Free The Botanist by L. K. Hill Page A

too much of a coincidence to dismiss.” He looked up at her and smiled. “It’s like you said: there’s no way to tell. It might be nothing, but I’d rather be certain. And I’d like to get my captain’s input.”
    Alex nodded.
    Cody stood again. “I need to get some things and . . . people together. It may take a few minutes. I apologize for the wait. Can you bear with me?”
    “Of course. It’s fine.”
    When he hurried from the room once more, Alex practically slumped in her chair with relief. For the first time in two days, her thoughts turned to happier things. She’d talk to his captain, give her statement, get plenty of sleep in the motel, and then head back to her mother tomorrow, with her conscience finally cleared after four years.

Chapter 10
    As evening gave way to dusk, Lars went to the bathroom to splash water on his face. So much reading was making him sleepy, and he was willing to wager that the courthouse would shut down with the sun, which didn’t give him much time.
    A more complete picture of the Landes family was emerging,
    Alastair Landes had married a local woman in 1948, two years after buying his ranch. Her name was Gertrude Alder. These were the years when Landes paid his taxes and was profitable, so, on paper at least, the marriage seemed to be a happy one. Their first child wasn’t born until 1957, which in a time when birth control was only just coming onto the market and most religious folk considered it a sin, bespoke fertility problems in the marriage. Still, a son named Jonathin Landes was born in ’57. Lars noted the odd spelling of the first name, but that could have been due to the illiteracy of the times.
    Sadly, Gertrude died in childbirth, or perhaps a few days after. The death certificate was dated three days after Jonathin’s birth certificate. It was in the next few years that liens began appearing against the property. Lars wondered if the negligence was more due to emotional problems than financial ones. A sad tale.
    Oddly, Lars could find no record that Alastair’s son, Jonathin, had ever bought, sold, or held any property in the county. He never seemed to have held a job or made any purchases that would leave a paper trail. Granted, when Jonathin reached adulthood, it would only have been the mid-seventies, which meant that most transactions—and even most jobs—were paid in cash. Still, the lack of records, coupled with the fact that Jonathin never laid claim to the substantial property after his father’s death, made Lars believe that perhaps Jonathin had died as a young man.
    But there was no death certificate. There were no records at all. Jonathin was born; his father had some financial difficulties; and by the time of Alastair’s death in the late eighties, all sign of Jonathin had simply faded away.
    There could be many explanations. Jonathin might have moved away to make his fortune. Perhaps he and his father had a falling out. Jonathin might have left and simply never returned, never knowing of his father’s death or the property he could have claimed. A more extensive search would be required to see if Jonathin Landes was still alive somewhere.
    Lars leaned back to consider. Jonathin was born in ’57. If he was still alive, he’d be in his mid-fifties today. Still young enough to manage a sadistic operation like the one out in the desert? Perhaps. It would depend on the man’s health, but it wasn’t implausible. The Vampire of Brooklyn had operated well into his eighties before being caught. Granted, that was snatching helpless children, not grown women out of cars on the highway, but still.
    Helga stuck her head in the door. “We’re closing in fifteen minutes. I expect each of those records to find its home before then.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Say, Helga?”
    Her head had disappeared, but popped back into view when he called. She seemed considerably less grouchy than she had this morning, but then closing time was in fifteen minutes, so that