Grandpa’s hand connected with the back of William’s head. He flinched and rubbed his crown. If Grandpa was a ghost, then he was the kind that could still touch things in the living world. Like those ghosts from that old movie about the family that lived over an Indian graveyard.
“What’s the matter with you, boy?” Grandpa scolded. “You didn’t come here to fool around with her. Now get moving before she gets blood on your shirt.”
The warning came just in time. He looked down to see Shirley reaching for him. He jumped back just in time and started walking away.
“Wait!” she cried after him. “Come back! Billy, don’t leave me here!”
“This is what you deserve,” he said, shutting the door behind him.
“Billy!”
The door clanged shut, and William breathed deeply, then exhaled slowly.
“Good work, boy,” Grandpa said gently. “Now get. It’s daylight. More folks’ll be out, and we don’t want to be here if someone else shows up. Set up the tarp and get these tracks covered.”
William nodded. “Yes, Grandpa.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The three agents moved quickly up the drive toward the house, flanked by Sergeant Brady Forster and three Sioux City PD uniforms. The police officers split into pairs and flanked the house while the FBI agents moved toward the front door.
Faith stood back, weapon at the ready. Turk stood next to her, growling, ears laid back. Michael knocked firmly on the door. “FBI! Open up!”
Silence.
Michael knocked again, “William Holden! This is the FBI! Come to the door now!”
Silence.
Faith whispered into the radio. “Anything on your end, Brady?”
“No,” the sergeant replied. “The windows are curtained, and the back door is locked.”
“All right. We’re going in through the front. Go ahead and come in through the back.”
“Ten-four.”
She nodded at Michael, and Michael stood back. He holstered his weapon, took a deep breath, then kicked the door open.
Turk shot through the door like a bullet. Faith followed, Michael in the rear. A second later, the four police officers met them in the living room. Two of the PD officers headed upstairs while Forster and the other officer helped Faith and Michael clear the downstairs.
Turk sniffed around, growling as he navigated the first floor.
“Clear!” one of the officers upstairs called.
“Clear!” Forster called from the bathroom downstairs.
“Clear,” Faith said reluctantly.
She and Michael holstered their weapons. “Place looks dismal,” Michael observed, looking around at the spartan furnishings and curtained windows. There was a thin layer of dust over everything. It looked as though the house hadn’t been inhabited for a few days.
That wasn’t a good sign. If William knew the FBI was after the killer, he might have gotten spooked and run after disposing of Shirley Brooks.
She told herself not to panic yet and said, “All right, he’s not here. So we need to find out where he is.”
“How do we do that?”
“We know he’s using his grandfather’s buildings,” Faith said.
