“We weren’t the only ones.” He smiled back at her.
He doesn’t make my stomach flutter anymore.
“What would you have done if the thumbprint didn’t match?” Henry asked. “You said it could have been a fake.”
“We would have eventually questioned him,” said Mike, “but we got lucky when the thumb matched.”
“Very lucky,” agreed Cate. “It helped everything fall into place.”
“What was his motivation?” asked Henry.
“We never were certain,” said Mike. “He wouldn’t say, but we had a few theories. We do know he found his victims through the winery. Most of them were from out of town. He’d get their addresses when they signed up for the wine club or some other promotion. I know he really enjoyed the stalking process.”
“Absolutely he did,” said Cate. “That was clear in his interviews. He almost bragged as he described following the woman he’d chosen. He’d tail one every day for several days as he worked up a plan to kidnap her.”
Tessa spread out the photos Mike had just set on the table.
Cate knew every face and name. Eight years had not dimmed her memory of the murdered women.
Jeff Lamb had a type. Long blonde hair, petite, and attractive.
At least that was his type of victim. The majority of the girlfriends Cate had interviewed had been tall and brunette. He’d been popular. Everyone at the winery had had nice words to say about him, as had his neighbors, but most of the girlfriends had eventually lost interest. “Inattentive,” “worked too much,” and “I didn’t feel special” were the most common complaints.
Cate hadn’t been surprised; the killer was a narcissist.
She reached across the table and gently arranged the photos in front of Tessa in order of their murders. Cate touched the first one. “February fifth.” And then moved on to the others. “June fifth. November fifth and then March, April, and August of the following year. All on the fifth.”
“No discernible pattern other than always using the fifth?” asked Tessa. “The months do get closer together. He probably thirsted for more thrills. Couldn’t wait as long in between.”
“We couldn’t find a pattern,” said Mike. “And we did feel he was ramping things up.”
“Glad you got him.” Henry studied the photos. “They’re all so young.”
“Jasmine Heath was the youngest at nineteen,” said Cate. “She had a three-year-old.”
“What about the idea of a potential copycat?” asked Tessa.
Mike leaned back in his chair. “I’ve started making a list of everyone who associated with Jeff Lamb back then, but it will take some time to get current statuses on these people. Cate, does anyone stand out in your memories?”
Cate had already spent time trying to remember. “There was an old roommate of his that keeps coming to mind. His name escapes me.”
Mike straightened. “I know exactly who you’re talking about, but his name . . .” He tapped on his keyboard.
“Why’d he make an impression?” asked Tessa, with a curious look at Cate.
“He had a domestic violence record,” said Cate. He was also memorable because he’d look past Cate to talk to whichever man she was working with instead of to her. Even when she’d asked the questions. It’d amused her. And annoyed her.
“Bryan Sowle,” announced Mike.
“That’s him,” agreed Cate.
“Let me find where he lives now.” Mike continued to type.
“Missing persons from the area should also be reviewed,” added Cate, glancing at Tessa.
“I did a preliminary search for the county,” said Tessa. “There really aren’t many, but I’ve compiled a list of missing women for the last ten years.”
“Do you need to go back further?” asked Henry. “If the case was closed eight years ago, he might have been using that as a burial ground for years before the original victims.”
“Or more recently if it wasn’t Lamb who buried the body,” said Cate. She nudged Henry. “How good are you at determining how long a body has been in the ground? The one from this morning was skeletal. How long does that take to happen?”
Henry snorted. “First of all, I have no hands-on experience with that. I’ve read about it, but I don’t remember specifics other than there are a lot of variables involved. Like how deep the grave is, what kind of dirt surrounds the body, how much water it is exposed to, how cold or how hot the area gets, how big the body is, or how—”
“Okay. I get it,” said Cate. “Neither of us really knows anything.”
“You can add me to that list too,” said Tessa. “That kind of knowledge is above my pay grade. We need a forensic expert.”
“Well, now, isn’t that convenient,” muttered Mike, who’d been focused on his screen as the rest of them had debated human-decomposition influences. “I found Bryan Sowle’s current address.”
“He’s close by?” Cate asked.
“Nope. He’s in Stafford Creek. Same prison as Jeff Lamb.”
The room was silent for a long moment.
“What’s he in for?” Cate finally asked.
“Second-degree murder. He’s been there for two years.”
Cate met Mike’s gaze. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I’m not either. But if we need to interview him, we can combine the trip with the Lamb interview. Efficient.” He nodded, a pleased expression on his face, reminding Cate how much he’d stressed efficiency during the time they’d dated. To the point that it had driven her crazy.
“You mean when you interview him,” Cate clarified. Mike had said we a few times, and she suspected he didn’t mean Tessa.
“No. You and me.” He raised a finger as she opened her mouth to protest. “Lamb liked you. We both know that. He talked to you more than anyone.”
Mike was right. Lamb had believed he was irresistible to women and saw Cate’s professional demeanor as a challenge. He’d been desperate for her to like him. She and Les, the lead on the case, had agreed to milk that to their advantage. Cate had stretched her acting skills, giving Lamb subtle hints that she was weakening. He’d eaten it up.
“Is that true?” asked Tessa. “Did you have a rapport with Lamb?”
“But Sowle won’t talk to me,” she said, grasping at straws.
“I can handle Sowle if an interview is needed,” said Mike.
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Tessa stated. “There’s a lot of work to do here before anyone runs off to prison.” She made a note on her phone. “I’ll expand the missing persons search. I’ll include Vancouver Island and the northern coastal counties of Washington. Tomorrow we can get started uncovering the other graves. We need to verify that’s what they are and if they hold women and lockets.”
“Everyone on the island knows something’s going on up there,” Henry pointed out. “Before the three of you arrived, I was asked about it at the bakery. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few curious gossipers decided to go take a look.”