Hunter skipped the rest of the photos and skimmed over the report and the autopsy files. He finally found what he was looking for as he got to the last page inside the folder – the crime-scene log sheet. Eight different people had had direct access to the Harper crime scene that day – the county coroner, a county forensic investigator, the county sheriff together with two of his deputies, Chief Cooper and two other Healdsburg police officers.

‘Are Officer Perez or Officer Kimble still with the police department?’ he asked Chief Suarez.

The chief scratched a thin scar under his chin. ‘Officer Perez retired four years ago. He lives just down the road from me. His son is with the fire department. Officer Kimble passed away a few years back. Pancreatic cancer won that battle.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Hunter’s attention returned to the log sheet. ‘Do you know any of these deputies from the County Sheriff’s Office, Peter Edmunds or Joseph Hale?’

The chief nodded. ‘Sure, but they aren’t deputies any more. Peter Edmunds is Captain of Field Services and Operations and Joseph Hale is Assistant Sheriff of the Law Enforcement Division. They both live in Santa Rosa. They’re great guys.’

Hunter rubbed his eyes for an instant. The county coroner, the county forensic investigator, the county sheriff, and Healdsburg old chief of police, Chief Cooper, would all be over sixty-five years of age today. It wasn’t impossible but there was very little chance any of them would’ve become a serial killer in their old age. That meant that everyone who had attended the crime scene was accounted for, unless someone hadn’t been logged in. But if that was the case, Hunter had no way of finding out who else had seen the scene. Instinctively he flipped through the files and the pictures again and suddenly frowned. Something caught his eye. He returned to the photographs, this time studying every picture attentively. When he reached the last one, he flicked back to the files and scanned them again, all the way to the last page.

‘Are these all the case files or is there another folder somewhere in your archives room?’ he asked.

‘That’s it. Nothing else.’

‘Are you sure?’

Chief Suarez arched his eyebrows. ‘Yes I’m sure. I told you, it took us five hours to find those files. We’ve been through every single one of the old boxes, and believe me, there were quite a few of them. Why?’

Hunter closed the folder on his lap.

‘Because there’s something missing.’

Ninety-One

The drive to Chief Cooper’s house took Hunter less than fifteen minutes.

He stepped out of the car, and as he closed the door behind him, a woman came out onto the house’s porch. She was in her mid-sixties, slender but not skinny. She wore a simple blue dress and a pocketed apron. She had a long angular face framed by straight gray hair falling to her shoulders.

‘Morning,’ she said with a smile. Her voice was a little hoarse, as if she’d been fighting off a cold. ‘You must be the detective from Los Angeles Tom mentioned.’ Her blue eyes fixed on Hunter’s face. They were as tender as her voice.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Hunter said, approaching her. He produced his credentials and she scrutinized them like a seasoned pro.

‘My name is Mary,’ she offered, extending her hand. ‘Tom’s wife.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.’

They shook hands and Hunter was surprised by how much strength she packed in her tiny hand.

‘Tom is down by the lake, fishing.’ She shook her head in a mock-disapproving way. ‘He’s always fishing. Well . . .’ she laughed, ‘at least it gives him something to do. Or else he’d be hammering things in the house all day long.’

Hunter smiled back politely.

‘Just follow that path over there all the way down the small hill,’ she said, pointing to a narrow trail that seemed to lead deep into the woods to the right of the house. ‘You can’t miss him.’ She paused and quickly assessed the sky. ‘Do you have a raincoat in that car of yours?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

Mary gave him a sweet smile. ‘Wait just a minute, then.’ She walked back into the house. A few seconds later she reappeared carrying a police-issue raincoat. ‘Rain ain’t far away, you better take this or you might catch a cold.’ She handed him the coat. ‘Tom’s got enough coffee and cakes with him to feed the two of you for a day and a half.’

Hunter thanked her again and disappeared down the trail. It twisted left and right several times, getting steeper the deeper Hunter moved into the forest. It led down to a secluded spot by Lake Sonoma. He paused as he reached a rock and dirt landing at the bottom of the path. There was no one there. The lake was placid, still even. Hunter took a step back and listened for a moment. Something didn’t seem right.

Suddenly he swung around, drawing his gun.

‘Woah, easy.’ The man standing about five feet from him with his hands up in the air was in his late-sixties, tall and lean. He had two tiny tuffs of white hair over his ears, black rimmed glasses pushed up all the way to the bridge of his nose, and a cotton white moustache that seemed way too thick for his thin face and lips. Despite his age, he still looked like he could handle himself in any sort of fight.

‘You heard me coming up behind you?’ His voice was commanding.

‘Something like that,’ Hunter replied, his gun still targeting the old man.

‘Damn, I’m either losing my touch or you’ve got fantastic hearing. And that was a fast draw if I’ve ever seen one.’ He waited a few seconds. ‘I’m Tom Cooper. You must be Detective Robert Hunter from the Los Angeles Robbery Homicide Division. Do you mind if I lower my hands?’

‘Yeah, sorry about that.’ Hunter flicked the safety into place and holstered his gun.

‘You’re not very light on your feet, though. I could hear you coming from halfway down the hill.’

Hunter looked down at his now dirt-covered boots. ‘I wasn’t expecting a stealth exercise.’

Chief Cooper smiled. ‘Sorry, old habits die hard.’ He offered his hand.

Hunter shook it firmly.

‘I’m all set up over here.’ He pointed to another trail that went around some trees and to the left. Hunter followed him into a second clearance where a fisherman’s chair and a small weave basket packed with food were arranged by the water. ‘Help yourself to some coffee and cake if you like. Do you fish?’

‘I tried it once when I was a kid.’ Hunter shook his head as he poured coffee from one of the two large thermal flasks into a cup. ‘I wasn’t any good at it.’

Chief Cooper laughed. ‘No one is good at it if you only do it once. I’ve been doing it for years and I still have a lot to learn.’ He reached for a thin fishing rod, grabbed a couple of live black lugworms from a container, and pushed their slimy bodies through the hook. ‘I prefer live bait, it’s . . .’

‘Nicer for the fish,’ Hunter finished. ‘And since you don’t keep them, might as well give them a nice treat in exchange for having their mouths hooked.’ He had a sip of his coffee and nodded. It was just as good as the one he had back at the police station.

The chief studied Hunter curiously before looking at his setup. ‘No fish net or containers to take my catch back up to the house.’ He nodded. ‘You’re observant, but I guess you wouldn’t be a detective if you weren’t.’ He swung his hook into the lake. ‘OK, I know you didn’t come all this way to learn about fishing or to shoot the breeze. You said on the phone that you needed to talk to me about the Harper case.’