“DO YOU WANT to drop in on Harkin like we talked about?” Luke asked as they reached the car outside the Coffee Pot.

Abby was still stuck on the talk with Considine and let the question fall to Woody. They’d learned nothing new from the man. He’d stonewalled twenty years ago, and today he talked in circles. Kept insisting they’d be married now if Ciara hadn’t been taken from him. Abby was even more convinced he was hiding something. There was a faint aura of deception on the taped interview with the guy and now, two decades later, it was obvious that something was eating away at him.

Was he their killer? After all this time they’d need to find a strong motive and some solid proof or get an unambiguous confession in order to prosecute.

Her thoughts were drawn back to Kelsey Cox in a rush, and her weak confession stirred familiar anger inside. As always, Abby tried to mellow by reminding herself that Cox would at least serve time in prison. But was it really fair that because of the passage of time the best they could get was partial truth and not the whole story? What would they be able to get for Ciara?

“I’d like to go over the physical evidence,” she heard Woody say. “It should be ready by now. I’ll look it over and see if I can get out some discreet inquiries to the locals. Why don’t you drop me at the PD and I’ll do that while you two visit Harkin.”

Luke looked at Abby. “Sound good to you?”

She smiled. “Yeah, it’s a good idea,” she said to Woody. “Glad we brought you along.”

Woody gave her a raspberry for that comment and they all laughed as they got back in the car.

“Think Woody will get people to talk?” Luke asked after they dropped Woody off and were on the way to Harkin’s property in Atascadero. They’d discussed the interaction with both Considine and Winnen on the way back from San Luis Obispo and agreed that it would be a good idea to get the San Luis cops’ impressions of both men as adults, twenty years later. Woody planned to ask around tactfully about J. P. and Chaz while he looked over the physical evidence.

“Oh yeah,” Abby said. “Trust me, cops are gossips. For people who deal with facts and hard evidence all day long, they’re certainly not reticent to pass on juicy, unsubstantiated gossip about their own. And Woody will have cachet because of his time on the job, even though we’re out-of-towners. If he finds someone close to his generation and gets them to talk, he’ll learn everything there is to know about J. P. Winnen.”

Luke frowned. “Really?”

“Yep, when I was a rookie, one of the first things Woody warned me about was the gossip train. He said a PD was like a Peyton Place. Between the cops, the dispatchers, and the civilian employees, everybody’s business was everybody else’s, so be careful.”

Luke laughed. “Bill never mentioned that to me.”

“Bill probably stays out of it. I did my best, but Woody likes to sit around and tell war stories, and that invariably winds down into gossiping about who did what with whom and where.”

“Learn something new every day.” He glanced at her and his gaze met her dazzling smile that made his heart skip a beat. Things had been going so well during this trip. And this case invigorated him. He’d always enjoyed working by himself but was pleasantly surprised how great it was to be part of a team, a good team. The hope —no, he realized that it wasn’t simple hope; it was confidence. He had confidence in himself and the team. They’d get answers —he was sure of it.

GPS told him how to get to Harkin’s place. The man had purchased five acres off of Highway 41 and put a mobile home on it. Luke remembered reading in one of the due diligence reports that Harkin had fenced the place in and become a hoarder, living like a hermit surrounded by piles of junk. He found the highway easily enough and exited the freeway.

“Think we should have called him?” Abby asked.

Luke shook his head. “I’ve found that surprise often works better. Not always, but I think the odds are in our favor. Besides, all the current reports said he’s become a hermit, so I bet he’s home.”

Abby nodded. “I saw that. The last time anyone spoke to him he complained that he was a marked man, that he couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without people looking at him as if he were a cold-blooded killer.”

“Did you find anything in there about how he supports himself? I doubt the settlement money has lasted this long.”

“I saw a line in the last due diligence report that he applied for disability and lives on that. Slow down. I think we’re coming up on it now.” Abby beat Garmin by a second. Luke liked to listen to her voice more than the annoying mechanical one.

He turned off the highway and the blacktop gave way to dirt road. Garmin told him that they had three quarters of a mile to go. The drive ended at a large wrought-iron gate plastered with No Trespassing signs. There were several big satellite dishes on the roof.

Luke pulled off to the side and parked the car. “Looks like he’s got an intercom set up. Let’s see if he answers.”

He noted the terrain as he got out of the car. Oak trees and dry scrub brush lined the driveway that ran up to a double-wide, weathered mobile home. The path to the front door was clear, but on either side, piles of rusty junk were layered. There were old cars, several refrigerators with the doors removed, chairs, benches, and stacks of other stuff that Luke couldn’t identify.

“Eww,” Abby said. “This reminds me of one of those reality shows.”

“Sure does.” He hit the intercom button and stepped aside for Abby to speak. “You might have better luck, says the male chauvinist who thinks this guy will more readily speak to a woman.”

“I must be a chauvinist too, because I agree.”

The intercom crackled to life. “Who’s there?”

“Investigator Abby Hart to speak to Jasper Harkin.”

“Investigator?” Then silence for several seconds.

“He’s coming out onto the porch,” Luke said.

Abby stepped next to him for a better view of the porch. “He’s changed,” she said.

Luke grunted in agreement. On the interview tape Harkin had been rail thin. The man stepping off the porch of the mobile home was obese, huge. He used a cane to climb down the stairs and then gingerly sat his bulk on a motorized wheelchair before heading their way.

He reached the gate and squinted at Abby through the bars.

“What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you about Ciara.”

“I’m done talking about that.”

He started to turn around when Abby surprised Luke by saying, “What if I told you that I know you didn’t do it?”