The Truth About Comfort Cove

Colton looked over the sheet, but only briefly enough to identify it. “The truck I drew that day came in half empty the night before,” he said, his gaze still openly meeting Ramsey’s.

“And you remember that? More than twenty-five years later?”

“I remember because it was the morning the little girl went missing. I lost time going back around the block to check on her, and then had to stop for gas.”

“I’m just wondering,” Ramsey said, leaning forward. “If you noticed the truck was low on gas in the morning, why didn’t you stop for gas right away? Or wait until lunch? Why go right after Claire Sanderson went missing?”

Colton blinked. And then said easily, “I did it then because there was an accident stopping traffic and making the light at the intersection permanently red. The only way around the traffic was to cut through the gas station. One of our drivers had just been given a ticket for cutting through a gas station to avoid a red light, and beyond that, in our drivers’ safety manual it told us never to cut through parking lots to avoid traffic. I did quick calculations and figured I would spend less time getting gas and leaving via the other side of the gas station than sitting in the traffic. As I just said, I’d already lost time that morning.”

The explanation was given slowly, clearly, as though Colton were speaking with someone who struggled to understand.

Or because Ramsey was getting to him?

“You know, Detective, you’re all alike. You guys get some kind of mind-set of what makes a criminal and you look at every case through the same eyes. Frank Whittier had been seen with the child in his car, so he must have done it, right? Because statistics tell that more times than not a child abduction involves a family member or close friend.”

Colton knew more than the average citizen.

“And now you find out that I was in the area. I was young, in need of money and driving an enclosed truck so I must have done it.”

The profile fit. And the reason profiles existed was because human nature was human nature. Human beings naturally acted in certain ways. And patterns of behavior solved crimes. Successfully.

“Maybe if someone had looked outside the cop perspective, or away from all of the personalities you learn about in detective school, you’d have found that little girl.”

Now Colton was pissing Ramsey off.

“You watch a lot of cop shows?” he asked quietly.

“No. Cable is a waste of money. I read. I also wonder, did anyone ever check the big sewage drain just down from that little girl’s home? You know the kind that are big enough for kids to stand up in? The kind where you see drug deals being made? That’s the first place I would have looked.”

Everything inside of Ramsey stilled. The room was encased in cotton, buffering Colton’s words so they would not be lost.

“I’m sure they did,” Ramsey said, when he wasn’t sure at all. He knew those early reports front and back and sideways, too. There’d been no mention of a drainage ditch or sewer of any kind. But the entire area had been searched. Multiple times. By hundreds of people.

“Why would it be the first place you’d look?” he asked as though they were just making conversation.

“Because one day when I was

on my route, a couple of little kids were out on a driveway trying to lob a basketball into a hoop that was way too high for them to reach. It caught my attention. Just then one of the kids tossed the ball up—it missed, hit the pole, rolled into the street and down into that ditch. Next thing I know the kid was tearing across the street after his ball. He ran right in front of me. If I hadn’t been watching, I could have hit him. I didn’t wait to see him come back up out of the pipe with his basketball, because I would have gotten behind schedule, but I never drove on that street again without watching for kids running into or out of that pipe.”

Colton should have been a writer. His attention to detail was remarkable.

Or…he was telling the truth.

“I did not take that little girl, Detective.”

“Then you won’t mind giving us a sample of your DNA, will you? Just so we can verify that you don’t turn up on any of our evidence?”

Jack Colton opened his mouth.

Ramsey pulled a cotton swab tube out of his pocket, took the swab, closed the tube, slid it back into his pocket and then said, “I also paid a visit to UC.” He wasn’t stopping until he knew everything there was to know. Until he had all the answers. He tapped the black portfolio he’d set on the table when he’d come in. Some of Colton’s records were there, not all of them.

Jack Colton’s gaze narrowed, but the man looked more aggravated than alarmed.

“I had a warrant for your records.” Ramsey’s coffee was getting cold as he kept one hundred percent focus on his suspect.

“You’re digging deep,” Jack replied. He hadn’t touched his coffee, either.

“I met Chester Brown.”