Free The Silver Anniversary Murder by Lee Harris Page B

regularly as they changed addresses. I had never encountered a case with so many dead ends. It was a lesson for me. Change your names and numbers and move frequently, and you’re very hard to find. Except a killer had managed to do it.

8
    It was an enjoyable weekend. I worked in the garden, took Eddie to the town pool, and watched him regain the skills of last year. He was as enthusiastic a swimmer as his parents, which delighted me. There was no news from any source about the Mitchells, and I had begun to wonder whether their pasts had been so well hidden that they would never be uncovered.
    On Saturday, while Jack and Eddie were spending time together, I took myself to the place along the creek where Peter Mitchell’s body had been found. It was farther down the creek than the woman’s and better hidden, just over the town line. His killer had dug a shallow grave, while she had just been pushed under shrubs and then covered with branches, leaves, and other vegetation. The man’s body was discovered after a rain, when his foot, clad in a black sock, began to protrude from the damp earth. A dog, who had stopped and sniffed, motivated its owner to have a look.
    By the time I arrived on the scene, four days after the discovery, the crime scene tape and uniformed police were gone. But it had become a tourist site, with a few visitors leaving small bouquets. I listened to the conversation of the people standing around, but it was clear they knew a lot less about the case than I did.
    The autopsies could not determine the exact time of the deaths of the two victims, and the medical examiner did not know which person had been murdered first or buried first. The best he could do was approximate, and the time spans he gave were the same.
    On Monday, when I was straightening up after a hectic Sunday that had seen my cousin Gene and Eddie running around with abandon, the phone rang.
    “Mrs. Brooks?” A man.
    “Yes.”
    “Hi, this is Larry Stone, the building manager, remember?”
    “Larry, yes. Good morning. What’s up?”
    “I’ve got someone here I think you should talk to.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah. She hasn’t given me a name but she doesn’t want to talk to the police and I don’t blame her. I told her about you and maybe she’ll talk to you. You want to drive over and pick her up?”
    “She doesn’t have a car?”
    “She came by taxi.”
    “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
    I had no idea what to expect but it sounded as though the woman might be from out of town. Either that or she was elderly. Anyone else around here would have a car.
    I parked near Larry Stone’s office and walked around to his entrance. The door was half open, a doorstop in place. It was going to be a warm day but still possible to get fresh air in the morning as long as the door or window didn’t face due east.
    “Mrs. Brooks, hi.”
    “Hi, Larry.” He had stood from his desk chair. I looked to the left and saw a slim, fragile-looking girl with dark hair pulled back sitting in a wooden chair near the filing cabinet. She looked at me with curious eyes, but said nothing.
    “That’s her. She won’t give me a name. She’s all yours.”
    I estimated her age as early twenties. “I’m Chris Bennett Brooks,” I said. “You’re here about Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell?”
    “I’m looking for them. I went to the apartment last night and no one answered. I waited until midnight and they didn’t come home.”
    I turned to Larry. “What have you told her?”
    “Nothin’. I’m not getting involved.”
    “Are you their daughter?” I asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll tell you all about it. Do you have any luggage?”
    “It’s at the motel.”
    I said, “Thanks, Larry,” and led the unnamed young woman to my car.
    “Where are we going?” she asked in a nervous voice. “I want to stay here and wait for them.”
    “They’re not coming back here. We’ll go to my house and I’ll explain everything.”
    “They