“Sounds like a plan,” Chase said. “So your trip to Dutton was a bust?”

“Not entirely.” Daniel put the memory card from Jim Woolf’s camera on the table. “The reporter got an ‘anonymous’ call telling him where to go and when to get there.”

“You don’t believe him?” Chase asked.

“Not entirely. He lied about a few things and left a few things out altogether. Woolf said he got the call at noon, got to the tree at one, and the bikers passed by at two.”

“It’s only a thirty-minute drive from Dutton to Arcadia,” Ed said. “He had time.”

“It’s normally a thirty-minute drive,” Daniel said. “But they had a five-mile section of that road blocked off before nine yesterday morning. It was local traffic only and they checked IDs and wrote down tag numbers. Woolf told me his wife dropped him off, but I called Sheriff Corchran on my way back and she’s not on his list of cars that passed through their checkpoint.”

Chase nodded. “So either Woolf got there before nine yesterday morning, or his wife dropped him off a couple miles from the crime scene and he had a two- or three-mile hike. He still would have had time to climb the tree by two, but just barely and only if he ran the whole way.”

“Jim doesn’t seem like the running type. Hell, I was kind of surprised he even managed to get up in the tree at all. Add to that, that the call came into 911 at two-oh-three,” Daniel said. “The biker who called it in came in sixty-third, so he was in the back of the pack. I checked with the race officials. The biker who came in first passed by there at quarter to two.”

Ed frowned. “Why would the reporter lie about something you could check?”

“I don’t think he wanted to admit he’d been at the ditch a lot longer than a few minutes. It gives him time to contaminate the scene. And maybe if he told me what I wanted to know, I’d go away. I called Chloe Hathaway in the SA’s office on my way in. She’s going to try to get a warrant for his phone records at the Review office and at home as well as his cell. I’m betting he got a call early Sunday morning.” Daniel sighed. “Then when I got done with Jim Woolf, I went across the street to the police station. Alex Fallon was on her way in.”

Chase’s brows went up. “Interesting.”

“She said she was trying to get her stepsister’s missing person paperwork filed. She’d called repeatedly over the weekend, but was told her stepsister had probably just taken off somewhere. She’s convinced her stepsister’s disappearance and the Arcadia murder are no coincidence. I’m inclined to agree.”

“I’m not inclined to disagree,” Chase said. “So?”

“So I told her I was going to see the sheriff and I’d check it for her.” Daniel fought the urge to squirm when Chase’s brows went higher. “I was going in there anyway, Chase. I thought I could talk to Frank Loomis, maybe find out if there was something they weren’t telling Alex, some reason why they were so sure Bailey had just run away.”

“But?” Chase asked.

“But his clerk kept telling me it would be just a few minutes more. Finally, I left. Either Frank wasn’t there at all, or he was refusing to see me and the clerk didn’t want to be upfront about it. Either way, I was being stonewalled and I don’t like it.”

“Did you request the Tremaine police report?” Ed asked.

“Finally, yes. Wanda, she’s Frank’s clerk, said it was in ‘storage’ and would take some time to find. She said she’d get back to me in a few days.”

“It is thirteen years old,” Chase noted, but Daniel shook his head.

“This is Dutton we’re talking about. It’s not like they have warehouses full of records. All Wanda had to do was go to the basement and get a box. She was putting me off.”

“So what are you gonna do, Daniel?” Chase asked.

“When I talked to Chloe about the warrant for Jim Woolf, I asked her about getting this report quickly. She said if I didn’t get a response by Wednesday morning to get her involved. I know Frank Loomis doesn’t like outsiders, but it’s not like him to just blow me off like this. I’m starting to get really worried, like maybe he’s a missing person.”

“What about the Fallon woman’s stepsister?” Ed asked. “Did they file her?”

“Yes, but Wanda said they’re not pursuing it with any resources. She said Bailey Crighton had a record for possession and public intoxication. She’d been in and out of rehab. She was a junkie.”

“Then maybe she did run off,” Chase said gently. “For now focus on our victim.”

“I know.” But Daniel wasn’t going to mention his planned trip to Peachtree and Pine with Alex Fallon. “Felicity said the bruising around her mouth was put there after the fact, so I think we were meant to see it. Rape kit found evidence of assault, but no fluids. She died sometime between ten p.m. Thursday and two a.m. Friday, and she had just enough Rohypnol in her system to show up on the test. The old newspaper articles on Alicia Tremaine’s murder said they found GHB in her system. So both victims were given date-rape drugs.”

Chase blew out a breath. “Damn. He’s copying it all.”

“Yeah, I know.” Daniel checked his watch. Alex would be getting here soon. He couldn’t get rid of the worry that she’d been brought back here for a reason. At least he could keep her safe while she searched for Bailey in the hellhole of Peachtree and Pine. “That’s all I have for now. Let’s meet tomorrow, same time.”

Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 7:25 p.m.

Alex had no sooner parked her car at the curb in front of a small two-story house in a quiet Atlanta suburb than Daniel Vartanian appeared at her window. She rolled it down and he crouched, his face level with hers. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Thanks for following me home. You can leave your car here and not have to drive so far later.”

His eyes were bright blue and completely focused on her face, and Alex found herself staring too closely. His nose was sharp and his lips firm, but all in all, his features worked together to make him a very ruggedly handsome man. She remembered him holding her hand, then remembered he most likely knew more than he’d let on. “I appreciate you being willing to come with me.”

One side of his mouth lifted, softening the harshness of his features. “I have to change and walk my dog. You can come in or sit out here, but it’s getting cooler.”

It was, actually. Now that the sun had gone down, there was a hard chill in the air. Still, prudence prevailed. “It’s okay. I’ll wait.”

He lifted one blond brow. “Alex, you’re trusting me to take you to Peachtree and Pine. My living room is a good bit safer, that I can assure you. But it’s up to you.”

“Put that way…” She rolled up her window, grabbed her satchel, and locked up her car. She looked up to find Vartanian eyeing the satchel dubiously.

“I don’t want to know if you’re carrying anything nasty in there, because unless you have a permit to carry a concealed, you’d be breaking the law.”

“That would bad of me,” Alex said, blinking her eyes, and his lips twitched.

“Now if you were to leave the satchel in my private residence… that would be okay.”

“No kids in your house?”

He took her elbow and led her up the sidewalk. “Just Riley, but he doesn’t have opposable thumbs, so he’s safe.” He unlocked his front door and disengaged his alarm. “That’s him.”

Alex laughed as a droopy-looking basset hound sat up and yawned. “Oh, he’s cute!”

“Yeah, well, he has his moments. Just don’t feed him anything.” And with that cryptic advice, Vartanian jogged up the stairs, leaving Alex alone in his living room. It was a nice enough living room, more comfortable than the one she’d left behind in Cincinnati, which wasn’t hard to accomplish. The super-size flat-screen TV was the centerpiece of the room. A pool table dominated his dining room and in the corner was a shiny mahogany bar, complete with stools and a Dogs Playing Poker painting.