The deputy who’d made the discovery led the way to a live oak tree that Joe estimated to be at least a century old, if not twice that.
“Everybody who grew up around here knows this path and this tree,” the deputy told them. “Teenagers buy beer at the convenience store, usually with fake IDs, come here to drink, make out. In high school we called it the knock-up tree because…well, you know. That’s how come I remembered it and thought to check. Sure enough.”
He shone his flashlight on the litter scattered over the network of large roots that snaked along the ground at the base of the tree. Joe didn’t get his hopes up. The trash could have been left by Josh Bennett or just as easily by lustful teenagers with illegally purchased six-packs.
With care, he squatted and studied the various product wrappers and empty plastic bags. Among them, he picked out a cash register receipt. It was from the store, and the time stamp coincided with when Bennett had been there. One of the purchases was a Lotto ticket.
The deputy said, “Something else I noticed on the path. There’s one set of shoe prints coming in this way, another set going back out toward the highway.”
“He changed clothes while he was back here?” Hick asked.
“That’d be my guess,” the deputy replied. “Smart guy like him, prob’ly knew he’d been caught on security cameras inside the store. He’d want to switch clothes quick.”
Joe agreed. He also noticed among the litter the empty package of a razor. He pointed it out to Hick.
Hick said, “He got rid of his ugly scruff.”
Joe stood up and looked back toward the path. “Say he did come back here and changed at least his shoes, shaved, stuffed his purchases into his backpack, and walked back to the highway. What then?”
“Hitched a ride,” suggested one of the officers grouped around the clearing.
“Ankle express,” said another.
The deputy who’d found the debris said to Joe, “If he was on foot, search dogs might pick up a scent. We could get a canine unit out here in the a.m. ”
“How about ASAP?” Joe asked. “The dogs don’t know it’s dark.”
The deputy hesitated. “It’s a private contractor. Y’all paying?”
“We’ll pay.”
The officer touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll make the call.”
Leaving the others to bag evidence, Joe and Hick began tromping back toward the highway. Joe’s cell phone rang. He answered. “Joe Wiley.”
“That sketch of me you showed on TV is for shit.”
Joe came to a dead standstill. “Josh?”
When Hick heard the name, he swung around. Joe angled the phone away from his ear, so Hick could listen in.
“How’d you get my cell number?” Joe asked.
“I remember it from six months ago. I’m smart that way.”
“Calling me to turn yourself in is the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”
“I’ll never turn myself in.”
“Then are you calling only to critique our sketch artist?”
“Is Jordie dead?”
The blunt question and the perceptible emotion behind it surprised
Joe. “I don’t know, Josh. I hope not.”
He made a choking sound. “I think she’s dead and you’re just not announcing it yet.”