eyed Harper. “I’m happy to wait for you.”
Harper shook her head. “It’s okay. Thank you for bringing me out here.”
Lori winked, waved, and climbed into her vehicle. Then she started it and drove away.
Harper hiked next to Heath. He wished she would have gone with Lori.
“So, what if he is John Smith?” she asked. “That doesn’t mean he killed Sophie. I can’t believe it. That would mean he tried to kill me too.”
Exactly what he was thinking.
“It doesn’t make sense.”
Heath understood why she refused to believe her uncle had anything to do with the crimes. He was still her mother’s brother, albeit a man her mother clearly hadn’t gotten along with.
From the woods behind the house, Harper peered through her camera. “I told myself I would never come back here. That I would look at those pictures I took if I thought I wanted to come back.”
“So why did you come back?”
“Emily asked me to. She felt guilty about leaving, I guess. And I felt guilty about not being concerned about our uncle. I knew she wouldn’t leave it alone, so when I was cut loose from Meghan, I called Lori. She’s always there to help.”
Yep. That was Lori.
“Even so, you don’t have to be here now. You don’t have to take pictures. He’s not home. You can tell Emily you tried.”
“It’s okay.” She lifted her chin.
“I wish he were home. Questioning him would be better than slinking around in the woods behind his house.” Images remained fresh in his mind—Heath, Harper, and Arty hiking in the woods.
Arty in a pool of blood.
Heath concentrated on the woods around them.
“We could wait on him,” Harper said. “He mentioned he wasn’t feeling well. I got the impression he was sick. I mean, really sick. He probably won’t be gone long.”
Heath stuck close to Harper as they roamed the woods near the house. The man hadn’t kept the place up. This home was nothing like Donny Albright’s.
“I don’t think the house has been painted since we lived here,” she said.
“Hey, you two, over here,” Liam called from closer behind the house.
Crouching, he studied the ground.
Next to him, Harper took more pictures. “Shells. So what?”
“This cartridge is specifically designed for a Remington 7mm Magnum rifle,” Liam said.
“So?” Heath asked. “How many people shoot that same kind of rifle?”
“I’m not sure what the percentages are, but considering this is John Smith, we need to go with this. I know you don’t want to—”
“It could be a coincidence,” Harper said.
“Or this could be our guy,” Heath said. “There has to be a target out there somewhere. Let’s see if we can find bullets. We can let ballistics figure this out.”
“How about a warrant to go into the house?” Liam asked.
Heath frowned. “The sheriff has his hands full. They all do. I want to bag those shells for evidence, but not until they’re photographed as such. So we touch nothing. Hear me? This is all in plain view, so there’s nothing illegal about finding this evidence.”
Heath glanced at Harper, hating what this was doing to her. “You okay?”
She nodded. He didn’t believe her.
“He’s an old, sick guy. He couldn’t have done any of it.”
“You can’t see him in the hat, holding the weapon? Killing her?” Liam leveled his gaze. “Or you don’t want to see it.”
“Liam. Enough!”
Her mouth formed an “O” as she blew out a steady breath. “I want to take pictures, but I’m not working for Sheriff Taggart. Not officially. And it’s not a crime scene yet, but you think it will be?”
“I think we have enough to get a warrant.” Liam crossed his arms. “But I’m like Harper. I don’t work for the sheriff’s department either, except, as he loosely termed it, as a law enforcement consultant. So what do you want to do, Heath?”
Heath only shrugged. He got that Liam had a feeling about her uncle. He could be wrong. Let him be wrong.
“I’m worried about him, Heath,” she said. “He was sick the other day. Wasn’t feeling well. Maybe he’s hurt or too sick to answer the door.”
“His truck is gone. He’s not here.”
“You can’t know that,” she said.
“I’m thinking exigent circumstances,” Liam said. “If he is the murderer, he could be out there killing someone else at this very moment—the public could be in danger. So there. Exigent circumstances.”
Heath eyed his brother. “Done this often, have you?”
Liam shrugged. “You can call someone to get us a warrant. As for me? I don’t like to think a murderer is running around loose, believing that he framed some other guy and we bought it. I mean, the sheriff bought it.”
“Look,” said Harper, “I can’t believe Uncle Jerry is the shooter. Just like you’re not going to believe it when you hear that Pete Langford could be the bomber.”