“All right.” He found the photo in his briefcase and held it so that she couldn’t see, then pulled a small magnifying glass from his pocket.

When he sighed in relief, Alex did, too, unaware until that moment that she’d been holding her breath. He put the picture away, then met her eyes. “Right ankle.”

Alex moistened her lips, then pursed them until she was confident her voice wouldn’t shake. “Then that’s settled at least.” It didn’t answer Meredith’s concern, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. “So let’s go.”

Chapter Sixteen

Dutton, Wednesday, January 31, 3:45 p.m.

Well, well. He stood in the bank’s vault staring into Rhett Porter’s safe-deposit box. His chuckle was bitter as he read the letter Rhett had left behind.

My key is being held by an attorney you’ve never met, in a place you’ve never been, along with a sealed letter detailing our sins. If anything happens to my wife or kids, the letter gets mailed to every major newspaper in the country, and my key will be turned over to the state’s attorney. See you in hell.

It was dated less than a week after he’d fed DJ to the gators. He guessed Rhett Porter wasn’t so dumb after all.

He pocketed the note and left the vault, nodding to old Rob Davis, who waited outside. Davis owned the bank and normally would have delegated tasks such as safe-deposit boxes to a lowly employee. But this was a delicate matter, and he’d come without a warrant. He’d known Davis wouldn’t question his request, because he knew more about old Rob Davis than Davis knew about him. That was power.

“I’m done.”

Davis gave him a look of contempt. “You abuse your position.”

“And you don’t? Give my regards to your wife, Rob,” he said deliberately. “And if Garth asks, tell him I have it.”

Rob Davis’s cheeks went hollow. “It?”

“Your nephew will understand. Garth’s smart that way.” He touched his hat. “Bye.”

Macon , Georgia , Wednesday, January 31, 3:45 p.m.

“We’re late,” Alex said as Daniel signed them in.

“I know. I wanted Fulmore and his lawyer to get here first. I want a grand entrance.”

“He’s just going to say he didn’t kill her, like he’s been saying for thirteen years.”

“Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. Between your memory and the yearbooks we’ve gathered, we’ve identified ten of the fifteen pictures. Only Alicia was murdered.”

“And Sheila,” she corrected, “but I get your drift. Daniel, I’ve read about the trial. They had evidence on Gary Fulmore that tied him to Alicia’s body. Her blood was on his clothes. It’s not like they railroaded him for murder.”

“I know. One of the things I’m hoping to get out of this is some way to determine if that picture of Alicia was taken the same night she was killed or a different night. If it was the same night and the rapists followed the same MO, maybe they left her somewhere and Fulmore came along and found her.”

“I wish I remembered that night,” she gritted out. “Dammit.”

“It’ll come. You said you were sick that night.”

“Yeah. I had stomach cramps and went to bed. It was awful.”

“Were you sick often?”

Her step faltered and she looked up at him, wide-eyed and miserable. “No. Hardly ever. It’s another coincidence, isn’t it? Do you think I was drugged, too?”

He slid his arm around her for a hard hug as they arrived at the small room in which she’d come face-to-face with the man accused of suffocating her sister before beating her face with a tire iron. “Let’s take one thing at a time. Are you ready?”

She swallowed hard. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Then you walk in first. I want to watch him when he sees you.”

Her shoulders grew rigid as she took a deep breath. Then, with determination, she twisted the doorknob and pushed her way inside where a man in orange coveralls and a man in a cheap suit waited. The cheap suit was Jordan Bell, the defense counsel.

Bell stood up, annoyed. “It’s about time you-” He stopped at the clatter beside him. Gary Fulmore had shoved back from the table, his chair bouncing against the concrete floor and his shackles clanging. His mouth was open, his face instantly pale.

Bell ’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is this?”

Fulmore backed away when Daniel pulled out Alex’s chair and she slowly sat.

As pale as Fulmore was, Alex was paler. She was pale… as a ghost. Daniel felt like the biggest heel in the universe for putting her through this. But she’d wanted to find Bailey. She’d wanted to help him get justice for the three murdered women.

Somehow, some way, Alicia’s murder was the linchpin that held it all together.

“I said”-the lawyer hissed through his teeth-“what the hell is this?”

“M-m-make her g-g-go aw-w-way,” Fulmore stammered, his breath coming in shallow pants. “Go aw-way.”

“I came to see you,” Alex said, her voice calm. “Do you know who I am?”

Bell was frowning to beat all hell. “You never said you would bring her.”

Alex stood up and leaned forward, bracing her fists on the table. “I asked you a question, Mr. Fulmore. Do you know who I am?”

Who she was, was magnificent, Daniel thought. Calm, cool, and collected under extreme stress. Quite simply, she took his breath away.

She had the same effect on Fulmore, who was nearly hyper- ventilating.

Daniel moved so that he stood between Fulmore and Alex. She was still as pale as death, her eyes wide and intense, and he realized she wasn’t calm and collected. She was only cool, which meant she was terrified. But she was holding it together.

“Alicia Tremaine was my sister. You killed her.”

“No.” Fulmore shook his head vehemently. “I did not.”

“You killed her,” Alex continued as if Fulmore hadn’t spoken. “You put your hands over her mouth and smothered her until she died. Then you beat her face again and again until even her own mother didn’t recognize her.”

Fulmore was staring at Alex’s face. “I didn’t,” he said, desperation in his voice.

“You did,” she spat. “Then you dumped her in a ditch like she was garbage.”

“No. She was already in the ditch.”

“ Gary,” Bell said. “Stop talking.”

Alex jerked her face to glare at Bell with loathing and contempt. “He’s serving a life sentence. What more can I possibly do to hurt him?”

Fulmore hadn’t taken his eyes off Alex. “I didn’t kill her, I swear. And I didn’t dump her in that ditch. She was already dead when I found her.”

She turned back to him, her contempt now focused and cold. “You killed her. Her blood was on your clothes. On that tire iron they found in your hand.”

“No. That’s not what happened.”

“Maybe you could tell us what did happen,” Daniel said softly.

“ Gary,” Bell warned. “Shut up.”

“No.” Fulmore was trembling. “I see her face, still. I see her when I try to sleep.” His eyes locked on Alex’s, filled with misery. “I see her face.”

Alex made no move to comfort, her expression now set in stone. “Good. So do I. Every time I look in the mirror, I see her face.”

Fulmore swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his bony throat.

“What happened, Gary?” Daniel repeated, and when Jordan Bell would have protested, Daniel froze the lawyer with a look. Alex was trembling, and he gently pushed her back into her chair, Fulmore’s eyes following her down.

“It was warm,” Fulmore murmured. “Hot, even. I was walking. Sweatin’. Thirsty.”

“Where were you walking?” Daniel prompted.

“Nowhere. Anywhere. I was high. PCP. That’s what they told me anyhow.”

“Who told you?” Daniel asked, still softly.

“The cops that took me in.”

“Do you remember who took you in?”

Fulmore’s lips thinned. “Sheriff Frank Loomis.”

Daniel wanted to ask more about Frank, but held those questions back. “So you were high and you were walking and you were hot and thirsty. What then?”