The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)

“Can’t say. Guess her place was rather sparse.”

“Hmm. Let’s say the killer was after something. Question is, did they return because they’re still after whatever-it-was? They couldn’t get to Palmer in prison and came after him soon after his release?” She was trying to figure out how those cases could possibly tie in with Palmer’s—if they did. Really all they had was the fact the former business partners were both dead. Palmer hadn’t been shot. But, as she’d thought earlier, if he’d been murdered by being force-fed alcohol, that would have been torturous.

“It is possible.”

“Except for the undetermined manner of death,” she grumbled. If she listened to her gut though, it was telling her Palmer had been murdered. But it was the cause of death that was wreaking havoc on that theory. Rideout had said death due to alcohol poisoning was normally accidental, but it could have been the work of a psychopathic killer with time on their hands.

“Yeah, well, I placed a call to find out what was taken from Palmer’s person at the time of booking. I wrote down what they told me. The official list will be forthcoming, but I asked specifically about a duffel bag. Well…” Trent paused there, and his eyes widened.

He was going for dramatic effect, but she’d never been a fan of suspense. “And…”

“He had twenty-five grand in cash in the bag when he was booked.”

“Twenty— Wow. So where the hell is the money now?”

Trent certainly had a way of burying the lead, and maybe the manager, Flynn, had noticed all the cash and that’s what had made him uneasy.

“Good question, but so is: What was Palmer doing with all that money? Did the money have some nefarious purpose or was it simply earnings from the pawnshop that he was on the way to the bank to deposit the night of the accident?”

She shook her head. “The crash happened on a Saturday night. All the banks would have been closed. Some institutions have a place to drop off deposits after hours, but I doubt anyone would use it for large sums of cash.”

There was a brief period of silence, then Trent said, “Curious if Palmer’s missing money might be what Ritter and Webb’s killer was after, and, if so, did that person come back and take out Palmer? Then again, we may be jumping to the assumption there’s a connection between the three deaths.”

“Add all that to the list of questions that need answers. We’ll need to dig into Palmer’s life before prison. And speaking of, did you have any luck finding next of kin?”

“None. Parents have been dead for years and he was their only child. The closest blood relative is Rick Jensen, his cousin, who lives in Henderson, North Carolina, a three-hour drive away.”

“Too far,” she said. Technically notifying next of kin was limited to the immediate family: spouse, children, brothers, sisters, parents anyway.

“Thinking we might be best having a talk with Palmer’s former landlord, Jerrod Rhodes, and seeing if he can direct us to anyone. A girlfriend maybe?”

Amanda recalled the girl in the photo from Palmer’s wallet. “We should definitely do that, but first I think we need to focus on Palmer’s last hours alive and speak to anyone that might help us with that.”

“The Denver’s Motel employees then?”

She nodded. “Makes sense. We should also find out where the whiskey was purchased and see if we can confirm it was by Palmer.”

Trent pulled out his notepad and scribbled. She assumed he was making a note to visit nearby liquor stores.

“Before we go though,” she said, “call the prison and ask for Palmer’s visitor list. An amount of cash like that, it’s possible Palmer could have owed it to someone, and they might also have shown up to try and collect from him at the prison.”

Trent returned to his cube and placed the call.

r /> Detective Natalie Ryan walked past and offered a basic greeting of, “Hey.” All Amanda heard was, “You buy from a drug dealer.” Beads of sweat rolled down her back and she bounced her leg.

Trent hung up. “The visitor list will be coming over.”

“Great. You ready to go?”

“Ah, yeah, sure. Lorraine Nash or David Morgan?”

“Let’s start with Nash as she worked Sunday, the last day Palmer was alive.”

“Sure.” Trent flicked his monitor off.

Amanda spun and bumped right into Sergeant Malone’s chest. He held up his hands to brace her and stepped back.

“Sorry,” she offered quickly, blushing.