Page 23 of Crossing Lines

“Thorne might not have done this murder, but that doesn’t mean the others weren’t his. That was five years ago and—”

“Mason! Fancy running into you here. Saved me a trip.” Charles Bascomb had come up beside them. His expression was smug and superior.

“Oh, were you coming to visit us?” Sam asked.

Bascomb’s eyes flicked to the prison. “Yeah, right after I confer with my client. My innocent client.”

Sam didn’t react. “Innocent might be a stretch.”

“Not really. I finally have solid proof about one of your pieces of evidence.”

“And what piece is that?”

“The golf shoes. They don’t belong to my client.”

Sam frowned. “And you can prove that?”

Jo kept silent, her gaze wavering between the two of them. Beryl Thorne had handed over those shoes, but what if she’d had ulterior motives? What if Bascomb was right and those shoes didn’t belong to Lucas Thorne? Was Sam too trusting of Beryl to consider that?

Bascomb smiled. His demeanor reminded Jo of a snake about to swallow a rabbit. “I can. But I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Consider this fair warning.”

“Jerk,” Jo said under her breath as he walked away.

“I would have used a stronger word.” Sam continued on toward the Tahoe.

When they got to the car, Sam turned to her. “We might have one hope to nail Thorne, something better than golf shoes. If he really is the killer.”

“What?”

“Bridget. She could testify that he was the man who Amber Desrocher was last seen with.”

Bridget had witnessed one of the victims leave with a man five years ago. If she could identify Thorne, that could help place him with the victim. But did she want to put her sister through that? Those were traumatic times, and Bridget was fragile. She couldn’t believe Sam was even asking. Maybe she didn’t know Sam as well as she thought.

“Do you think she would?” Sam pressed.

Jo got into the Tahoe and avoided eye contact. “I’m not sure. She’s still recovering.”

“Right. Of course. We can find some other way.” Sam started the truck.

“You know, it’s weird. Thorne has been denying all along that those were his shoes. I just assumed he was lying to avoid being charged with the crime. But what if he was telling the truth, and they really aren’t his shoes?”

“Then that begs the question… whose shoes are they?”

Chapter Sixteen

Back at the station, Jo filled Wyatt in on their visit to the prison, and Wyatt updated them on the search on Ricky Webster. He hadn’t found much. Webster’s name was in the database, but he was waiting for more information to come back.

“That’s good, because I need you to trace the source of this email that Menda received.” Sam handed Wyatt the printout. “If we can figure out where it originated, it could help us find this guy. We don’t know if it’s the killer, but at least it’s a lead.”

Wyatt unfolded the paper. “I’ll probably need to get into their servers in order to see the network path.”

“We’ll need a warrant for that,” Jo said. “Better call Jamison.”

Sam made a face at the mention of their acting mayor, Henley Jamison.

Jamison had taken over when the current mayor had been killed, and at first, he’d been just as abrasive and appeared to want to continue with his predecessor’s campaign to thwart their efforts to bring justice. But during the last serial killer case, he’d mellowed a little. He’d been more cooperative and had even helped them push through the warrants they needed. Maybe that was because the mayoral election was next year and he wanted Sam on his side against Marnie Wilson. Whatever the reason, Sam would take the cooperation.

“I can get started while we wait for the warrant.” Wyatt turned to his laptop.

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