“Then would it do me any good to tell you to stay the hell away?”
“None.”
“Just as I thought.” He breathed in the rain-scented air. “You’re flirting with danger, Skye.”
“Consider me warned.”
“Those weapons of yours will only help if you see him coming.”
“Scaring me won’t make any difference. That’s why I own those weapons. That’s why I went to his house in the first place.”
“So what do I do?”
“You listen, okay? Just listen. I’ve found something else you should know about.”
He muttered a curse. “I’m almost afraid to hear it.”
“I visited Oliver’s former residence, too.”
He shoved his free hand inside the warm pocket of his jacket, intrigued in spite of his anger and concern. “And?”
“I had a nice visit with the Griffins, the people who bought the house from the bank after Jane lost it.”
“I’ve already been there, talked to them. Do you think I’m not doing my job?”
“This is one of those chance timing issues.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, when Mr. Griffin put away the Christmas decorations a few weeks ago, he decided to have some lighting installed in the attic. He was tired of trying to organize stuff with a flashlight. So he hired an electrician, who spotted something shoved into a crack near a beam at the far corner.”
David’s heart began to pound. Two years ago, just after they’d moved in, he’d asked the Griffins to search every nook and cranny of their house hoping they’d find the knife or another object that might have been missed during the police search. Oliver had been living in that house when he was carted off to prison. It stood to reason that if he’d hidden something, it would be there. But the Griffins had insisted the house was empty.
Thank God for Christmas storage. Skye was right—this was about timing. “Jewelry? Clothing?” He stepped back as a car drove by and nearly splashed his shoes. “The knife?”
“No. A spiral notebook.”
That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Tell me it contains a signed confession.”
“It might. I don’t know. It’s in some sort of code.”
Encryption? That could prove interesting. Provided the notebook had belonged to Burke. And provided they could break the code.
“It’s written in a very meticulous hand, a neat hand—I think it’s Oliver’s,” she added.
It was tough to be too upset with Skye when she came up with possible evidence like this. He’d pretty much given up on finding anything at Burke’s former house. “Does it look complicated?”
“Complicated enough. I’ve been fiddling with it for a while and I think I know the character for e because it shows up the most often, but that’s it.”
“Mr. Griffin should’ve called me the minute his electrician handed that over.”
“He wasn’t sure it meant anything. The Burkes weren’t the first people to own the house so, as far as he was concerned, it didn’t necessarily belong to them. And it’s very strange. Not only are the letters scrambled, there’s a few geometric shapes mixed in. He would’ve thrown it out if not for the drawings in the back.”
“What kind of drawings?”
“Skulls, knives.”
Gooseflesh rose on David’s arms. “I’d bet my soul it belonged to Burke.”
“I would, too.” She paused for a moment. “And guess what? There are even dates in here. For whatever reason, he didn’t bother putting numbers in code. There’s one with each entry.”
“When’s the last entry?”
“June of 2004. Several months before he broke into my house.”
David fished in his pocket for his keys. “You have the notebook with you?”
“Yes.”
“Can you bring it to the station? I want it checked for prints, among other things.”
“Can we get prints after so long?”
“It’s actually a good surface. The amino acids left behind by a human hand often seep down into the paper fibers. Fingerprints on paper can last up to forty years if it hasn’t been exposed to water.”
“I don’t think it has been.”
“It might be more beneficial to break the code first. That could reveal the author and his thoughts.”
“There’s enough here to do both at once, believe me.”
“Okay, I’ll have some specialists look at it,” he said.
“How long do you suppose it’ll take to break the code?”
“With a computer, maybe an hour or so. Unless he’s a whole lot smarter than I think he is.”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “Let’s hope it tells us what we need to know.”
“Skye?” he said before she could hang up.
“What?”
“Detective Fitzer isn’t enjoying the input of the private investigator you hired to search for Sean Regan.”
“He said something to you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t care,” she said. “Fitzer isn’t doing his job. Someone needs to help Sean.”
“How do you know Fitzer isn’t doing his job?”
“He refuses to listen or cooperate.”
“He’s lead detective on this, Skye, not you. Your guy’s pushing too hard.”
“I just talked to Jonathan. He’s discovered some very interesting stuff.”
“Like…”
“There’s a four-door sedan that keeps showing up at Tasha Regan’s house late at night.”
“You think she’s having an affair?”
“I think the consistency and timing are suspicious, don’t you?”
David considered the information in light of Mike Fitzer’s complaint, and ultimately had to agree with Skye. “It is suspicious. The license plate you want Fitzer to run—does it belong to the sedan?”
“Yes. But Fitzer won’t help. He won’t even entertain the possibility that Tasha Regan could be responsible. You know why?”
“Why?”
“He thinks she’s hot.”
Remembering Mike’s comment about Miranda Dodge, David cringed. “How do you know?”
“He’s been showing up at her place a little more often than you might expect. If he ends up solving this thing, it’ll be because he stumbled into this other guy and finally got serious about uncovering the truth.”