attention. She was keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of Rose. A moment later, she realized the person was still standing there, and turned her head to look at him.
The detective from the news, the same one she’d spoken to four years ago, was staring at her. He was mercifully carrying only two file boxes, rather than the four that seemed to be the rule here, and looking at her like a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.
When she looked at him, he came toward her.
“Do I know you?”
She smiled briefly, surprised he had some recollection of her.
“No, but we had occasion to meet about four years ago.” When he didn’t answer, she went on, telling herself to look at his eyes rather than his scar. “Actually, you’re the person I came in here looking for. I just didn’t think I’d actually be able to speak with you.”
He set his boxes down on the desk that was between them. “ Who are you?”
Alex stuck her right hand out. “Alex Thompson.”
He shook her hand, but still looked confused.
“I drove through your town, filed a report in the middle of the night.” His brow was furrowed. “I had been pulled over, but thought the cop was acting strange? Ringing any bells?”
He was still staring blankly at her. Finally he shook his head. “I can’t say I remember the incident, but you look very familiar to me.”
“Look.” Alex leaned on the counter again. “I know the detectives aren’t supposed to take tips, except from the hotline, but I’d really love to speak with you. It won’t take more than five minutes. If now isn’t a good time, I can come back later today or tomorrow?”
“You have a tip about this case?”
“What happened to me that night, the thing I filed the report about, may be related.”
It was then that Rose came back to the desk and heard Alex’s last statement.
“If you have a tip, the building you’re looking for is down the street, honey. You aren’t supposed to be in here.”
Alex sighed. “I know.”
Rose frowned. “You know?”
Alex put her hands up. “I’ve been trying to call the tip line, but there are so many I can’t get through. I was on hold for more than an hour this morning, so I just drove down instead.”
The detective’s eyes widened, but whether because he was impressed or annoyed, she couldn’t have said.
“Even if I go through the tip line, it could take weeks before anyone gets to mine, and I feel very strongly that this may have something to do with your case.”
Rose was shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but we can’t just—”
“Rose.”
Rose stopped and turned surprised eyes on the detective.
“It’s fine. I’ll speak with her.”
Rose opened her mouth to protest, but he talked over her.
“I know we can’t do it for everyone, but she’s here now. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
After a moment, Rose looked up Alex up and down, then shrugged. “Whatever.”
After hours of work, Lars leaned back and rubbed his eyes. A visit to the john would reveal shrunken pupils and red streaks, he was sure. That was one problem with looking through county records: hours of work and burning eyes could get results, but they were small potatoes. With these kinds of records, the information payoff wasn’t worth the weight and time of the work, but that didn’t change the fact that the research had to be done.
Lars had found some intriguing things, even if they didn’t give him a complete picture.
The land south of Mt. Dessicate on which the mass grave had been found was owned by the county, and had been for decades.
The last time it had been sold to a private owner was in 1946, to a man named Alastair Landes. Lars couldn’t find any records for Landes or his family before that year. From what he could tell, Landes simply showed up in town, picked a spot, bought some land, and began a life for himself. He’d started a ranch and been a profitable, upstanding man for the next decade and a half. After that, Lars found a number of
The detective from the news, the same one she’d spoken to four years ago, was staring at her. He was mercifully carrying only two file boxes, rather than the four that seemed to be the rule here, and looking at her like a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.
When she looked at him, he came toward her.
“Do I know you?”
She smiled briefly, surprised he had some recollection of her.
“No, but we had occasion to meet about four years ago.” When he didn’t answer, she went on, telling herself to look at his eyes rather than his scar. “Actually, you’re the person I came in here looking for. I just didn’t think I’d actually be able to speak with you.”
He set his boxes down on the desk that was between them. “ Who are you?”
Alex stuck her right hand out. “Alex Thompson.”
He shook her hand, but still looked confused.
“I drove through your town, filed a report in the middle of the night.” His brow was furrowed. “I had been pulled over, but thought the cop was acting strange? Ringing any bells?”
He was still staring blankly at her. Finally he shook his head. “I can’t say I remember the incident, but you look very familiar to me.”
“Look.” Alex leaned on the counter again. “I know the detectives aren’t supposed to take tips, except from the hotline, but I’d really love to speak with you. It won’t take more than five minutes. If now isn’t a good time, I can come back later today or tomorrow?”
“You have a tip about this case?”
“What happened to me that night, the thing I filed the report about, may be related.”
It was then that Rose came back to the desk and heard Alex’s last statement.
“If you have a tip, the building you’re looking for is down the street, honey. You aren’t supposed to be in here.”
Alex sighed. “I know.”
Rose frowned. “You know?”
Alex put her hands up. “I’ve been trying to call the tip line, but there are so many I can’t get through. I was on hold for more than an hour this morning, so I just drove down instead.”
The detective’s eyes widened, but whether because he was impressed or annoyed, she couldn’t have said.
“Even if I go through the tip line, it could take weeks before anyone gets to mine, and I feel very strongly that this may have something to do with your case.”
Rose was shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but we can’t just—”
“Rose.”
Rose stopped and turned surprised eyes on the detective.
“It’s fine. I’ll speak with her.”
Rose opened her mouth to protest, but he talked over her.
“I know we can’t do it for everyone, but she’s here now. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
After a moment, Rose looked up Alex up and down, then shrugged. “Whatever.”
After hours of work, Lars leaned back and rubbed his eyes. A visit to the john would reveal shrunken pupils and red streaks, he was sure. That was one problem with looking through county records: hours of work and burning eyes could get results, but they were small potatoes. With these kinds of records, the information payoff wasn’t worth the weight and time of the work, but that didn’t change the fact that the research had to be done.
Lars had found some intriguing things, even if they didn’t give him a complete picture.
The land south of Mt. Dessicate on which the mass grave had been found was owned by the county, and had been for decades.
The last time it had been sold to a private owner was in 1946, to a man named Alastair Landes. Lars couldn’t find any records for Landes or his family before that year. From what he could tell, Landes simply showed up in town, picked a spot, bought some land, and began a life for himself. He’d started a ranch and been a profitable, upstanding man for the next decade and a half. After that, Lars found a number of
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