Detective Garrett Douglas didn’t like the feds much, and he really didn’t like that hot bitch fed who cut him out of the loop. What did that say about their so-called community relations? Their wanting to work with all the other agencies? Just lies.
Garrett was a good cop—he knew he was a good cop—but he was a small-town deputy. He’d just been going through hell three years ago, it wasn’t his fault.
He’d asked Carl about the Albright case, and Carl told him what he’d told him three years ago. And Garrett had no reason not to believe him.
Except … there was something bugging him. And he couldn’t figure out what it was.
He went home Thursday evening, bringing all the Albright files with him. He’d looked at them on Monday, but he wanted to look at them again. To make sure that he or Carl hadn’t missed anything. Double-check.
Because there was one thing that he was pretty sure about. The fed was right, and the Albrights had never left the country. They’d been murdered that Friday. All but the boy.
Carl had said they must have left without him or the timeline was off and the Young family didn’t remember exactly when the kid left. Which was possible. But still, it would have been really close. Based on the timeline and the facts that they knew about when the girls left school, the family had about an hour from when they would have been home after school to when they’d have to leave to reach the border. And to leave a kid behind?
He didn’t see it. Garrett’s daughter was the world to him. She was the bright spot when everything else was shit. If he was in trouble, he would do everything to protect her—and maybe that’s what the mother was doing. Protecting the kid because she knew that she was in danger.
But what about the girls? Why had they come home? Why had the older girl called the younger girl out of volleyball practice? Did the parents ask her to … or did they have another reason?
And then what about the boy? His body hadn’t been found with the others, or anywhere else. Garrett got a copy of the search and rescue report and the cadaver dogs hadn’t found anything near the burial site or the house or between the Albright house and the Young house. They searched the open fields where the kids were known to play, and nothing.
But what was really bugging Garrett was Frank Pollero. Garrett hadn’t interviewed him that day. He’d been dealing with his bitch of an ex-wife and Carl had gone there and reviewed the security footage. And Carl had come back and said that Denise Albright had changed the accounts, then embezzled the money electronically the same day.
“Frank said she was fine, acting normal, came in and flirted, and he didn’t even think to call Kiefer because Albright is a regular customer.”
Garrett stared at the still shot. He recognized Kitty Fitzpatrick. Hell, he’d known Kitty most of his life. Why hadn’t he seen this before?
The thing was, Carl knew Kitty as well. He should be able to look at the picture and tell that it was Kitty. It was a crappy picture and all, and yeah, her general appearance matched Denise Albright’s, so it was no surprise the feds thought it was Denise, but anyone who knew Kitty would know this was Kitty. Including Carl and Frank.
Garrett called the sheriff. “Hank, we need to meet. Not tomorrow, now. Can I come over?”
He was piling everything into his car when lights shined down his driveway. They went off, and Carl got out of his personal truck.
“Hey, thought you might be up for a drink.”
“Sorry, can’t.”
“Where are you going?”
“Food. I have nothing here.”
“At ten at night?”
“What’s with the third degree?”
“You took all the files from the station.”
“So?”
He didn’t see Carl’s gun until it was too late.