Page 48 of Nothing Left

The last thing she needed now were lies and evasion.

Sanchez shrugged. “I think it was stolen in a burglary. I had it in the kitchen because I was butchering a lamb. I washed it and put it back in the rack, and then I went into town. It wasn't there when I returned. I told the police, but they laughed at me and refused to open a case for a butcher's knife. That is why I hate the police, you included." He stared at her, frowning. "You say you found it at a crime scene? Are you trying to frame me?”

Juliette wanted so badly to keep the pressure on him, but all of his replies were off-kilter from what she was expecting. And this one, most of all. The words struck home as sharply as the knife itself. Framed?

What if the killer himself - clearly an expert at gaining access - had stolen this knife from a known criminal with the intention of leaving it at one of his murder scenes? He could have done it as part of his preplanning in order to place the blame on someone else. Taking a knife from a person who did farming, did butchery, and was a known criminal was a good solution if you wanted a murder weapon pointing to a suspect that the police would believe in. It wouldn’t have been too difficult for a thief to plan that if he knew the town at all.

He hadn't needed to leave this knife at Samantha's murder scene because there had been knives in the kitchen and an easy alternative story waiting to be told. So he'd saved the knife and used it when he'd murdered a victim who was alone in the house at the time.

She was seeing the shadows lurking behind the scenarios now.

They might have made a terrible mistake. Sanchez, too, might have been framed.

Juliette got up and strode out of the interview room. Closing the door, she turned and almost crashed into Wyatt, who was hurrying in her direction.

"We got an extension," he whispered to her excitedly. "The Barcelona police commissioner has agreed to wait until tomorrow morning so that we can collect our evidence. He sees merit in this line of investigation. How's it going? Do you have anything concrete yet?"

Juliette sighed, feeling as if the weight of the world was pressing on her shoulders.

“I don’t think it’s Sanchez," she confessed. "And unless we find who it is tonight, we're sunk."

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Juliette sat in the interview room, with Wyatt and Sierra opposite her. Sanchez had been taken down to the cells. There was a tangible air of desperation in the room as they discussed the case and the likelihood that Sanchez had been framed.

"He might be lying," Wyatt insisted.

But Juliette shook her head. "He wasn't responding like a liar. None of his answers checked those boxes. He wasn't being evasive. He was angry, sure. But he was being honest. I think we're being outmaneuvered by this killer, and unless we can find him by tomorrow morning, then I know the police will go ahead with their original plan. We'll have two suspects arrested who are both innocent of the crime. And then he'll strike again and frame someone else."

Wyatt buried his head in his hands. It was Sierra who spoke.

"It sounds to me as if this man is an expert in burglary. Because he's been able to break into all sorts of places and steal things without being detected. Do you think that's an angle we could look at? Could we try to find burglars who've been arrested, or charged, or spent time in jail, and who've worked in the area?"

Juliette's eyes lit up. "That's a good idea. It might be a long shot, but it's worth a try." Now, her brain was powering forward as she tried to think ahead. "I imagine if that was the case, that the man wouldn't have been arrested very recently. It would have been further back in the past. He'd have learned from it, come back, and get better at his craft."

"Yes. I agree with that," Wyatt said. "Because right now, he's very good. He's an expert. He's able to get in and out without being seen at all. But maybe, in the past, he wasn't."

It was time to go back into the records and start the hunt afresh, checking all the boxes that might show them this person.

Now, they were all focused on a common goal, trawling through the records of older cases that Juliette was calling up from the somewhat slow system. But at least it was working, and they were getting information. They knew the parameters of their suspect. The approximate height, the approximate age, and the hair color. She didn't know how much that would narrow down the field. It might not narrow it by enough, but it was all they could do. Even if they had to knock on forty doors, working throughout the night, they would do it.

Juliette was already busy with the hunt, starting to compile her list, when her phone rang.

She felt a moment's irritation at being interrupted when she was so fiercely focused. And it was an unfamiliar number calling her. Who was this? Someone from New York?

"Agent Hart speaking," she answered.

The man who replied sounded shaken and stressed, but his voice was full of purpose.

"Agent Hart. It's Mike Andrew speaking. I'm Heather's dad."

"Oh, it's good to speak to you," Juliette said, her brief flash of annoyance now eclipsed by sympathy. She turned away from her computer screen, needing to give the conversation with the father her full attention. He was probably looking for an update and answers, and she’d have to try to tell him the difficult predicament they were in.

"I've just been visiting with my daughter. They kindly allowed me to spend some time there after hours."

"I'm very glad they did that," Juliette said.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you so much for what you've done for Heather and all the help you've given her. She's safe, thanks to you, and as comfortable as she can be in the circumstances. She told me that."

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