“I borrowed this from Will Porter. He was in the class of 1980, too. We’re going through the list of graduates, trying to find out where they all are, so we can start eliminating them as possible suspects.”
Sam sat down on the other side of the desk as Trey started pacing. He’d done that ever since he was a kid. When he was thinking something out, he paced.
“My first question is, why do you think the killer’s someone from their graduating class?” Sam asked.
“Something we found after Paul Jackson was murdered. When we went through his lockbox in the bank, he left a letter and a bloody tassel in an envelope for his son. The tassel came from a 1980 graduate, but it didn’t belong to any of the four who were involved in the wreck.”
“Okay, so if no one else is murdered, then we can assume that it does have something to do with that wreck they were in, right?” Sam said. “Otherwise, if more people are targeted, that would remove the wreck aspect.”
Trey nodded. “Yes. We believe Trina was shot only because she would have been a witness the killer couldn’t afford. Mom thought the murders had to do with something they saw the night they graduated. Once she mentioned dreaming about seeing a body. I asked her if she thought she’d been a witness or an accessory to a killing.”
Sam flinched.
“You actually asked Mom if she’d killed someone?”
Trey’s chin jutted defensively.
“More or less. Yes, she was my mother, but I’m also the chief of police, and I was trying to solve Paul Jackson’s murder. She told me she dreamed the four of them saw a body. She thought they were on their way to report it when they wrecked. She gave me a journal she’d been keeping of the dreams. A couple of times she wrote something about the four of them seeing someone die, and then being chased.”
“My God,” Sam said. “All those years, and that was locked inside her memory.”
“Apparently,” Trey said, and then glanced at Dallas. “How’s it going?”
“Slow. About half the class moved away.”
“I want to know where all of them live now,” Trey said.
“What about the ones who live here?” Sam asked.
“What about them?” Trey asked.
“You should confront them when they’re together. I’ve found that once you get a bunch of people together, if they have something to hide, one of them will say something that opens a floodgate.”
Trey glanced up at the clock. “The paper goes to press at three,” he said. “I just might have time to get a request in for tomorrow’s issue.”
“Tell me what you want said. I’ll take it over there myself,” Sam offered.
“Wait,” Dallas said. “Let me pull up a blank screen and I’ll type it for you.”
“Tell me when you’re ready,” Trey said.
She nodded. “Ready.”
“Chief Trey Jakes requests the presence of every graduate of the class of 1980 still living in the area at City Hall day after tomorrow at noon. They will be interrogated regarding the night of their high school graduation. Anyone who doesn’t appear will be brought into the precinct for questioning at a later date. As a reminder to all, there is a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person responsible for the murders of Dick Phillips, Paul Jackson and Betsy Jakes.”
Dallas’s fingers were flying over the keyboard as she typed. Then she finished and read it back to him. When he okayed it, she printed it out and handed it to Sam.
“The paper is still in the same place,” she said.
“I saw it,” Sam said, and settled the Stetson a little more firmly on his head as he left the room.
His stride was long, his steps sure as he left the precinct and headed down the street. He could have driven the three blocks, but it felt good to be walking somewhere.
Trey had filled him in on the details of all the murders, even the condition of his mother’s body when he’d found her. He was still reeling from the knowledge and imagining his brother’s horror.
He paused at a stop sign before he crossed a street, and saw the look of recognition on a driver’s face before he honked and waved.
Sam nodded and kept on walking.
A few minutes later he entered the newspaper office and recognized the man behind the desk.
“Afternoon, Mr. Sherman. I have a notice that Chief Jakes needs you to run in tomorrow’s paper.”
Glen Sherman frowned. “We’re about ready to put the paper to bed.”
“It’s important,” Sam said. “It concerns the murders.”
Sherman’s expression shifted. “Let me see it.”
Sam handed it over and watched the changing expressions on the editor’s face.
“Tell him I’ll run it on the front page. My headline didn’t amount to shit anyway.”
“Thank you,” Sam said.
“You’re Sam Jakes, aren’t you?” Sherman asked.
Sam nodded.
“I’m real sorry about Betsy. She was a friend. I heard your sister came out of surgery okay. How’s she doing?”
“So far, so good,” Sam said. “I’ll pass the message on to my brother, and thank you for the placement. Maybe it will rattle a few memories.”
Sherman grimaced. “Most likely skeletons,” he said. “They’re always around if people care to look, and ten thousand dollars makes for a lot of incentive.”
Sam was still thinking about that comment as he walked back to the precinct. Rattling skeletons. Maybe he could rattle some nerves tomorrow while they were at it.
* * *
That evening Sam was in the lobby of Cutter’s Steakhouse waiting on Trey and Dallas to come in from the farm.
Nearly everyone who entered did a double take, recognizing him as the hometown boy who had gone away to war and never come home.
Many of them spoke. A few of them just stared and passed him by. He felt their judgment and knew it was fair. He should have come when Betsy was still alive, not waited until it was time to bury her. There was nothing he could do to change what was, except to help his brother find who killed her.
He’d just received a text from Dallas telling him they were on the way when a family walked in. The man nodded cordially but without recognition before looking at him again.
“Sam Jakes?”
Sam
