Page 62 of A Future To Remember

He shrugged, but his eyes were full of doubt. “When cops go missing, it’s a big deal. We’ve searched through the state database of missing persons reports, and we can’t find anybody who fits your description. The closest we came was to a woman who went missing two years ago, but she was at least fifteen years younger than you.”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“Doc at the hospital said you were probably in your late thirties to early forties. The girl who went missing who fits your description was mid-twenties.”

I sighed but nodded. It was on me to remember my past, which sucked, because the harder I tried to remember who I was and where I came from, the more an icy fear took hold of my insides. It was like my subconscious mind was telling me not to go there because I wouldn’t like what I’d find, and given my nightmare from last night, my conscious mind partially agreed.

I went back to the case file and continued to read through the report, which looked like it’d been written up by Deputy Norris. “Is Norris still alive?”

Cash nodded. “He’s sheriff over in Idaho County now. Great guy. Mentored me when I was coming up.”

“Cool,” I said. “I want to talk to him at some point.”

Cash didn’t say anything, so I looked up from the case file to find him squirming in his seat.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Cuz he’ll think you’re crazy, then he’ll think I’m crazy for letting you look at the case file.”

I laughed. “I’m assuming he worked this case to the bone.”

“He did.”

“For how long?”

Cash made a face, pulling on his chin. “Well, at least ten years or so. That’s why it’s so thick. He ran down every lead, talked to at least two hundred people, and tried to track down anybody who’d heard anything about it.”

I grunted. “And he came up empty.”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay, so one thing that I’m not seeing here in the report, but which I think is really important, is the fact that your dad didn’t draw his gun.”

I flipped a few pages to make sure of my hunch and winced when I saw the crime-scene photos of Cash’s dad, laying on his side, his left arm underneath him and his right arm bent at the elbow, his hand resting near the bullet wound in his temple.

Cash leaned over to look as well, and I had to remind myself that he’d probably looked at these photos dozens, if not hundreds, of times.

“Someone came up on him. Ambushed him. He didn’t have a chance to draw his weapon,” he said.

I shook my head. “No. He had a chance, Cash. He just didn’t draw because whoever pulled up was someone he trusted.”

“What do you mean, ‘pulled up?’”

“I mean, your dad was shot next to the front passenger seat of his vehicle.” I paused to point to the photo, which clearly showed Cash’s dad next to his patrol car. “Someone he recognized must’ve pulled up next to him, and when your dad got out of his car to walk around the hood to greet the killer, he was executed.”

“I’m struggling to see how you can be so sure of that, Maddy.”

I swiveled the binder toward him. “Your dad was shot slightly off the curb, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, he wasn’t on the sidewalk, which meant he was in the street by at least a couple of feet.”

“Okay.”