Throwing out Fred’s name had been a longshot. At this stage, other than Grace’s hunch, he had no proof the two deaths were connected.

But it appeared he’d hit pay dirt. If Holmes and Wilson had been on a first-name basis, they’d had a relationship.

“Tell me how you knew Fred.”

He shrugged. “Everyone knows their next-door neighbor.”

What?

Holmes lived in town, according to his intel.

Nate held on to his placid expression. “That’s not your official address.” He pulled out his notebook and recited it. “Are you telling me you don’t live there?”

“No. I do. But my dad owns the farm next to Fred’s, where I grew up.”

Nate’s brain began to process at warp speed.

Could this guy’s father be the neighbor Grace had told him about this morning? The one who had been pressuring Wilson to sell? The one Wilson had told law enforcement he believed was responsible for the vandalism occurring on his property?

This wasn’t the direction he’d expected his conversation with Holmes to take—but Nate went with the flow.

“I understand your father wanted to buy Mr. Wilson’s farm.”

Holmes shifted. “Yeah.”

“Where does that stand?”

The younger man continued to fidget. “I, uh, think my dad is working with the bank on that.”

So the elder Holmes was still after the farm.

“I’m going to back up to my earlier question. What do you know about Fred’s death?”

“I already told you.” He swiped away a bead of sweat trickling down his cheek. “What does all this have to do with the Mavis woman, anyway?”

“Again, you tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Two people are dead.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“A footprint I suspect will match yours was found under the broken window at Mavis’s house . . . and there are different types, and degrees, of homicide. You don’t have to pull a trigger to be charged with murder.”

Holmes sat up straighter, panic flaring in his eyes. “Wait a minute. I didn’t go there to—” He stopped abruptly. Spat out an expletive.

Bingo.

That slip of the tongue confirmed he’d been at Mavis’s house the night she died.

“Why did you go there?”

The nineteen-year-old slammed his arms across his chest and jerked up his chin. “I’m not saying anything else until I have a lawyer.”

Nate waited a few beats. Stood. “Fine. But remember what I said. Judges are much more disposed to look kindly on cooperative subjects than on ones who thwart the efforts of law enforcement to do its job.” He pulled out a card and passed it over. “My cell number’s on there. Anytime you want to talk, day or night, give me a call. If I don’t hear from you, you’ll hear from me.”

He left Holmes in the office, tracked down the owner to thank him for his cooperation, and returned to his cruiser.

First order of business, get Fred Wilson’s file from his colleague in the adjacent county and go over it with a fine-tooth comb. Repeat the exercise Grace had already done with a side-by-side comparison of the files for Fred and Mavis.