Page 44 of Crossing Lines

“Of course.”

“Now if there’s nothing else, I need to get to work.” Beryl looked at him expectantly.

“Nope, nothing else.” Sam watched her walk away. Things were starting to come together. Beryl had acted nervous at his questions. She was the key to those golf shoes, and was it any coincidence that his main suspect for the murder of Kirsten Stillwater was working at Beryl’s construction site? Joseph Menda’s words about female serial killers and Jo’s theory about serial killer teams came to mind.

As Sam headed to the Tahoe, his thoughts became more disturbing and confusing. Beryl’s reaction to his questions, the cream horns, the family cabin.

It was time to get some answers straight from the source. It was time to pay a visit to Lucas Thorne.

* * *

Back at the station, Sam went straight to Wyatt’s desk. “I want to put surveillance on Robert Summers.”

Wyatt frowned. “Beryl Thorne’s brother?”

“Yep. Something isn’t right there. I just came from talking to Beryl, and she seemed nervous whenever I mentioned her brother. Plus…” Sam tapped the receipts still on Wyatt’s desk. “He has an affinity for cream horns.”

Wyatt leaned back in his chair. “I can park outside the driveway. I know a spot I can pull off in the woods and not be seen. But that mansion is pretty big, and if someone really wants to go somewhere, they don’t have to go out the front.”

“But if someone doesn’t know we are watching, they’ll go right out the front. Besides, there’s only one driveway, so if they take a car, you’ll spot them.”

Wyatt sat forward. “Okay. You got it.”

A hiss drew their attention to the area near the coffee machine. Lucy had dared to sniff at the toy, and Major must have taken exception. He jumped down from the top of the filing cabinet in one graceful leap, landing on his feet, then grabbed the toy up in his mouth and ran off to Sam’s office. Lucy turned disappointed eyes on Sam.

“Sorry, buddy.”

Jo shook her head and came to Wyatt’s desk. “I wish those two would iron out their differences.” She turned to Sam. “You really think the killer could be the brother?”

“I don’t know. Beryl is evasive about him, but he must really be sick, because he hasn’t been at Mervale. She seems to be awfully nervous lately.”

“Maybe that’s just because her husband is a murdering drug dealer and she is afraid he’ll kill her if he gets out of jail. Especially since she’s the one that gave a piece of damning evidence to the police.”

“Could be. I’m just covering some bases. Speaking of which, the next base is to talk to Thorne himself. You in?” Sam asked.

“Are you kidding? When do we leave?”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

They left Lucy at the station since dogs weren’t allowed in the prison, and she seemed keen to wait for Major to go to sleep so she could steal the toy. Jo had seen her do this before. Major snored in his sleep, so it was easy to tell that he was in deep. Lucy would simply sneak in and gently paw the toy away. It was a bold move on Lucy’s part, because Major woke up easily, and if she got caught, the resulting clawing might not be pretty.

In the car, Jo turned to Sam. “What do you expect to get from Thorne?”

Sam shrugged. “Not sure. I’d like to try to feel him out on Beryl, find out if she could be involved in any of this. And find out what Bascomb is doing with those shoes.”

“Jamison seemed to think Bascomb had something important. Maybe we should try to find more on Thorne.”

“Like what?”

“An eyewitness.”

Sam turned to Jo. “Are you sure?”

Jo looked out the window at the thick forest passing them. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she also didn’t want Thorne to get out of jail prematurely.

“Bridget is stronger now and seems more settled. I can feel her out. I also want to tell her about my research into our sister’s case.” Jo paused, trying to get a read on Sam’s feelings about that. With everything going on, she hadn’t had a chance to bring him up to speed on the case, and things still seemed a little strained between them. Maybe he didn’t even want to help her with it.

“Seems like she should know,” Sam said.

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