He walked across the parking lot and entered through the front door. As soon as he opened the door, Dale Richards stuck a cup of coffee toward him with a thick hand and a huge smile.

“Walt Jenkins, a man I thought I’d never see again.”

Walt offered a smile. “Dale, good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Twenty years,” Dale said.

Those years had not been kind to Dale Richards. The man had gained what Walt conservatively estimated to be one hundred pounds. He wore a short-sleeve golf shirt that wrapped tightly around the man’s midsection, stretching the microfibers to maximum capacity. Dale’s neck sagged at his chin and tapered like a turkey’s wattle into the man’s chest. Twenty years earlier, Dale sported dark hair combed straight back and held in place with product, revealing then the man’s receding hairline. The retreat had never ended and now only a thin apron of hair remained, wrapping around the base of his skull.

“Damn,” Dale said. “You look like you haven’t aged a day since we worked together. Still got that baby face.”

“Thanks. You’re looking good.”

“I see you haven’t lost your politeness. Listen, I’m not turning any heads, but I feel good. Doctor keeps telling me to lose weight or I’ll die early. But I’d rather be fat and happy than skinny and miserable. And I can still kick the crap out of most of the young punks that come through this place thinking they’re going to be the next top cop.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“I was shocked to get your call, Walt. The Cameron Young case was a long time ago.”

“Were you able to find anything?”

“Not yet, but I’ve narrowed it down,” Dale said. “Follow me.”

Walt took a sip of the coffee, winced as he swallowed it, and followed Dale Richards to the basement of the small police department. It took an hour of rummaging before they found it—a single cardboard box on a shelf with a thousand others. It was marked Cameron Young, 2001. Dale pulled it off the shelf, blew away a thick layer of dust, and handed it to Walt.

“I knew it was down here.”

“Thanks, Dale. You’re a lifesaver.”

“What’s the interest?”

“You remember Victoria Ford?” Walt asked.

“Of course.”

“Her remains were just identified by the OCME in New York.”

“Get outta here.”

“For real. We got word that there might be renewed interest in the old case, so I thought I’d refresh myself with the details.”

“Everything should be in there. Everything we had, anyway.”

“Can I get this back to you in a week or so?”

Dale shrugged. “Case has been closed for twenty years. Keep it as long as you’d like.”

* * *