As the investigators readied to leave, thanking Marlene and Janie at the door, Jurek reiterated the need for their fingerprints as Sloan’s attention went to shoes belonging to Marlene and her daughter. She zeroed in on a pair of white canvas sneakers with pink laces, pink trim, noticing that they had small brownish flecks on them.

“Are those your shoes, Janie?” Sloan pointed. “The ones you wear all the time?”

“Yes.”

“All right then, one last thing,” Sloan said. “In keeping with the point of fingerprints; we’d like you to volunteer Janie’s shoes.”

“You want her shoes?” Marlene said.

“Yes, we need to take them and process them as well, the same principle as the prints.”

“You want to take her shoes?” Marlene repeated.

“Yes, because Janie’s been in the Tullock house. She must have others to wear. Is that a problem?”

Marlene, surprised, looked at Janie, who stared through her tears at her shoes, saying nothing.

“We can get a warrant to obtain them,” Sloan said. “But that will take time. If you volunteer, we can process them quickly.”

“Yes, I guess that’s fine,” Marlene said.

“Thank you, I’ll get a bag from the car,” Sloan said.

In her absence, Jurek smiled at them, thanking them for their cooperation, assuring them that everything was routine for investigations of this nature. Sloan returned wearing blue latex gloves and unfolded a brown paper bag.

Marlene and Janie exchanged glances as Sloan placed the shoes inside the bag.

Twenty-Three

Cielo Valle, Orange County, California
Present day

“It’s astounding how you get into the minds of murderers,” a woman with oversize glasses told Ben. “It makes your stories incredibly compelling. You have a gift, Mr. Grant.”

He smiled, pen poised to sign her copy of Devil’s Dance in Paris.

“Please make it out to Edna,” she said.

“Thank you, Edna,” Ben said. “I never forget the toll of the tragedy, never excuse the criminal act. My job is to search for the answers, even in the darkest corners.”

After signing, Ben greeted the next person in the long line of patient readers that stretched from his table at the outdoor book sale.

Row after row of folding tables, laden with boxes and crates of used books covered the parking lot of the One Light Redemption Church, thousands of donated books of every sort. Waves of book lovers streamed to the sale. Banners, balloons and flags flapped in the breeze that carried the smells of hot dogs and popcorn.

Ben was happy to be a part of it with his family. But between each signing he searched the crowds, dotted with volunteers in fluorescent green T-shirts, spotting Emma in hers, helping people find books.

For a moment he pondered how Emma was taken aback when he’d mentioned a possible case from Canada for his next book. Odd, but he shrugged it off because he was leaning to the Swedish case.