Page 68 of Shiver

“Sounds insane to me.”

“Hear me out for a minute,” Riley insisted.

The chief leaned back in his chair. “Why not? I’ve been waiting fifteen years for this opportunity, and now you’ve brought her back to me. I can afford to give you a couple of minutes.”

Riley sat down and leaned across the desk. “We have a sketch of a suspect we believe could have killed Officer MacIntyre.”

“MacIntyre, huh? Any relation?”

“My sister-in-law.”

Surprise crossed the chief’s face.

“Believe me,” Riley said. “I want her killer found and convicted as much as you want Tommy’s.”

The chief nodded. “I’m listening.”

“When Devra saw the sketch, she identified the man as the same person who killed your son.”

“Mighty convenient if you ask me.”

“Perhaps, but my brother also saw the sketch. He identified him as a man he works with, Mr. Don Miller. Do you know anyone by that name?”

The chief shook his head. “Can’t say that I do.”

Mandy poked her head in the doorway. “Chief, sorry to interrupt, but this email came through. It’s from a Detective Tony Tortorici at the New Orleans Police Department.” She walked into the room and handed him the sketch of Don Miller.

“Tony’s my partner. I just filled him in on the details and asked him to send over the police drawing. Have you ever seen that man before? Is there any chance he’s related to Devra?”

“I‘ve never heard of a Don Miller around these parts.” The chief looked thoughtful for a moment, then placed his mug and the sketch on his desk and started rifling through Devra’s file. He pulled out an old sketch yellowed with age and not nearly as detailed, but they were both of the same man.

The chief stared at the two sketches, deep lines furrowing his brow. Then he looked up and said, “Fifteen years ago, Devra was so insistent that a man killed my boy that we brought a sketch artist down from Seattle to work with her.” He laid the two sketches side by side and pointed to the aged paper. “This is the man she said killed my boy.”

A sense of foreboding raced down Riley’s spine. Even in graphite, the eyes were dark enough to make his blood run cold. They held the same evil stare as the eyes depicted in the sketch of Don Miller.

“I didn’t believe her. None of us did.” Something broke in the chief’s face, and Riley had to look away. “All these years, he’s been out there killin’ and I could have stopped it, I could have found justice for Tommy. Dammit!” The chief swept Devra’s books and all the papers from her file off his desk. “Mandy,” he bellowed.

“Yeah, Chief,” she said reluctantly, as she swung her head in the opened door.

“Go into the bathroom and bring Miss Miller back in here.”

Startled, Mandy stood rooted in the doorway.

“Now!”

“Could, Chief, but—er—she’s not here.”

Riley looked up in surprise, his gut twisting as the implications of her words set in.

“Where the dickens is she?”

Mandy’s eyes widened as her tone dissolved into a defensive whine. “She said she left something at the motel that she wanted you to see. She said she’d be right back. I’m sorry, Chief.”

Chief Marshall looked at Riley.

He shook his head. “There was nothing.”

Mandy cleared her throat. “Would you mind if I take another look at picture from New Orleans again?”

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