Page 76 of The Flesh That Binds Us

“Look at the end of the picture. That’s the bottom of a door,” she said, glancing at Sebastian before looking back at me.

“Wait a minute,” I said, my eyes adjusting to what I was seeing, because beneath the dresser was the bottom of a wooden door. Son of a bitch.

Sebastian pushed his food away like it had suddenly turned sour. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“A basement?” Tiffany questioned, a line appearing between her brows.

A fucking basement. I was right there, right fucking there. How could I have missed this? How had we both missed that? “We have to go back out there,” I said, feeling like I was about to jump out of my fucking skin.

“Can we even get another warrant?” Sebastian questioned as he stood up, brushing the crumbs off his lap.

“No need. If we have reason to believe Wayne Gatz is The Skinner, we don't need a warrant, but we need a strategy.” I swallowed down the emotions that tried to come up, the feeling of vindication and grief rolling into one. I couldn't break down, I couldn’t cry, I couldn't drive down to Wayne’s farm and put a bullet between his eyes. Not just because we don't have confirmation yet, but because he didn't deserve death. No. He deserved to rot in a cell for the rest of his miserable life.

Knock. Knock.

“Rosen,” Officer Pike said, poking his head through the door. “There’s a man out front wanting to speak to you. Says it’s urgent.”

My brows pulled together immediately. I pushed back from the desk and stood. “We’ll pick this up when I get back,” I said, grabbing my blazer from the chair. I nudged my untouched lunch toward Sebastian. “Finish that for me, yeah?” I slid my arms through the sleeves before leaving the room.

Pike nodded toward the foyer up ahead. “He’s been pacing like a trapped animal for ten minutes,” he said as we moved down the corridor. I pushed the glass doors open, noticing a short, plump man pacing in the front room, a hand running through his thinning hair as officers walked around him.

“Can I help you?” I asked as I approached him, a flyer in his hand catching my attention.

“Found this at the servo station. I swear I’ve seen her before,” he said quickly.

I stared at the paper, and Evie's face looked back at me.

I took it from his hand, goosebumps prickling along the nape of my neck. “I swear to you, mate,” he said, pointing his grease-stained finger onto the paper. I glanced up at the man, raising my brow to feign indifference. He didn’t need to know my heart was racing a million miles an hour, and that I was seconds away from dropping to my knees and begging him to tell me what he fucking knew.

“Are you absolutely certain?” I asked.

He nodded fast. “Yes. I remember it clear as day.”

“Follow me,” I said.

The man blinked. “Wait, what⁠—”

“Now.”

I was already walking.

“Peter?” Tiffany called as we passed by the briefing room.

“Five minutes,” I threw over my shoulder without stopping. I opened an empty interrogation room, holding the door open so the man could walk in. Turning and closing the door, I pulled a chair out and sat down, looking straight into his eyes. “Take a seat, mister…”

“Bazirro. Frank Bazirro,” he said, pulling the chair out across from me and sitting down.

“Alright, Frank,” I said. “Start from the beginning. You saw her when?” I asked, placing the flyer between us on the metal table before pulling out a notepad and pencil.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “It was a while back. I was outside, watering the grass. Just doing my thing, you know?”

I nodded once. “And then?”

“I saw her across the road,” he said. “She looked just like that. She had on a bright yellow dress and um…lost. She looked lost. I was going to say something, but a red Ute pulled over and picked her up,” he said, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve.

The pencil paused mid-air.

“A red Ute,” I repeated.