Page 48 of Ask for Andrea

We were leaving the station for the night when the call came through on the tip line.

I knew it was different when Domanska’s assistant Carly ran outside to the parking lot. With all of the previous tips, she’d sent an email with the information to be filed. The caller was still on the line, Carly said, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head toward the station. “I think you should talk to him if you have a second. He’s calling about the KTVD article he saw.”

I was out of the cruiser and back inside the station before I saw whether Domanska had decided to follow. Carly didn’t get excited easily. And the KTVD article, which had been published a couple of days earlier, had already brought in a new trickle of dead-end tips. It happened any time something new was published about my case.

I watched the blinking red light on the phone in the empty room, waiting for Carly and Domanska to catch up to me and take the held call.

It was a 208 number: Idaho.

Domanska got there before Carly. Her expression was impassive, but I knew her well enough by now that she wouldn’t have taken the call if she didn’t sense the same electricity in Carly’s voice that I had.

“Detective Domanska,” she said evenly as she picked up the call. I leaned next to the phone and her ear.

The person on the other end of the line cleared his throat. “Um, hi. I’m really sorry to bother you. It’s probably nothing. But I figured you’re following up on everything. It might be a waste of your time . . .”

“Spit it out, man!” I yelled into the receiver.

Domanska patiently allowed him to finish then prodded, “You’re not bothering anyone, and we are definitely following up on all tips. I appreciate the call. Can you tell me what prompted you to call in?”

The caller let out a rush of air. “Oh, okay. Cool. We got KTVD here a couple months ago—you know the buy-and-sell site? You probably know that. But they have articles in the sidebar, and most of them are total clickbait, but the rest are mostly about Utah—I swear I’m getting to the point—” He cleared his throat again nervously, and I imagined myself banging the phone receiver on the desk in frustration.

“Yes, I’m familiar with KTVD,” Domanska responded. “You said you saw the article about Meghan?”

“Yes,” he replied, sounding relieved. “And I think I’ve seen that guy before. I—I think maybe he murdered my friend.”

I saw Domanska glance at Carly, who was listening in and recording the call on the other side of the room with a headset. She frowned. He was starting to sound crazy.

“Okay. Can you tell me your friend’s name? And your name also, if you don’t mind?”

There was another sharp intake of breath on the phone.

“Yeah, my name is Ken. And my friend Skye was murdered three months ago.”

29. BRECIA

Kuna, Idaho

Now

Are you dead?

I asked her the question in the same way I sometimes asked Oscar if he was going to kill the mouse or play with it all day: I didn’t really expect a response.

I didn’t pay much attention to her at first. I was focused on the fact that there was a detective on the front porch. With an actual search warrant for James’s car.

Then the young woman standing next to the detective stepped forward and poked her head into the house.

April didn’t even glance at her. Neither did the girls.

Oscar did, though. He made that soft, scary noise in the back of his throat that he sometimes made when he saw the neighbor’s cat in the front yard. Then he slunk into the kitchen.

I’d thought she was a tech or an assistant. She was young: couldn’t be older than twenty. She had chestnut brown skin and curly black hair that dipped past her shoulder blades. She didn’t smile at anyone. Instead she darted her wide, hazel eyes around the room as she stepped forward and peered past April at Kimmie and Emma.

For a split second, I bristled. Who did this girl think she was?

Then I watched as she brushed past April’s arm.

She scattered. Like I did.

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