Page 53 of The Last Close Call

“None we could label that way. But we looked around.”

“Did you look at the son?” Jack asked.

He nodded. “Will Anderson. We looked at him pretty hard.”

Bryan’s pulse quickened. “Did you interview him?”

“Not me—one of the police detectives. But I remember him from the night of the incident. He and his older sister—Melissa?”

“Marissa,” Jack said.

He nodded. “They both showed up while we were putting the fire out. One of the neighbors called them. We took a look at both, but they had alibis. The sister was at home across town with her husband and baby.”

“And Will?” Jack asked.

“He was working the night shift at one those twenty-four-hour call centers.”

A night shift. Bryan and Jack exchanged another look. They had discussed the possibility that WCR worked nights and had a reason to be out on the prowl on a regular basis.

“I know what you’re thinking,” George said. “I thought it, too, at the time. But a detective vetted the kid’s alibi. He went over there and talked to his boss in person.”

Jack didn’t comment, but Bryan knew what was on his mind. Someone needed to take a look at this case again.

And Will Anderson wasn’t a “kid.” He was a serial rapist by that point, becoming bolder—and more sadistic—with each new attack.

“Hell of a case.” George shook his head. “We tested carpet samples, brought in a canine team, everything. No pour trails, no trace of accelerants. But I never liked that faulty water heater. Combined with that dead battery and the son not being home? Damn case always bothered me. Couldn’t get it out of my head.”

“I’ve got a few like that, too,” Jack said.

The man leaned on the worktable, and Bryan’s gaze settled on the red bandanna. He thought of Evelyn Wood with her hair pulled back, painting a house she couldn’t stand to live in anymore. Her entire life had been blown apart, and so far the police hadn’t done anything to help her.

“You know, before I retired,” George said, “I went back and took a fresh look at some of the old ones.”

“Old cases?” Jack asked.

George nodded. “I tried to look up the son. I wanted to see if he’d got himself in any trouble since the fire.”

“And?” Bryan asked.

“Couldn’t find hide or hair of him. No current driver’s license, no current address. No arrest record—which was the main thing I was looking for.”

“We can’t find him, either,” Jack said.

“You try his sister?”

“She’s still in Round Rock,” Bryan said, “but she said she hasn’t seen him in years.”

“Oh yeah?”

“She said he’s been out of touch since they settled the estate.”

Quiet filled the room as they looked at one another.

Bryan felt wired now, with impatience and excitement pinging around inside him. Any shred of doubt he’d had that they had the right suspect was gone.

Now they just needed to find him.

“So, tell me.” George folded his arms over his chest. “What is it you want him for?”

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