Page 136 of Lethal Danger

If his priority was getting out of there, he’d better get to work on that goal rather than lie in bed obsessing over something he couldn’t change. And shouldn’t want to change.

He’d examined the designated smoking area at the midway while on patrol, sans a K-9 or Jazz to offer their keen senses and insights. Still, looking at the spot in person had helped him visualize the circumstances better.

If Sam had gone there on his own, he could have talked to other people also there, or he could have smoked alone. The area was a small grassy patch with one park bench and an ashtray fixed on top of a stone pedestal.

Seemed like Zeke should’ve been able to see Sam the whole time he was there if Zeke had been in line for the SkyPlunge ride as he’d said. But given that Zeke had apparently been drunk and enjoying the company of his pals, he probably hadn’t cared to notice.

Hawthorne knew from personal experience that young guys that age had plenty of other things on their minds than watching out for the safety of their friends.

So Zeke and his other buddies had grown tired of the line and decided to move on. There had probably been plenty of girls for Zeke to be distracted by, as well.

Sam would’ve been at the smoking spot for a while, until he finished his cigarette.

Or until someone attacked him. Maybe it had begun quietly, a verbal challenge or argument between two males under the influence.

But if a violent altercation had broken out, wouldn’t people have noticed?

That thought had led Hawthorne to consider another theory. Maybe Sam had left the smoking area and went somewhere nearby. Maybe a girl lured him away or someone else had approached him.

Adjacent to the smoking area stood a small building with indoor bathrooms. A maintenance shed was also nearby, but it was gated off for staff use, locked with a padlock that required a key.

If Sam had been lured somewhere close, there weren’t many choices that would’ve been private enough to hide a fight. There was a patch of blacktop behind the restroom facilities that was slightly off the beaten path, but also a distance from the smoking area.

A person would have to leave the smoking spot, cross the wide blacktopped path full of visitors, and oddly stand by the pipes and plumbing that connected to the restroom facilities in the unlit area behind the building.

Would Sam do that while smoking a lit cigarette he wanted to finish? Not unwillingly, coerced or pressured by an attacker. Which meant that couldn’t be the likely explanation for how he was killed.

The trouble was, after Zeke had left for other parts, Sam could’ve gone anywhere. No one would have recognized him and known to come forward with the information later.

Hawthorne couldn’t calm Rebekah’s impatience with another dead end. He had to find something more.

Like the information Jazz had told him about Patch and the ex-husband of his wife.

Thanks to the need to straighten things out with Jazz, he’d completely forgotten about what she’d found. She’d said the cult stalker had been around two years ago.

He hadn’t missed the significance of the timing. Seemed like a long shot to think the ex of one of Patch’s wives could be connected to Sam. And yet, maybe it wasn’t such a stretch.

Sam had been at the cult then. If the stalker was around before his death, had Sam interacted with him? Been followed by the man?

Hawthorne stood and went to his computer on the desk, waking it from sleep. Sitting down as it came to life, he navigated to the internet browser and looked up family court records.

He found Patch’s more recent marriage record and scanned it for the wife’s name.

Brenda Klika.

Hawthorne froze.

Butch’s last name was Klika. Maybe it was a more common surname than Hawthorne thought. Or maybe she’d used her maiden name, rather than her previous husband’s surname.

He quickly clicked through to divorce records and searched for Brenda Klika.

The divorce listing popped up on the screen.

Brenda Klika had divorced Butch Klika. Two months after Sam Ackerman’s death.

The pieces fit together in Hawthorne’s mind as he leaned back in the chair, staring at the screen.

Butch had supervised security the night Sam was at the fair. He’d been stalking people at the cult, furious with Patch and his soon-to-be ex-wife.

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