Jason said sardonically, “He’s obviously never met you.”
There was a warning glint in Sam’s gaze. “Or you.”
“Point.”
“Anyway, we’re looking for him. That’s all we can do at this juncture.”
“I know.”
Sam said grimly, “Put some clothes on. I want to show you something.”
Jason dressed quickly, wondering what was up. Sam was waiting for him in the kitchen. He nodded at the back door.
“I know it’s locked. I checked it last night,” Jason said.
“It’s locked.” Sam unlocked the door and stepped outside. Jason followed.
Sam walked over to the large picture window and pointed to the square screen leaning against the house.
Jason stared at the screen. He felt slightly sick.
“Look at this.” Sam indicated gouges in the wood siding where someone had attempted to pry the inexpensive metal window frame from the wall. Sam’s eyes met Jason’s. “He was coming in. That was his plan.” And in case Jason didn’t get it, “Van der Beck didn’t come to talk.”
Jason could feel blood draining from his face. It had not even occurred to him to check for an attempted break-in. He had been suspicious of Terry’s middle-of-the-night visit but had imagined he’d intercepted him almost immediately. He hadn’t realized how fast and determined Terry had been.
Sam said, “He couldn’t get through the doors because of the single-sided deadbolts. So he went for the window. If the dogs hadn’t woken you, he’d have been inside in a matter of minutes.”
Jason swallowed. “Yes. I don’t know how he— He must have followed Dreyfus when she drove me home.”
Sam said, “We need to have a word with Mr. Van der Beck. Let’s get over to the Cheyenne RA, and you can bring Chuck Reynolds up to speed on your magician murders.”
An occasional tumbleweed bounced and rolled along the side of the road as Sam drove toward Cheyenne. Jason stared out the car window at the endless sweep of blue sky and tall green-gold grass rippling in the wind. In the distance he could see blue snow-dusted mountains.
Sam had not had much to say since they had left Ruby’s. The sexy, playful morning seemed like a long-ago interlude, but Jason was used to that. He had been reassured by their conversation the night before. Sam’s honesty had been unexpected, but really, why? If anything, Sam erred on the side of too honest.
He did still wonder about a couple of things, and since Sam had seemed to indicate the topic of Ethan was not off-limits, he decided to take a leaf from Sam’s book and just ask.
“Did you—they—ever catch Ethan’s killer?”
He thought he knew the answer, so he was astonished when Sam replied, “I think so. I believe we got him when we got the Roadside Ripper.” Sam’s gaze never left the long, empty road ahead. “I’ll never know for sure, but that’s my best guess.”
Jason stared. “You think Ethan died twenty years ago at the hands of the Roadside Ripper?”
“Yes. I believe so.”
“Do you have corroboration, a confession from the Ripper?”
“No.” Sam was still not looking at him. He sounded detached, analytical. “The timing is right. The MO is right. I think there’s a lot of indicators that the Ripper is—was—our guy.”
Jason felt another of those unpleasant jolts. Why wouldn’t Sam have said anything about this? He hadn’t given even a hint that he believed Ethan’s murderer had finally been brought to justice. It was just…weird. Right? Not that Sam was typically communicative about a lot of his work, but this wasn’t the usual case. Even for a personality as stoic as Sam’s, this had to be a big deal.
Uneasily, Jason kept picking at it, despite his sense that Sam already regretted giving him permission to ask these questions. “But I thought the Ripper’s hunting ground was Interstate 5?”
“It was. For the last fifteen years. But we don’t have a clear picture of where he was during the five years before he returned to the West Coast. We know he spent some time driving trucks in Montana and Colorado. My theory is he was in Wyoming as well.”
“That’s…kind of news.”
Sam said nothing.