Page 39 of Lie for a Million

“But you might not need it. They’re lovers—and I’d bet my life that one of them killed your father. I’d rather it had been Lila, but I think it was more likely Roper. He wanted a chance to compete in the Run for a Million, and he wanted Lila. Now he’s got both. And his only alibi is his parents. They claimed he was home all night. You know they’d lie for him.”

Simone pushed out of the chair and stood quivering. “I’m going to call that FBI man right now. If Roper McKenna isn’t behind bars by tomorrow, I’ll be demanding to know why!”

* * *

Working in the bungalow, Sam sighed as Simone ended the phone call. He’d agreed with much of what she’d said—yes, it was possible that Roper and Lila were involved. And yes, it was possible that one of them, most likely Roper, had murdered Frank. But only possible. Nothing she’d told Sam was proof. As for the alleged affair, even if the two had been caught in bed together, any bearing on the crime would be circumstantial at best.

He needed evidence—blood, prints, a weapon, a witness, an admission of guilt, or something else of equal weight. When he’d explained all this to Simone, she’d ended the call in a huff.

Sam understood. He even felt sorry for her. She was pregnant and married to an abusive man who gave her no validation. Taking over the ranch house was likely her one hope of happiness. In her helpless condition, she was fighting for it any way she could.

At times like this, all Sam wanted was to throw up his hands and leave. But for him, giving up would be unthinkable. It wasn’t just that his reputation hinged on solving Frank Culhane’s murder. He wanted the truth. He wanted justice. He wanted honor. He couldn’t walk away. Not even to be with Jasmine again.

He’d followed every clue, done interviews and background checks on every suspect. What was he missing? He needed a breakthrough.

He was reviewing the notes from Mariah’s interview about Charlie when he heard a knock. After closing the computer screen, he got up from the table and opened the door.

Mariah stood in the doorway. She was shepherding two boys who appeared to be brothers, in their early teens. They were dressed in faded jeans with mud-stained knees. The smaller boy wore a Dallas Cowboys T-shirt. The other boy was bare chested. Their feet were clad in worn, soggy sneakers.

Both of the boys were tanned and freckled with sun-bleached hair from long summer days spent outdoors. Their bicycles lay at the end of the driveway. Sam guessed that they were from one of the ranches that bordered the McKenna spread.

“These boys came to the house and asked to speak to the FBI man. They say they have something to show you.” Mariah, her duty done, turned away and headed back to her kitchen. Only then did Sam notice that the older boy was carrying something bundled into a damp gray shirt.

He ushered the boys inside, introduced himself, and gave them cold sodas to drink. “You must’ve had a long, hot ride to get here,” he said. “Let’s see what you brought to show me.”

The older boy handed Sam the rolled shirt. “We were fishing in the creek when we found this. Our mom said we should bring it to you.”

It occurred to Sam to wonder how the boys’ mother had known he’d be here. But this rural ranch country was not so different from a small town. Word would have spread.

Wearing latex gloves, Sam laid the shirt on the table and unrolled it to expose what was inside. His breath caught.

Lying amid the damp folds, coated with mud and moss, was a veterinary-sized hypodermic syringe.

Pulse galloping, Sam covered the syringe and turned to the boys. “Tell me exactly where and how you found this,” he said.

The older boy spoke. “Like I say, we were fishing in the creek—mostly for fun. There aren’t many fish there now that the water’s so low. My hook snagged on something. I waded into the water to get it loose. That’s when I saw this needle. It was stuck between two rocks.”

“How did you get it out?” Sam asked. “What did you touch? Did anything stick you?”

The boy shook his head. “I was careful. I used my pocket knife to work it loose. I just touched the end when I put it in my shirt. At first, I thought maybe some junkie had tossed it out of his car. But then I saw that it was too big for that. It looked more like something for a horse or cow. I took it because I didn’t want some little kid to find it.”

Smart lad, Sam thought. A find like this in the wrong hands could have led to a bad outcome. Had the boys just brought him the murder weapon? That remained to be seen.

He couldn’t count on the local crime lab for this. The syringe would have to be delivered, preferably by hand, to the FBI lab to check for any prints, DNA, and any trace of fentanyl. Given its muddy condition, finding anything useful would be a challenge. But even a small clue could crack this case wide open.

Sam drew a $10 bill out of his wallet. “I’ll need to keep your shirt,” he said, handing the boy the money. “This should buy you a new one. Now, what I want to do is drive you boys home and let you show me exactly where you found this. We can put your bikes in the back of my vehicle. All right?”

The boys nodded, clearly excited to be involved in solving an actual crime. They watched while Sam photographed the syringe, covered it with the shirt again, and zipped it into an evidence bag before stripping off his gloves.

“One more thing,” Sam said. “You need to promise me you’ll keep all this a secret. Not a word to your friends or anybody, understand?”

“Can we tell our folks?” the younger boy asked.

“All right. But they’ll need to keep the secret, too. It’s very important. Do you promise?”

Wide-eyed, the boys promised. Sam loaded the bikes into the back of the SUV, made sure the boys were buckled into their seats, and set out to follow their directions.

He knew the road. It was the one he’d taken when he went to interview the McKenna family. The creek, which flowed south, meandered on the right-hand side through a shallow wash. The creek was low in the dry summer, with boulders emerging from the water. Redwing blackbirds flitted among clumps of overhanging willow.

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