“I don’t know, but I did a database search for Casey-Anne Ritter. No hits that are remotely close to matching that name. There are other Casey-Anne Ritters out there, but none line up for age.”
“Okay, that has my attention. She must have been—what?—using a fake name and living off the grid.”
“My guess.”
“Still doesn’t give us any sort of link to Dumfries.” Her mind was spinning, and she grabbed onto her next thought. “Was Ritter’s apartment rummaged?”
“Can’t say. Guess her place was rather sparse.”
“Hmm. Let’s say the killer was after something. Question is, did they return because they’re still after whatever-it-was? They couldn’t get to Palmer in prison and came after him soon after his release?” She was trying to figure out how those cases could possibly tie in with Palmer’s—if they did. Really all they had was the fact the former business partners were both dead. Palmer hadn’t been shot. But, as she’d thought earlier, if he’d been murdered by being force-fed alcohol, that would have been torturous.
“It is possible.”
“Except for the undetermined manner of death,” she grumbled. If she listened to her gut though, it was telling her Palmer had been murdered. But it was the cause of death that was wreaking havoc on that theory. Rideout had said death due to alcohol poisoning was normally accidental, but it could have been the work of a psychopathic killer with time on their hands.
“Yeah, well, I placed a call to find out what was taken from Palmer’s person at the time of booking. I wrote down what they told me. The official list will be forthcoming, but I asked specifically about a duffel bag. Well…” Trent paused there, and his eyes widened.
He was going for dramatic effect, but she’d never been a fan of suspense. “And…”
“He had twenty-five grand in cash in the bag when he was booked.”
“Twenty— Wow. So where the hell is the money now?”
Trent certainly had a way of burying the lead, and maybe the manager, Flynn, had noticed all the cash and that’s what had made him uneasy.
“Good question, but so is: What was Palmer doing with all that money? Did the money have some nefarious purpose or was it simply earnings from the pawnshop that he was on the way to the bank to deposit the night of the accident?”
She shook her head. “The crash happened on a Saturday night. All the banks would have been closed. Some institutions have a place to drop off deposits after hours, but I doubt anyone would use it for large sums of cash.”
There was a brief period of silence, then Trent said, “Curious if Palmer’s missing money might be what Ritter and Webb’s killer was after, and, if so, did that person come back and take out Palmer? Then again, we may be jumping to the assumption there’s a connection between the three deaths.”
“Add all that to the list of questions that need answers. We’ll need to dig into Palmer’s life before prison. And speaking of, did you have any luck finding next of kin?”
“None. Parents have been dead for years and he was their only child. The closest blood relative is Rick Jensen, his cousin, who lives in Henderson, North Carolina, a three-hour drive away.”
“Too far,” she said. Technically notifying next of kin was limited to the immediate family: spouse, children, brothers, sisters, parents anyway.
“Thinking we might be best having a talk with Palmer’s former landlord, Jerrod Rhodes, and seeing if he can direct us to anyone. A girlfriend maybe?”
Amanda recalled the girl in the photo from Palmer’s wallet. “We should definitely do that, but first I think we need to focus on Palmer’s last hours alive and speak to anyone that might help us with that.”
“The Denver’s Motel employees then?”
She nodded. “Makes sense. We should also find out where the whiskey was purchased and see if we can confirm it was by Palmer.”
Trent pulled out his notepad and scribbled. She assumed he was making a note to visit nearby liquor stores.
“Before we go though,” she said, “call the prison and ask for Palmer’s visitor list. An amount of cash like that, it’s possible Palmer could have owed it to someone, and they might also have shown up to try and collect from him at the prison.”
Trent returned to his cube and placed the call.
Detective Natalie Ryan walked past and offered a basic greeting of, “Hey.” All Amanda heard was, “You buy from a drug dealer.” Beads of sweat rolled down her back and she bounced her leg.
Trent hung up. “The visitor list will be coming over.”
“Great. You ready to go?”
“Ah, yeah, sure. Lorraine Nash or David Morgan?”
“Let’s start with Nash as she worked Sunday, the last day Palmer was alive.”
“Sure.” Trent flicked his monitor off.
Amanda spun and bumped right into Sergeant Malone’s chest. He held up his hands to brace her and stepped back.
“Sorry,” she offered quickly, blushing.
“No one was hurt.” Malone let his gaze go over her to Trent. “You two headed out?”
“Yeah, have a couple of people to question,” Amanda said.
Malone nodded. “Great. It sounds like you two have it all under control.” He met her gaze, and with the last two words, a sliver of remorse wormed through her.
I have nothing under control! But as far as the world knows…
“We do,” she said and tossed out a smile. She did her best to have it reach her eyes, but it was unlikely it had, given the suspicion reflected in Malone’s eyes.
“Great,” he said.
Trent started walking toward the hall and she followed.
Malone said, “Just before you go, Detective Steele.”
Trent turned and she held up her index finger to let him know she’d be there in a minute.
“What is it?” she asked the sergeant.
He leaned in and hunched to reach her ear. “Do you have your alibi?”
She let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, but it was shallow regardless. “The ME hasn’t ruled that Palmer was murdered yet…”
Malone shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Get out in front of this or—” He ran a finger along his neck.
“I will.”
“See that you do.”
She held eye contact with him for a few seconds longer before hauling ass down the hall to catch up with Trent. With each step, it just sank in more and more the mess she was in. For one, she was in possession of illegally obtained drugs, and two, she had to manifest an alibi from thin air. But maybe she could return to the bar where they’d met and use her badge to whittle information from the woman who’d served them. If she went that route though, she could never return to the bar for risk of her name and her history getting out. But what was the lesser of two evils: the need to find a new place to pick up men or getting benched from the case? And the latter came with potentially worse consequences still. She could be assigned desk duty for the rest of her career or given the cases no one else wanted to touch. If things really spiraled out of control, she could be defending herself against murder charges or lose her badge. Some days she wasn’t sure if finding a new path in life—away from Dumfries, away from Prince William County PD and the county itself—was that horrible an idea. She could start fresh and rebuild her life. Then only she would truly know the hole that existed in her heart.