Chapter 32

Excitement pulsed through Hawthorne's veins as he knocked on the door of apartment number 128. The same buzz he always got when a book's plot came together or he thought of the perfect twist or hidden clue to throw in.

Two of the names Rebekah had given him for Sam's friends that had left the cult, the two young men he'd been able to leave voicemails for, had called him back. They had both moved out of state as soon as they'd left the cult and had alibis for the night of Sam's death. Not that Hawthorne had asked them outright, but the course of conversation had revealed the information he'd needed. Including the address of the elusive other friend.

The second guy Hawthorne had talked to—Kal Fine—explained he had kept in touch with Sam briefly, and he knew Sam had been in contact with their mutual friend, Ezekial Thorston. Kal also knew where Ezekial lived.

Hawthorne knocked again, his pumping pulse slowing. Was Ezekial not home? Maybe he worked mornings.

Shuffling on the other side of the door surged anticipation through Hawthorne.

The door opened a few inches. "Yeah?" A young, thin guy who looked about the right age to be Sam's now twenty-year-old friend blinked tired eyes at Hawthorne. His neck-length hair was tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed.

At seven in the morning, it was early enough for that to be reasonable. "Hi. My name is Hawthorne Emerson. I got your name from Kal Fine. He said you'd be willing to talk to me about Sam Ackerman?"

The door opened another inch as Ezekial stared at him. "You a reporter?"

"No. I'm Rebekah Emerson's brother. She asked me to find out what happened to Sam."

He swung the door open enough to show his rumpled T-shirt and plaid shorts. "Rebekah." His mouth angled in a sleepy grin. "She was always cool. How's she doing?"

"She'll be a lot better if I can tell her I spoke with you about Sam. Can I come in, Ezekial?"

The kid ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. "Call me Zeke." He turned and walked away, leaving the door wide open.

Taking that as an invitation to enter, Hawthorne stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The apartment looked fairly new but was as cluttered and messy as a stereotypical bachelor pad, complete with pizza boxes and takeout containers piled on the kitchen counters.

Hawthorne veered through the kitchen and into the adjoining living room where Zeke flung himself onto the navy blue sofa.

"Look man, I want to help and all that." Zeke laid his head back on the upholstered cushion and closed his eyes. "But I gotta be at work in like an hour."

"Okay. I'll be quick." Hawthorne scanned the two armchairs cluttered with papers and discarded clothing and thought better of trying to sit. "Did you go to the fair with Sam the night he died?"

"Sure." Zeke didn't even lift his head. As if what he'd said wasn't a revelation that would've changed the entire investigation of Sam's death.

"Why didn't you tell the police you were with him?"

"'Cause it wouldn't have made any difference." Zeke lifted his head and squinted at Hawthorne. "Oh." A disbelieving half-laugh puffed from his mouth. "You think I mean—no, I didn't see him…die or anything. I wasn't with him all the time."

Could be true. Could also be a lie. But the former seemed more likely given how easily and quickly Zeke had admitted to being with Sam. If he'd tried to hide that fact for two years because he'd murdered Sam or witnessed a killing, why tell Hawthorne now?

"When weren't you with him?" Hawthorne kept his tone free of suspicion.

"Uh…" Zeke tipped his head back again and blinked at the ceiling.

"Why don't you walk me through that night."

Zeke tilted his head to the side to look at Hawthorne without lifting off the sofa. "All of it?"

"At least the high points."

Zeke dragged his head off the cushion and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and resting his chin in his hands. "I met him at the fair like we'd planned. He'd sneaked out while the nut jobs were having one of their star-communing parties. Then we just hung out."

"Doing what?"

"You know. Going on rides, hitting the games, following girls. Whatever."

That didn't account for the group of four or five guys Christy and Dan remembered. "Did you meet up with anyone else there?"

"Not really."

Hawthorne's ears perked at the wording. "You mean you met people, but maybe someone you'd rather leave out of it?"

Zeke lowered his arms and leaned back again, not looking at Hawthorne. He blew out a sigh. "Maybe."

"Look, Zeke. I'm not a cop. Telling me doesn't mean your friend will get into trouble." Not necessarily, at any rate. "Don't you think we should know what really happened to Sam?"

Zeke slowly swung his head toward Hawthorne, peering at him around the hair that fell over one of Zeke's eyes. "You don't think it was an accident?"

"No. I don't." The threatening note and cut brakes had seen to that. No one beside Jazz knew he was involved in investigating the fair sabotage outside his capacity as a security guard. The attempt to frighten or kill him had to be about Sam. Everyone he'd questioned knew he was looking into the boy's death.

"Man." Zeke pushed back his hair, running his hands along both sides of his face. "Okay. I had a friend at the gas station where I worked who was twenty-one. He said we could hang with him and his buddies so we wouldn't need fake IDs to have a good time."

So that was how Sam had managed to get alcohol at only seventeen years of age. "Did you and Sam drink much?"

He swore by way of affirmation. "We were kids. And it was Sam's first time out of the cult on his own. I stopped that kind of thing after my DUI, though. I don't touch the stuff anymore."

"Glad to hear it." The more crucial questions pressed against Hawthorne's lips, but he fought to keep from shooting them out too quickly. Timing and pacing was everything, as in one of Carson Steele's interrogation scenes.

Hawthorne stepped closer to the back of a short armchair and braced his hands on it. "Tell me what happened later in the evening. You said Sam wasn't with you the whole night. Was he away from you several times?"

"Nah. We were pretty tight. And the other guys were our ticket to a good time, so we stuck with them."

Remembering Christy's account of the young men at the Logboat Adventure ride, Hawthorne ventured one of the big questions. "Did Sam go on the Logboat Adventure ride with you and the others at around eleven?"

"We went on it. Don't know what time it was."

"I thought Sam was afraid of water."

Zeke smiled. "Oh, yeah. I forgot. After that many drinks, trust me—he was a whole new Sam."

So Sam had gotten over his fears temporarily thanks to alcohol. Did that mean an accidental death was possible?

Zeke pushed up from the sofa and shuffled past Hawthorne to the kitchen. He paused by the island. "He begged me not to say anything. Didn't want the older dudes to know he was scared, you know?" He gave a single laugh. "Funny. I'm nearly their age now."

Hawthorne closed some of the distance between him and Zeke, stopping at the edge of the tile that bordered the small kitchen. "So when did Sam leave? When wasn't he with you and the others?"

Zeke flipped open a pizza box and pulled out a slice that had probably sat there overnight or longer. At least the piece didn't appear to have mold on it yet. "Just at the end, I think."

"The end? Do you remember what time?"

"Nah." He took a large bite of the pizza.

"But it was when you were leaving?"

"No." He mumbled the word around the pizza. "The rest of us stayed after. Like until the fair closed down."

Hawthorne's pulse picked up speed. "Sam wasn't with you then?"

"Nah." He stuffed more of the slice into his mouth, as if he had no idea he'd dropped another bombshell.

Hawthorne battled to keep his tone calm. "Where did he go?"

"He went to get a smoke." Zeke waved the remainder of the pizza slice through the air as he talked with his hands. "They don't let you smoke anywhere but at these marked areas."

"Sam had brought cigarettes?" He certainly wouldn't have gotten those at Best Life.

"He bought 'em at the grocery store at the fair. You know, the one behind the beer gardens?" Zeke shoved the crust end of the piece into his mouth.

"Do you remember which designated smoking area Sam went to?"

"Uh…" Zeke reached in the box for another slice. "I remember we were in line for the SkyPlunge ride, so the spot at the midway, I guess."

A witness to a location where Sam had been. This was incredible. "Okay, so Sam went to smoke and then what happened."

Zeke paused with the pizza by his lips. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged and bit off a chunk. "I never saw him again." The garbled words were still clear enough to hit Hawthorne deep in the gut.

"You didn't think that was strange? Didn't you look for him?"

"No. The guys didn't want to wait in line with things about to close, so we went to a different ride farther up the midway. Then a couple of the older dudes found some chicks, and my friend and I hit a few more rides. Then it was closing time. I figured Sam found something better to do. I saw a hot chick headed to the smoking spot when Sam said he was going to get a smoke. I figured he was chasing her, and he must've gotten what he wanted, you know?" Zeke grinned around the piece of pizza as he shoved the rest in his mouth.

Rebekah wouldn't like the sound of that. And Hawthorne didn't buy it. Because sometime after that, Sam had ended up dead.

"Did you see anyone else in that area?"

"Dude," Zeke leveled a stare at Hawthorne as he munched the pizza in his mouth, "like hundreds or thousands of people."

"But you noticed the girl. Anyone else you noticed?"

"A few more girls, but they weren't going to smoke. Security guards. They'd been all over us the whole night. Kept making us move on whenever somebody thought we talked too loud or something. I think they were tailing us after the one dude started a fight with that cheat at the air rifle targets."

The security guards probably had followed them, and rightfully so. Sounded like Zeke and his pals had made a significant nuisance of themselves. Enough that Dan Harris still remembered them two years later. "Could you see Sam in the designated smoking area from where you were in line?"

"Uh…" Zeke closed the pizza box. "Not really."

"And you never saw him again after that."

Zeke pushed his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "Never."

Except for the killer Hawthorne was now certain existed, he was pretty sure no one else had seen Sam after that either. Not alive.

Gravel kicked up behind Jazz, skimming her calves beneath her three-quarter leggings as she sprinted up the steep incline.

Flash outpaced her and ran ahead, clearly enjoying the freedom to test his speed on the quiet wooded trail.

They'd passed some walkers about two miles back but otherwise had the trail all to themselves. She brought her wrist toward her face to check her watch. Almost seven thirty. The time when Hawthorne's text had said he'd meet her at the lookout he would drive up to from the other side of Elk Horn Trail.

Her heart rate double-timed. And not because of her fast pace or the climb.

She could already picture it—hunky Hawthorne standing with her on the lookout, checking out the view. But mostly enjoying gazing at each other.

He hadn't said in the text why he wanted to meet. Just that he had something to tell her. Could that something be that he wasn't going to leave after all? That he'd fallen for her?

Her throat tightened at the possibility. Which wasn't helpful for running.

Flash circled back to her to check in as usual, then sprinted ahead up the incline like it was nothing.

"Show off!" Jazz managed to call, finally feeling short of breath.

Just before he would've been out of sight, Flash stopped. He spun toward Jazz and barked, charging at her.

She braked, staring at Flash, expecting him to stop and signal what was wrong. "Wha—"

He flew off the ground, launching himself into her chest.

The wind whooshed from her lungs as she fell backward.

Just as the ground exploded.