The oldest, Andrea, was thirty-two, only two years younger than Zach. The younger sister, Shelby, was twenty-nine. Andrea was a paralegal at a law firm in Everett, a couple counties away. Her sister lived in Bellingham, to the north. Neither was married. That wasn’t necessarily unusual these days, but he wondered about it anyway.
Tess had asked if he’d wanted privacy to make his calls, but he’d shaken his head. “Unless I’ll be bothering you.”
“No. I’ll be quiet,” she promised. She sat on the sofa reading. Zach sat in the chair facing her.
Andrea answered her phone tersely.
Zach talked fast, telling her he was now a police officer and explaining that his parents had known her father when he was a kid. “My sister, Sheila, was murdered when I was nine.”
“I remember,” she said slowly. “The principal talked to us at school.”
He frowned. “I’d forgotten. Friends told me. My parents kept me out of school for something like a week.” He hesitated. “Were you aware detectives talked to your father about Sheila back then?”
She was silent for quite a while. Zach saw that Tess was watching him, her book open but apparently forgotten on her lap.
“No,” Andrea said finally. “I had no idea.”
He waited for more. Shouldn’t she be asking why investigators would have thought her father had anything relevant to offer?
“I haven’t been able to locate him. I’m hoping you’d be willing to give me his phone number.”
“I’m no longer in touch with him,” she said with flat finality.
“Would you be willing to tell me why?”
“That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”
He might as well be blunt. “Ms. Womack, I think you can guess what I’m driving at. My sister’s murder was never solved. I’m determined to find who was responsible. I’m guessing our elementary school principal didn’t tell the assembly that Sheila was raped before being strangled.”
He thought he heard a quiet gasp on the other end.
Continuing, he said, “I understand your mother received sole custody of you and your sister after the divorce. That’s unusual. Your father was at our house often enough around that time to have seen something of Sheila and to know which bedroom was hers. He might conceivably even have had a key to the house.”
He paused but she said nothing.
“Look, I’m a stranger to you. I understand your discomfort with what I’m asking. I can give you some references if you want to check on me before you tell me anything more. I’d also be glad to meet with you.”
Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear her. “What is it you want to know?”
She had to have guessed. He took a breath and asked anyway. “Did he molest you or your sister?”
Before he could finish with the rest of the question—or do you know if he was ever accused of molesting any other little girls?—she answered, “Yes.” Voice firmer, she repeated, “Yes, he did. But...not until later. I was almost twelve the first time.”
Stunned by feelings more complicated than he would have expected, Zach closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Sorrier than I can say.”
“Yes, well...” Her shrug, unseen, could be heard in her voice, as could her bitterness.
“Your sister?” he asked gently.
“Does it matter?” she snapped.
Ripping open someone else’s wound was never pleasant. “It does if he started in on her way younger than he did with you.”
He waited out a long silence.
“Yes,” she said in a muffled voice. “He...molested her, too.” Raped her. “But not when she was younger. It was the same age as with me. When I found out about Shelby, I told my mother. She took us and left Dad that same day. I felt sick. I could have prevented Shelby from being... I still don’t know why I was so sure Mom wouldn’t believe me.”
“Because he convinced you,” he said, almost harshly.
She did nothing but breathe for what had to be a minute, then whispered, “Yes.”
It was none of Zach’s business but... “How old were you? When you told?”