Page 65 of The Last Close Call

She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of his building where yuppie-looking people with computer bags were getting their mail from a wall of postboxes.

“This way,” he said, leading her to an outdoor stairwell. They walked up in silence and reached an open breezeway that looked out over a landscaped courtyard. A woman stood beside a fountain reading her phone as her little dachshund strained against his leash.

Jack stopped beside a door and untied a key from the drawstring of his running shorts.

“You want something to drink while I grab a shower?” He held the door open, and she stepped inside.

“I can’t stay. I’m meeting a prospective client for dinner.” She turned around as he switched on the light in the foyer.

“Can you at least sit down?”

Ignoring the question, she turned and surveyed his home. The place had a slanted ceiling with exposed rafters. A counter divided the kitchen from the living area, where an oversize leather sofa faced a brick fireplace and a coffee table blanketed with paperwork. The place was tidy, but minimalist, and she wondered if a woman had ever lived here with him.

“What’s on your mind, Rowan?”

She set her purse on the counter and turned to face him.

“I was researching William Anderson today, and I came across something disturbing.”

He frowned. “Why are you researching William Anderson?”

“It’s a follow-up for Joy.”

“What kind of follow-up?”

“She hired me for help constructing her family tree. He’s part of it.”

He just looked at her, and she sensed he didn’t approve of this development for some reason.

“What did you find out?” he asked.

“Gale and Philip Anderson—William’s adoptive parents—died on the same exact day five years ago. I found a news article about it. The story said it was an ‘accidental’ house fire but—” She halted midsentence, seeing his reaction. “You knew.”

He nodded.

“William Anderson isn’t only a sexual predator, Jack. He’s also a murderer.”

He nodded again, and she felt a rush of disbelief that he was standing here calmly confirming her bombshell.

“This guy killed his own parents!”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“But you said...” She trailed off as she watched the look in his eyes. Her stomach twisted as she put it together. “There’s another victim?”

“Yes.”

It was like a punch in the gut.

Rowan turned away. Tears burned her eyes. She had worked as fast as she could, and still it hadn’t been fast enough.

“This was in San Antonio.” He stepped over to the coffee table and picked up a newspaper. He handed her the folded A-section.

She looked down at the article. A photo at the top showed a smiling young woman. Dread filled her as she read the caption: AMBER NOVAK, TWENTY-NINE, WAS FOUND DEAD IN HER QUAIL GROVE HOME.

She skimmed the first few lines of the story and glanced up. “She was strangled?”

Jack nodded.

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