The Truth About Comfort Cove

“Continue five point four miles,” Bonnie added. Before leaving campus they’d spent an hour in the Rendezvous making phone calls from a list of names they’d gathered from Tammy in records. They had names of people that

were part of the UC Bearcats baseball association in 1985, a

guidance counselor, a dorm mother. Jack Colton had neither

a roommate nor a suite mate, and Ramsey’s warrant didn’t

allow Tammy to provide him with the names of other students

who’d had rooms on Jack’s floor twenty-seven years before. They’d reached a total of nine people. None of whom could

recall Jack Colton.

“Hundreds of young men came to UC to try out for the

team,” one gentleman had told Lucy. “There’s no way I could

remember them all.”

“Jack Colton wasn’t a troublemaker,” she said now. “People

remember troublemakers.”

“He attended class regularly and had an above-average

GPA,” Ramsey added, almost morosely.

“If he’s not our guy, we’ll find out who is,” she said. “Any

word yet on the evidence?”

A few weeks before, Emma Sanderson had inadvertently

led Ramsey to the missing box of evidence from her sister’s

case. Completely unrelated to the child’s abduction, the box

had been stolen as part of a plot concocted by Emma’s mercenary ex-fiancé to sue the city of Comfort Cove for shoddy

police work. Ramsey had been through every thread of evidence with plastic gloves and a microscope. And then he’d

sent it to a forensics lab in Boston.

“I haven’t heard back from the lab. They’re backlogged

with current cases.”

“In point three miles, arrive at destination.”

Current cases had to take precedence. That was a given.

But waiting was frustrating as hell.

“Forensic science has come a long way in the past twentyfive years. Something significant might turn up.” Ramsey grunted. Keeping an eye on the road, Lucy glanced

toward him. “What?”

“Nothing.”