“I ONLY VISITED HIM up here once, after he retired.”

Woody and Luke stopped at the curb, just in front of Asa Foster’s Idaho home. Luke waited for Woody, knowing that this was hard for him. Asa had been Woody’s patrol partner and his friend for many years. Even after Asa transferred to detectives, he and Woody had stayed close. Luke could feel the depressing finality in this visit, and he’d barely known the man. It must be doubly hard for Woody.

Woody had wanted to make the trip right after he officially retired, months ago. But between helping Luke close up his open cases and jumping through hoops for the federal hiring process, the trip had been delayed over and over. As soon as they finished the last bit of federal paperwork and both of their schedules jibed, they’d made arrangements to fly up together, hoping to beat the winter snowfall.

After Abby’s shooting, Luke thought Woody would want to reschedule. When he realized Woody didn’t want to do that, he’d almost considered bringing up the idea, asking Woody to reschedule, because he was worried about her. But reality sank in hard, like a twenty-five-pound barbell dropped on his foot; Abby was engaged to another man. Luke chastised himself for even considering it was his place to worry about her.

He worked hard to put Abby out of his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. As he and Woody stood in front of Asa’s house, Luke knew Woody still struggled with the loss, even with the passage of time.

“We went fishing on a lake about half an hour away. Caught a lot of fish. He said then that it felt like heaven here.” Woody’s wistful tone made Luke sad, and he couldn’t help but remember the horrible way Asa had died.

The retired detective had wanted to force the California governor to come clean with what he believed was the truth about a twenty-seven-year-old cold case, the Triple Seven murders. Asa had heard the allegations made about the murders by George Sanders and had it in his mind that the governor and his chief of staff, Gavin Kent, were guilty of a triple homicide —Abby’s parents and Luke’s uncle. Asa was right in one respect: Kent did partially confess, only to immediately kill himself and prevent further inquiry. But not before Asa himself died, cut down by the governor’s security man because Asa was a perceived threat to the governor.

Luke was there when Asa took his last breath, vainly tried to stop the bleeding. But the retired detective had been hit in an artery, and there was nothing Luke could do. Asa died while he watched helplessly. His last words were one of the reasons Luke and Woody were here now, at Asa’s home.

“There is proof.”

Later, after Luke told Woody, they decided that Asa meant proof pertaining to the cold case, to the murders of Buck and Patricia Morgan and Luke Goddard, Luke’s uncle. Kent confessed to killing Patricia Morgan and to setting a fire to destroy evidence in the Triple Seven restaurant. But the entire story about what happened the day Patricia was slain, presumably with her husband and Goddard, had never been uncovered.

Did Asa have proof, here in his home, connecting the triple murder to the governor, a man who was rumored to soon be running for the US Senate as a shoo-in?

As soon as Woody was ready, Luke wanted to go inside and find out.

Finally Woody sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

Luke followed him into the house.

It wasn’t a big house and it was obviously a bachelor pad —neat, but sparsely furnished. A fifty-inch television dominated the small living room.

“Asa loved NASCAR, said the big screen made it feel as if he were there,” Woody commented. He had in his hand a letter Asa had left for him on the last day of his life. He’d guessed that violently confronting the governor would cost him his life. In the letter, Asa gave Woody directions to and a combination for his safe.

“Looks like the bedroom is back here.” Luke pointed to the left.

Woody nodded and headed that way. According to the note, the safe was in Asa’s bedroom, in the closet under a bunch of boxes. Woody found it straightaway. It was a square metal box, two feet by two feet, and Woody needed Luke’s help to pick it up and put it on Asa’s unmade bed.

“Asa wanted to be certain no one ever ran out of the house with this,” Woody said as he bent to work the combination.

Luke said nothing, but he held his breath. If there really was proof in here about who killed Abby Hart’s parents and his uncle, it would be the answer to a twenty-seven-year-long prayer.

The safe clicked open. On top was a gun; it looked like a .45 to Luke. Woody removed it and uncovered files.

“These are police files,” Woody said as he took them out. He opened the top one. “Simon Morgan.” Woody frowned. “I know that name. . . . He’s Abby’s uncle.”

“Abby’s uncle? He’s in prison, isn’t he?”

“Ahh.” Woody’s eyes skimmed the file. “Yeah. At least he was. It was a sore spot with Buck. He and his brother never got along, and when Simon went to prison, Buck wanted to forget him.”

“He’s in for murder if I remember right.”

Woody brought a hand to his chin. “Yeah, the incident is coming back to me. He went up for a minor felony but killed someone there and eventually drew a life sentence.”

“Why would Asa have his file?”

“I don’t know. He highlighted some names I don’t recognize.”

“What are the other files?”

Woody set the Simon Morgan file down. “There are a couple of accident reports —hit-and-runs, old ones. This last folder is just notes, looks like Asa’s writing. Suppositions. . . . Hmm.”

“No smoking gun,” Luke interpreted, and the disappointment bit deep.

Woody looked at him. “Maybe not. Or maybe we just have some work ahead of us.”

They emptied the safe and found a bag to put everything in. The gun and a hunting rifle Asa owned were to go to a neighbor, who also happened to be a retired cop. Woody was given all of Asa’s fishing gear. Asa told Woody he could go through everything in the house, take what he wanted. After Woody finished, he was to call the cleaning lady and tell her to contact Asa’s attorney. Asa had left her the house in trust because she reminded him of his deceased wife.

Luke and Woody had flown to Idaho hoping to tie everything up over the course of three days. Their new job in the cold case squad had been scheduled to start next week, though now that was iffy. Luke had a planned weekend away with his daughter set to begin Friday morning so they could spend some time together. He’d been so busy lately, they hadn’t been able to do it before she began fifth grade studies. As much as he hated to admit it, Luke had been anticipating this trip to Idaho with Woody more than the trip with Maddie.

Over the past few months the last words Asa had breathed about proof had stuck with Luke. It had permeated his mind that there was a possibility of more answers where his uncle’s murder was concerned. He tried to be settled about the crime, to follow the advice he had given Abby often, to trust God’s justice. As the hollow feeling of disappointment spread, he realized the hope of concrete evidence was nothing but smoke and what they’d found here would likely not change what they already knew.