Page 50 of The Killing Plains

“Check your email—she copied you in. Anyway, watch.”

Russ started the video. The counseling center door swung open and a slender boy emerged, a ballcap on his head and a bulky pack slung over his shoulder. The image wasn’t the clearest, but it plainly showed the boy walking swiftly to a BMX-style bicycle chained to a telephone pole at the curb. He bent over the bike, presumably unlocking it, then jumped on and pedaled rapidly away.

Russ paused the video. “Denny’s session with Brenda ended at one p.m. This footage came from a camera on the daycare center across the street. Time-stamped 1:03.”

He clicked “Play,” and together they watched a series of spliced clips tracking Denny’s progress through Crescent Bluff on the day of his death. Some bits of footage came from retail establishments, others from home security systems. Most was of poor quality and taken from a distance. But in every shot, he seemed in a rush, standing on the pedals and pumping hard.

The final seconds of the montage showed Denny zipping through an intersection in front of a convenience store.

“That’s on the Old Ranch Way,” Colly said.

Russ nodded. “He’s heading north. And look at the time stamp—1:12.”

“So?”

“Avery’s report says Denny told Brenda he was going to the library after therapy to return some books for his mom. But he didn’t. Timeline doesn’t work. And we found library books in that backpack yesterday.” Russ jabbed his finger at the screen. “Something changed his mind.”

“Brenda said he was acting antsy. He could’ve been excited about the weekend and blown off the library.”

“Who’d want to lug a bunch of books to the stock pond? That’s a long ride on a hot day.”

Colly removed her glasses and chewed absently on one of the temple tips. “Too bad he’s wearing the hat. If we could see his face, his expression might show—” A noise in the hallway interrupted her thought. Avery was standing at the door, a manila folder under her arm. Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed.

“Sorry I’m late.” She grabbed a chair against the wall and pulled it close to the desk. “I’ve got news.”

Russ closed the laptop. “What’s up?”

“Last night, I went through the case photos.” Avery pulled a color print from the folder and laid it on the desk.

Colly examined it closely—a mid-distance shot of a BMX bicycle lying on its side in tall grass. It was in poor condition, the paint scratched and the saddle wrapped in silver duct tape.

“It’s Denny’s. I took this at the stock pond the day his body was found. Here’s a closer shot.” Avery laid a second photo over the first and tapped it with her finger. “See?”

Colly and Russ both leaned in until their heads were nearly touching. A fresh-looking scrape was clearly visible on the tip of the right handlebar.

“Doesn’t prove that’s from the fireworks stand, I know,” Avery said.

“Supports the theory, though.” Russ grinned. “Nice work.”

Avery waved her hand impatiently. “That’s not the big news. Like I said, I found this photo last night. So this morning, I stopped by the feed-and-seed out on Winters Road.”

“Ned Sandleford’s place?” Russ asked.

Avery nodded. “Sam and Alan Sandleford both work there.” She turned to Colly. “They’re the ones—”

“—who own the fireworks stand. I remember.”

“Well, guess what? Denny used to work for them.”

Russ cocked an eyebrow. “When?”

“Last summer. They hired him to staff the stand a couple afternoons a week in the lead-up to the Fourth of July. But get this.” Avery paused for effect. “They fired him. Said he was unreliable.”

“How’d Denny take it?” Colly asked.

“Not great. Told them they’d be sorry. Then in August, someone broke into the stand and smashed up the place. The Sandlefords thought it was Denny.”

Russ crossed his arms. “Why didn’t they file a report?”

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