Page 108 of Swept for Forever
“Can you describe the man?”
“Six foot, thereabout. Lanky. And the way he moved,” she explained, “I mean, his neck…he barely turned his head. It was stiff, like he couldn’t look over his shoulder.”
Boone’s eyes sharpened. He folded his arms, listening closer now. “Could’ve been an old injury. Could be fresh. Either way, it tells me something. If he’s got limited movement, that’s a physical marker we can use. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He then pulled out a topographic trail map and unfolded it on the desk. “As best you can, show me where you saw him bury the bag. This is the trailhead.” He tapped the map with his pen, orienting her.
Autumn studied it for a moment, then pointed to a spot.
Boone marked it, then sat back. “Good, good. We’ve had a lot of storms lately. Not sure what we’ll find, but I’ll send a team to check it out.”
I met his gaze. “Appreciate it, Deputy.”
He shoved his chair back, already gearing up to act. “The time, the location, and the fact that the man had Lulu…all of it lines up. If we’re right, he may be connected to Deborah Sinclair’s disappearance. I need you to give us the most accurate description you can, Miss Jones.”
“She will,” I said. “But first, I need to ask you something. Off the record.”
Boone’s gaze flicked to me, considering. “Granger told me you’re a friend. Hell, everybody is everybody’s friend in Buffaloberry Hill.” His voice carried a dry humor, but there was an edge to it. “But I know Granger, so one question.”
“The sketch of the woman that’s been floating around—the alleged robbery suspect. Who made the ID?”
He turned to Autumn, assessing her the way a veteran cop sizes up a witness. “That woman in the sketch. She looks a hell of a lot like you, Miss Jones.” Then he turned back to me. “Mr. Powell, what kind of game are you playing?”
“No game. Just trying to keep an innocent woman from being railroaded.” I kept my tone even but deliberate. “That incident was staged. The man behind it is the same one Miss Jones saw on the trail.”
Boone studied me, his interest masked but there. He wasn’t the type to give anything away easily.
Finally, he spoke. “Motive?”
“He needs her out of the way. Best way to do that? Turn her into a suspect before she can call him one. Get the public to help him find her.”
He let out a long breath, settling back into his chair. Thinking. Measuring. He wasn’t arguing, which was a start.
“I don’t know who made the ID,” Boone finally said. “That case is in Whitaker’s hands. I don’t have access to his reports.”
“Can you look into it?”
He didn’t answer right away, which told me he wasn’t the kind of man who made promises lightly.
“I was warned you’d be persuasive,” he said.
I smiled, just slightly. “I like to think I’m thorough.”
Boone scratched the back of his head. “I’ll see what I can do. But don’t expect a report. That’s not how this works. You coming forward today? That’s already significant.”
He turned back to Autumn. “Now, let’s focus on getting a sketch of the man you saw.”
“One more thing,” I cut in.
He tilted his head, unimpressed. “Mr. Powell, your persuasiveness won’t work on me.”
It would. Maybe not today. But he didn’t know I played the long game.
“Call me Dom,” I said, nudging him into that soft patch of ground where firm men sometimes flex.
“All right, Dom. What is that ‘one more thing’?”
“I need your word that Miss Jones won’t be subjected to any formal interrogation regarding that sketch. It’s baseless, and I have serious concerns about its accuracy.”
