Joshua Forbes also hadn’t turned up, and Mercy wondered if he should be added to the list with Truman and Clint. Another visit to his home and his father’s had been fruitless. She’d asked Kenneth Forbes if he wanted to file a missing persons report, but the man had waved her off, stating his son was known for taking off for a week or two with no communication. He didn’t appear worried about Joshua. He was just pissed at the man for leaving without a word after his father had paid his bail.

They had no new leads on the Jorgensen murders. Mercy had exhausted them all. The same was true for the Hartlages.

She felt like a failure. All those children.

Britta didn’t press charges against Chuck Winslow for trespassing. Mercy had disagreed with her decision, but Britta wanted the incident to go away. Chuck had been silent on the internet—too silent—since he was shot, which made Mercy wonder what rock he would crawl out from underneath next.

“Mercy, Britta is here,” came Melissa’s voice from the speaker on her desk phone.

“I’ll be right out.” Time had gotten away from her. Britta had called earlier and asked to meet at three without giving a hint of what she wanted to talk about.

Britta and her black Lab waited for her outside the office. Mercy squatted to greet the dog and received two wet paw prints on her pants.

“Zara!” The Lab wasn’t leashed, but she promptly pulled back and sat next to Britta’s feet.

“What’s up? Chuck hasn’t contacted you again, has he?” Mercy asked, crossing her arms against the chill in the wet air. Is Truman warm? She shoved the thought away.

“No. But . . .” The tall woman frowned and looked away, her face reflecting an internal struggle. “This is stupid.”

Mercy waited.

Britta finally made eye contact again. “Chuck’s accusations that I knew something about the murders of my family have reminded me of something.”

Every nerve in Mercy’s body focused on Britta.

The woman stroked Zara’s ears, her lips pressing together. “It’s nothing. Like I said, it’s stupid.”

“Tell me. It’s bugged you enough to contact me,” Mercy pointed out.

Britta exhaled, her shoulders sinking. “I never saw the man who killed my sisters or hit me. But I often dreamed of that night for years after it happened. I’d forgotten about the dream until Chuck started harassing me.”

Disappointment settled over Mercy. “Go on. What did you dream?”

“That I woke and saw my sister Astrid in her bed across the room. She was bloody and silent. I couldn’t see Helena because she was in the bunk under me. But I knew she looked the same.”

“What about yourself?”

Britta’s cheeks flexed as she clenched her teeth before continuing. “I saw myself all bloody too. But it was like I was above my bed, looking down. I knew I would die.”

“I’m so sorry, Britta. It’s completely understandable that you’d have that dream.” She wanted to hug and comfort the woman but knew better.

“I saw an angel that night.”

I didn’t expect that. Britta was too sensible to talk about angels and visions. This is why she hasn’t told anyone before.

“You nearly died,” Mercy said. “I’m not surprised.”

“It was all in white and very small. It hovered over Astrid and I knew it was taking her to heaven. Then its face was close to mine. I felt it gently touch my forehead.” Britta bent to give Zara a hug, burying her face in the dog’s fur for a moment. “I remember floating away and believed I was going to heaven too.”

“That doesn’t sound like a horrible dream,” Mercy said gently. “It sounds almost comforting.” Was that when Steve Harris checked the girls to see if they were alive?

“I always told the police I didn’t remember anything. I was too embarrassed to tell them about the angel. But I’m positive I was awake for a few moments after Grady Baldwin struck us.”

“I don’t think there’s anything in that story that would have helped the police back then.”

“I know, but I always felt I was lying to them by holding it back.” She stood, a half smile on her lips. “You have no idea how much better I feel now that I told someone.”

“I’m pleased you picked me.” Her affection for the unusual woman grew. Mercy liked people who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps. Britta had done that times ten.

“I need to leave . . . Come, Zara. Bye, Mercy.” Britta abruptly turned and left.

Mercy understood. Sharing a childhood dream had to be an uncomfortable experience for her. She went back to her desk and sat down with a sigh. I forgot to ask if she plans to move.

She’d miss the woman—and Zara—if she did.

Her cell phone rang, and her anxiety hit the ceiling at the sight of the Eagle’s Nest Police Department number. “Agent Kilpatrick.”

“It’s Lucas.”

“Has something happened?” Tension strained her voice. Truman?

“You could say that. Joshua Forbes walked in a few minutes ago and asked for police protection. He’s got a story you need to hear.” He cleared his throat. “It’s about Truman, Mercy,” he said softly.

“Is he dead?” she croaked, feeling herself split in two.

“He doesn’t know. But he thinks he knows where he was at one point.”

She jerked back to reality. This call could have been worse. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

This is Joshua Forbes?

Mercy had spent a lot of time online and in person searching for the man who’d threatened Truman, and for some reason she hadn’t expected a quiet young man in a grimy sweatshirt. He had the same eye color as his father, Kenneth—a piercing blue. But he didn’t project the ramrod-up-the-spine confidence that his father did. In fact, he looked like a beaten dog.

He’s supposed to help us find Truman?

Mercy and Joshua sat in the tiny conference room in the Eagle’s Nest Police Department. Officer Samuel Robb stood against the wall, his thumbs tucked in his gun belt, his gaze never leaving Joshua.

“He swears he doesn’t know anything about Clint Moody’s disappearance, but he told me what he knows about Truman,” Samuel said to Mercy. “I want him to go through it again for you.” He nudged Joshua’s chair with his foot, startling him.

“Where have you been for the past couple of weeks?” Mercy asked. “A lot of people have been searching for you.”

“I’ve been at a friend’s. Several friends’. I didn’t want to stay in one place too long.”

“Why do you need to hide?”

Joshua glanced nervously at Samuel. Mercy didn’t blame him; the cop was intimidating.

“I got threats while I was in jail.”

“Why?”

“People were pissed that I was arrested. They didn’t want to me to talk to anyone.”

“Talk about what?” She was ready to crawl out of her skin with impatience. Samuel had told her there was no need to rush to the location Joshua believed Truman had been, but he hadn’t told her why not.

Joshua gave a heavy sigh. “Our business. I’m part of a business, and they found out that the police knew I was a distributor. They thought I had told the police—but I didn’t!”

“Distributor. Are you talking about the IDs, or are you a drug dealer too?”

“No, those stupid IDs and license plates,” answered Samuel with scorn. “Apparently someone was making a lot of money and didn’t want it to end.”

Mercy remembered how Truman had originally pulled Joshua over for the plates.

“You sent Truman a letter saying he owed you three million dollars,” she stated. “That had us looking for you when Truman disappeared, even though you got out a few hours after we think he vanished. Then you disappeared. That didn’t look good.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with his disappearance,” he said earnestly, meeting her gaze. “I didn’t even know he was missing. I was just trying to protect my own ass.”

“You’ve got people upset with you?”

His chin dropped. “I don’t trust them,” he mumbled.

“Why not?”

Joshua didn’t answer and stared at the tabletop.

“Where’s Truman?” Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But two days ago I heard a rumor that he’d escaped—but I swear I didn’t know they had him in the first place.”

“The people who head up your forgery business took Truman?” She glanced over at Samuel, who hadn’t blinked an eye. How can he be so calm? She was ready to dash out the door.

“I think they did. All I know is that I overheard a couple of guys talking about the cop who got away.”

“When? When did he get away?” She stood up, planted her hands on the table, and leaned toward Joshua, trying to hide her shaking arms.

“It was at least five days ago.”

Mercy froze. Five days? She slowly sat back down. “Then where is he?”

Joshua looked tormented. “I don’t know. I didn’t know who they were talking about until I heard something about the missing police chief on the radio. As soon as I realized that the guy who’d arrested me was missing, I knew that’s who they were talking about.”

“When did you figure this out?”

“Maybe a day or two ago. I didn’t know if I should do something or not. I didn’t want to get in more trouble with them, but . . .”

“But what?” Mercy wanted to shake him. This story was taking forever to come out.

“I know what they do,” he whispered. He slowly lifted his gaze back to hers. “They’ve killed people who wanted to get out of their organization.”

“Were they going to kill Truman?”

“If they were keeping him where I think they were, they were definitely planning to.”