“Well, I discovered in one case that a woman had accused a coworker of sexually assaulting her at work. An executive of that company, Mark Shepherd, dismissed the accusations. Other coworkers interviewed said that Shepherd went as far as to promote the man accused, whereas the woman was moved into a lesser position. Shepherd is said to have told upper management that the woman had an overactive imagination and that her work wasn’t what it used to be.”
“He was looking to fire her,” I said. “In order to get rid of the problem, he was going to punish the accuser instead of the predator.”
“Exactly. And shortly after that, he was murdered—shot—and his car was set on fire.”
“So—another case where the victim was killed by other means first, and then burned to cover up the evidence of the murder.”
“One of the most common motives for arson.”
“Crime concealment,” I said, nodding. “But other than that, I don’t see any connection to these other cases. Similar, but…” I left my statement hanging while I paused to consider what I might be missing. “Have you found any links between the victims?”
“We’ve been working on several theories, but no.”
I studied the evidence board again. My hands grew clammy as I looked at the old articles about Ethan.
“Thought you weren’t an investigator,” Luke said with a smile.
“I’m not.” I stood suddenly, realizing I had definitely shown too much interest. “Do you need anything else from me?”
Luke considered me a moment, then gathered up the photos, stood, and shoved them back into their folder. “I think that’s enough for tonight.” His mouth opened to say something else, but he stopped himself.
I nodded at the evidence board. “You seem awfully interested in Ethan’s case. You think he had something to do with what’s happening now?”
Luke turned and stared at the board for a long moment, then faced me again. “I’m investigating several fires that occurred after he was released from prison. But I have no hard evidence to place him at any of the scenes.”
“Does he have alibis?”
“No, he lives alone and doesn’t seem to have any social life. But we have people watching him now, so if another fire occurs…”
I tensed at his statement, and he had to see it, but I said nothing. Of course the FBI was watching Ethan. Which meant someone had to have told Luke that they saw me at the Spotted Cat.
Or they would soon.
Seven
It was after ten p.m. when I left the station. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and my mind was racing. Without thinking, I turned toward the neighborhood where my brother lived.
His vehicle was in the driveway. The porch light was out, but the glow of a television flashed in the living room window. I sat there for several minutes before deciding to confront him.
When I opened the car door, my phone buzzed. It was Luke again. Deciding I’d had enough of Luke Justice for one day, I sent the call to voicemail.
I knocked lightly on Finch’s door. I heard movement and a crash—followed by cursing—before Finch opened the door. His chocolate lab, Sally Brown, danced behind him.
“Faith,” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here?” He looked at his watch. “It’s late.”
“I saw Ethan.”
He looked like he was trying to stifle a reaction at first, but then stepped aside. “Come in, but we have to keep it down. Aubrey hasn’t been sleeping well. The second trimester was supposed to be easier, I thought.”
I walked past him, through the foyer, and into the living room. Their house was decorated in soft beige and lots of white. Aubrey liked contemporary lines and modern art. And Finch liked whatever Aubrey liked.
“Is she doing okay? The baby’s alright?” Finch and Aubrey had had trouble getting pregnant, so I couldn’t help but worry for them.
“Yeah, she’s fine. She’s just been spending a lot of time volunteering at church lately. Too much time, if you ask me.”
“Doing what?” I asked, curious.
“She’s been counseling some people recently. Not sure who. She says she has to keep all that confidential.”
“Oh, sure,” I said.
Before getting pregnant, Aubrey had worked as a psychologist at an office in Lexington—she’d been there ever since interning as a college student. She’d even helped me find the therapist who diagnosed my hyperthymesia and helped me work through my issues after Mom was killed. But when she found out she was expecting, she and Finch decided they didn’t really need her income, and she quit her job to concentrate on delivering a healthy baby.
“It’s good that she’s continuing to use her skills,” I said.
“You going to tell me where you saw Ethan?” Finch asked.
Stalling, I rubbed Sally Brown’s head. She was an older lab; Finch had owned her since he got his first apartment, sophomore year in college. She was still just a puppy when our mother died. “The Spotted Cat.”
“In Lexington? What were you doing in a place like that?”
“It’s a long story, but the fact is: I saw him. And I ran like a scared little girl.”
Finch walked to me and enveloped me in his arms. He stood half a foot taller than me and was built like a rock. I leaned my forehead into his chest. His hugs were always exactly what I needed. “Of course you did. He hurt you more than any man should. And he shouldn’t have been let out to hurt you again.”
“Is it possible that he didn’t kill them?”
“There was plenty of evidence to put him in prison.”
“All circumstantial. And now he’s out.” But Uncle Henry and Chief Reid had always been so sure of Ethan’s guilt.
“Ethan got exactly what he deserved,” Finch said with finality.
“And yet, whatever this newly discovered evidence was… this exculpatory evidence… it was enough to convince the commonwealth’s attorney to drop all charges.”
“What did Ethan say to you?”
I shook my head while pressing my fingers into my tired eyes. “Nothing. I didn’t really give him the opportunity.” A chill moved along my arms, and I rubbed them.
“Come here, kiddo.” Finch pulled me in for another squeeze. “I’m sorry he’s out, but you need to stay away from him. If he’s smart, he’ll stay far away from us and this town.”
I nodded into his chest. I hadn’t known who I would find at the Spotted Cat. At least that’s what I was telling myself. And I sure hadn’t been prepared for him to run after me and try to talk to me.
I pulled back from Finch. “I’m gonna go. Sorry I came so late.”
“You never have to apologize for that. You want to sleep in the guest room?”
“No. I need to get home to Gus.”
“You know you’re welcome here anytime.”
I nodded. “I know. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Finch grabbed a leash off the hook hanging just inside the kitchen. “I’ll follow you out with Miss Sally, here.”
I stepped out onto the porch. “I almost forgot. The FBI agent you met at the Reynoldses’ wake… He showed me some photos tonight of another arson scene. A dog was killed, and wore tags that came from your clinic.”