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The sheriff knew and had done nothing. Either out of powerlessness, fear or laziness. Or he was lying and was all up in the mess. “Guess I’ll get to the paperwork. Hate the paperwork.” Sheriff Modine ambled away, and John walked over to Violet. “Have we done a background on the sheriff?”
“I don’t think so. Why? You think it’s him? He’s older than we initially projected. He’s probably, what, late fifties or early sixties.” Her phone rang and she answered. “Hey, Ty.” She frowned. “Okay. What?” She put the phone on speaker. “Say that again for John.”
“I said, Mother—Imogene Boyd—didn’t make it. I just arrived at the emergency clinic. Talked to EMT Chris Leigh. She died on the way here.”
Violet blew a heavy breath. “She knew where my father is. Here. In this holler.”
“What?”
“Yeah. But that can wait.”
“Good. ’Cause I heard back from the lab. The material that matched Atta’s shirt and the bloody beer bottle never made it to Quantico. They checked. Double-checked. Triple-checked. I called FedEx next.”
“And?” Violet demanded.
“And the FedEx delivery guy remembers getting the package with my signature, but on his way to the hub, he was stopped by a sheriff’s deputy. Only he says he was in plain clothes. Stopped him for a routine traffic violation—which he denies—then said he smelled pot. Which he says was impossible, but one did what one was told by the law up here. He forced him out of the truck and did a search. Let him go.”
“He get a name?”
“No, and the car wasn’t marked. But he got a photo. He was pretty ticked, and he snapped it to a million people on Snapchat. I have it. It’s Regis Owsley.”
“Send it to me.”
“Already did,” Ty added then hung up.
The sheriff doubled back. “Oh, hey, Agent. When you get a minute, I’ll want a more formal statement. You come on by my office. We’ll have us a proper chat.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” Violet massaged the back of her neck.
Modine laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be too upset. You can’t win ’em all.”
“I’m not throwing in the towel yet.”
“No.” He grinned. “I suspect you won’t. I like your tenacity, kiddo.” He spun on his heel and left her and John to themselves.
“As if he cares about anything formal,” she groused.
“I have zero respect for that man,” John mumbled then refocused. “We need to talk to Regis.”
“Now’s our chance.” She stalked toward Regis’s car, John picking up the pace to keep in step with her.
Regis exited with a scowl on his face. Violet blocked him from moving past his open car door. She showed him her cell phone with his picture by the FedEx truck.
Regis studied the photo, his nostrils flaring and resignation in his dark eyes.
“Afraid your blood would be on Atta’s shirt, on the broken beer bottle? After her fight with Wendell, did you try to play the hero but it backfired? You got into an altercation and then you abducted her? Is that what you did with Bella Dawn too? Seize an opportunity? Did you kill them both?”
“What nonsense is this?” Regis shoved her arm out of his face. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“Then why did you stop the FedEx truck and lift the package, and don’t give me any cockamamie excuses, Detective. This is what I call the end of the hunt, and you in cuffs is my victory. Maybe I’ll take a photo and send it across social media.”
Except John was pretty sure Violet had no social media accounts. Had they caught the Blind Eye Killer? Was it Regis Owsley?
Regis threw up his hands. “Wait. Okay. I’ll admit to lifting the evidence. But not for me. I was protecting someone.”
“Who?”
“My brother. Cecil’s the Blind Eye Killer.”
