When Shadows Fall. J.T. Ellison

      Sam took the phone back, and Fletcher stood.

      “Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt this fascinating discourse, but while you hash this out, Dr. Owens and I should really get the samples from Savage’s autopsy to the lab. Detective Davidson, would you mind calling me when you’re done here? We can meet up after you’ve served the warrant.”

      Both men gaped at him, but Davidson recovered quickly. “Sure. No problem. Might take an hour or so. We’ll have to pull Judge Hessian off the links. He has a standing tee time once court lets out for the day. You’ll be on your cell?”

      “I will.”

      “Lab’s down the street, toward the river. Just go back the way we came in. You can’t miss it. I’ll see you there once we get things settled. Mac here will do the right thing as soon as Old Hessian gets wind of this. Won’t you, Mac?”

      Picker glared at the younger man and said nothing.

      Fletcher shook hands with Picker, and he and Sam left the room. He heard Davidson saying, “Now, listen, you old fool, you know we have every right to see Rolph’s computer.” His voice drifted off, and Fletcher waited until they were outside to say, “Bunch of BS going on in there. Thanks for getting us out. They’re going to argue for hours, and I don’t feel like waiting around.”

      “Picker’s hiding something,” Sam said.

      “I know. Maybe he’ll be more open with Davidson once we’re out of here. You have an address for Savage?”

      “Yeah. We need to head back north on Highway 29, then take the first exit east toward Farmville. His cabin is just outside the city limits.”

      “You’re a regular cartographer.”

      That made her laugh, and he was glad, because the worried dent left her forehead. “Maps are my secret love. No, Xander sent another text with the instructions. He says to watch for a large oak tree with a split trunk. That’s the entrance to the drive. I hope he’s okay.”

      “He’s fine. He’d have sent an SOS if he was in danger. Sounds to me like he found something interesting and didn’t want to share it with Davidson until we had a chance to look it over.”

      Sam nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. We have to get these samples to D.C. as soon as we can. They’ll be okay in the cooler for twelve hours or so—they’re packed well—but that’s it. I don’t trust anyone down here to handle them properly. I took a DNA swab from Savage’s neck and ear. I’m hoping we’ll have something belonging to the killer. He held him down, a knee in his stomach, and strangled him face-to-face. It takes a lot of hate to watch someone die like that. I’m hoping he was talking while he did it, and some saliva got onto Savage’s face.”

      “You’re good at this.”

      “Too much experience.”

      He drove in silence for a few minutes, thinking to himself, That’s why Savage wanted you. He knew you’d be able to suss things out. Then Sam said, “There, that’s the road we need.”

      “You sure?”

      “I’m sure. Turn.”

      The road looked more like a donkey track, thin ruts in the dirt wending into a deep, dark forest, and Fletcher’s Caprice didn’t have the best clearance for off-roading, but he listened, going cautiously so he didn’t bottom out.

      “Whitfield has his Jeep, I take it?”

      “I’m sure he does. He doesn’t like to drive my BMW. Makes him feel icky, he says.” She laughed. “His parents really did a number on him when it comes to anything that could be construed as capitalistic.”

      “BMWs are only for capitalists, I take it?”

      “Yep. The road to his cabin isn’t much better than this, and washes out in heavy rains, so he’s got the Jeep jacked up a bit. I’m sure it was no problem. Come on, Grandma, put your foot in it. It evens out in a hundred feet.”

      “Grandma my ass,” he muttered, but she was right, the road did get better once they got away from the highway. He supposed Savage kept it a mess to discourage visitors. It was effective.

      Another mile into the woods, Savage’s cabin appeared. It wasn’t much to speak of. Fletcher had seen hunting shacks with more space, but he supposed only one person didn’t need too much room. If the kid was grown and gone, and it was only Savage, it would be enough.

      “Where’s Xander’s Jeep?” Sam asked.

      Fletcher didn’t see it, but he assumed Whitfield was smart enough to have it out of the way. He was right; as he pulled the Caprice to a stop, Whitfield appeared next to them, almost as if he’d walked right out of a tree.

      “God, I hate it when he does that.”

      “Me, too,” Sam said. “It’s like he’s part of the forest. He does it up on the mountain all the time. He and Thor can disappear in plain sight. It’s spooky.”

      She got out of the car and went to him, and gave him a quick kiss. Nothing overt, nothing sloppy, only a peck, and even after everything Fletcher had said on the way to Lynchburg, he still felt a twist in his gut when he saw the way she looked at him.

      Let it go, man. She ain’t ever gonna be yours.

      Better friends than nothing, that was for sure. He’d probably lose her, anyway, get himself into his familiar routine, once the novelty wore off.

      Keep telling yourself that, Fletch. You might even start to believe it.

      He stepped from the car and his cell rang. He looked down to see Hart was calling. “Hold on a sec. Gotta take this.”

      Hart’s voice was tight and anxious. “Where the hell are you, hoss? I went by your place to bring you a study lunch and it was buttoned up tight.”

      “South. Lynchburg. I’m helping Sam out on a case. Why, what’s up?”

      “We have a missing kid. Ten-year-old girl named Rachel Stevens. Disappeared from Connecticut Avenue, near the zoo. Parents reported her missing an hour ago, and the cops who came to take the report found a note. Probable kidnapping. AMBER Alert just went up. We need you back here, right now.”

      “Who snatched her?”

      “No idea. Parents are married. It doesn’t look custodial. Armstrong’s liaising with the FBI. It’s task force city, all hands on deck.”

      “Shit.”

      “As in it’s hitting the fan, yes. So get your sweet booty back to D.C., will ya?”

      Fletch looked at his watch. It was 2:00 p.m. “I’ll be back by 7:00. Tell Armstrong.”

      “This is going to be over by 5:00. Hurry up.”

      He hung up and Fletcher stowed his phone.

      Sam had been listening. “What’s wrong?”

      “A little girl named Rachel Stevens has gone missing. I gotta get back to D.C.”

      Sam frowned. “That’s awful. Well, I know all the players now, and the hard part’s over. You can go back up. Xander can keep an eye on me. You can take the samples to Amado, and he can begin the tests. It gives us half a day’s head start. And we’ll come back up tonight.”

      Leaving Sam in the lion’s den with all the lies flying around went against his better judgment, but he didn’t see that he had a choice. She was right, the bulk