Page 80 of Unforgotten

He pointed to the picture. “That’s him. And look, there’s Candace.”

“Are you sure that’s our guy? This picture’s from a long time ago.”

“I know, but I saw him, Chief. I didn’t see him up close and he’s bigger now, but he has the same kind of slump. And Candace’s impressions of him are right on.”

“Why didn’t she recognize him, then?”

“He never told her that they’d met. And as far as she was concerned, he was just a freshman when she was a senior. Why would she have anything to do with him?”

“But wouldn’t she have recognized him? You put two and two together. Why hasn’t she?” When Ryan frowned, the chief lifted a hand. “Hear me out. I’m playing devil’s advocate here.”

“I recognized him because I’ve been searching for similarities. This guy would’ve meant nothing to her. There were almost a hundred people in each class at that high school, and she was three years older.”

“Still...”

“Sir, forgive me, but she would’ve been eighteen and he would’ve been fifteen. Now that she’s twenty-two and he’s nineteen, it doesn’t sound like that much of a difference, but at those ages, it’s practically a lifetime. The guy’s voice probably hadn’t even changed. Unless she had a reason to do so, she wouldn’t have noticed him.” He tapped the camera in the black and white photo. “Plus, this kid has a camera. A good one. We know he’s been taking pictures of her.”

The chief stared at him for several moments before finally nodding. “All right, then. I agree. He’s a good possibility. Let’s go see where he’s at.”

Pure relief surged through Ryan. He knew in his gut thathe’d found Candace and Bethanne’s abductor. He knew it. It was all he could do to not throw both of his hands up in the air in relief. “Yes, sir.”

As Chief Foster led the way to the computer at his desk, he glanced at Ryan. “Before I forget to tell you this, that was good thinking.”

“I agree,” Sheriff Johnson from the Crittenden County Sheriff’s Department added as he joined them. “I wouldn’t have thought to go through high school yearbooks and I sure wouldn’t have thought to look so carefully at the underclassmen—or pay special attention to the candid shots. Your detective work is impressive.”

Ryan didn’t know if it was impressive or not. All that really mattered to him was that they find Candace and her cousin in time. “I just hope I’m right.”

“We all do, son. We all do.”

Minutes later, they had an address. Scott Conway, age nineteen, had graduated high school in May and had recently moved into a rental unit in a house just off Main Street. And—his mother was Peggy Conway, personal assistant to Walker Burkholder.

Ten minutes later, Sheriff Johnson, Deputy Ernst, Chief Foster, Ryan, and two other officers were putting on bulletproof vests, securing their weapons, and racing out to their vehicles. The lieutenant and sergeant still at the station were on their phones, calling in additional resources. They would be ready to go as soon as they heard plans for the next steps.

The house Ryan pulled up to was as nondescript as any other on the street. White paint, black trim, black front doors. Quaint, older Craftsman style. Likely built in the fifties after the war, it was two stories with an addition and second entrance that looked newer. The landscaping wasefficient and easy to maintain. “What’s the story on this place, Chief? Do you know?”

“I’ve never had the occasion to be inside, but when I was growing up, the Hendersons owned it.” He scratched his head. “When Mrs. Henderson passed on, her daughter converted it into three rental units.” He glanced at his phone. “Scott is listed as a tenant of 1B.”

“All right. What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to knock on the door. Ask some questions. If he’s not in, we’re going to have to wait until the DA gets done talking with Judge Verona to get that search warrant. He’s there now.”

“Yes, sir.”

They exited the vehicle as the other officers parked their vehicles behind them. As they walked up the front walkway, Ryan noticed several small brass plates with the unit numbers on the black doors. “Chief?” Ryan turned to him for direction.

“Go ahead and knock.”

He exhaled, reminding himself to remain calm and steady. Candace needed him to be smart, not barge in half-cocked. He rapped on the door twice, then waited, listening for footsteps.

It was silent.

After about thirty seconds passed, he knocked again.

“May I help you?”

They turned to see a woman in her late forties heading their way. She had on jeans, a matching jean jacket, and a pair of designer tennis shoes. Her hair was cut short in a fashionable pixie cut.

“Hey, KJ,” Chief Foster said cordially.

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