“But you’re wasting your time doing my work when you could be in Alaska doing yours.”

Amarok covered a yawn. His body seemed to have adjusted somewhat to “emergency” mode, and yet he couldn’t seem to quit yawning. “Phil’s got my back in Hilltop. He’ll call if anything turns up.”

“And if that happens, you’ll be hours and hours away. You’re okay with that?”

“I have to go where the investigation leads me. I don’t have any choice.”

“No choice? You could trust me, couldn’t you? I’m doing my job! Maybe you’ll believe me when I tell you I’ve found a possible connection between Terry Lovett and the man in the Quick Stop video.”

Amarok gripped his phone that much tighter. “What is it?”

“You mentioned the guy who came to town was likely an ex-con, right?”

“That’s what the tattoo on his hand signifies.”

“I agree. Well, Terry Lovett also served time—eight years to be exact.”

“Where?”

“Faribault—the biggest state prison in Minnesota. I’m heading there now to talk to the warden and other staff. If he was incarcerated there, and it was for any length of time, someone will remember him.”

“How long will that take you?”

“It’s an hour’s drive. Depending on what I find, how many people I have to talk to, it could take most of the day.”

Amarok had just opened his mouth to respond when he saw a blue Ford Focus stop in front of Terry Lovett’s house. A young girl, about ten years old, climbed out. She was saying good-bye to the people still in the vehicle when Amarok told Lewis he’d call him back and hurried over.

“Hi there.” He smiled at the woman behind the wheel as he flashed his badge. “I’m Sergeant Benjamin Murphy—”

“I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” she interrupted.

“No, of course not.” He shifted so that the girl, who was watching him curiously, remained between him and the vehicle. “I’m working with Detective Lewis with the Minneapolis Police Department on an important case involving this man.” He showed the woman the photograph. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen him.…”

“No. I’ve never seen him before,” she replied. “But I don’t live in this neighborhood.” She gestured at the girl who stood only a foot or so away from him. “Maybe Estelle will recognize him. I just picked her up after soccer practice. She lives here. Her mother and I carpool.”

“Can I look?” Estelle asked.

He handed her the photo. “You bet.”

She pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose, but she didn’t have to study the photograph for any length of time. Her face brightened immediately. “I thought I recognized him. That’s my uncle Emmett,” she said proudly.

Amarok’s heart began to race. “Your father’s brother?”

“No, my mother’s.”

She’d barely gotten the words out when a shrill voice cried, “Estelle! Get in this house! Right now!”

They both turned to see Bridget Lovett standing on the stoop.

“I have to go,” Estelle mumbled. Obviously frightened by her mother’s reaction, she grabbed her backpack and hurried to do what she’d been told.