Page 31 of The House of Cross

“Maybe she was referring to Alcott,” Sampson said. “Do a search and see if you can find anything about the home invasion.”

She did, using the last name Malcomb, and got stories about Ryan’s recent death in Nevada.

“Some of these reference Theresa May Alcott, but there’s nothing about a murder three or four decades ago,” she said, scanning the results.

“Well, his mother was Alcott’s sister, right? Do we know their maiden surname?”

“May,” Bree said, and typed incouple murdered May.

“That’s only going to get you murders in the month of May,” Sampson said. “Add the name of a western state to limit it.”

Bree addedNevadaand got a long list of stories about various homicides of couples over the years in May in Las Vegas and Reno. She triedUtah, Colorado, Wyoming,andMontana,with similar results.

“Idaho?” Sampson said.

“Why not?” Bree said and ran another search.

The first story up had been filed three years before in the BoiseIdaho Statesman. The headline read “Wheeler Murders Still Unsolved 35 Years Later.”

Bree clicked it, scanned the first few paragraphs, and said, “This has to be her.”

Sampson said, “It is her. Patricia May Wheeler.”

CHAPTER 22

THEY FOUND MORE THANfifteen articles about the case, but the retrospective piece in the Boise newspaper was the longest and most comprehensive.

The gist was that an unknown knife-wielding assailant had murdered Patricia and Norman Wheeler in their summer cabin on Alice Lake near Sun Valley, Idaho, early in the morning of July 14. The Wheelers were found in adjacent bedrooms.

“‘Both Patricia, thirty-six, and Norman, thirty-nine, were stabbed in the heart as they slept in adjoining rooms,’” Bree read. “‘Their nine-year-old sons, Ryan and Sean, were sleeping in their favorite place, a bedroom in the boathouse down by the lake. When their parents did not come down with breakfast to be eaten on the dock, a Wheeler tradition, the boys went back to the house, discovered the bodies, and frantically called 911.’”

Sampson said, “That would mess a kid up.”

Much of the rest of the story was based on interviews with former detectives from the Blaine County sheriff’s department and the Idaho state police. The weapon was never found, but forensics determined that the knife used on the Wheelers was a ten-inch fillet knife, something the couple did not own.

There was no unaccounted-for DNA in the cabin or anywhere else on the property, including the boathouse. They had no enemies that anyone knew of. And there was no apparent motive.

Norman Wheeler had been a successful bond trader in San Francisco. An audit of Norman’s accounts showed zero signs of malfeasance. Patricia was known for her volunteer work. Both husband and wife were highly regarded in California and in the little lake community they’d come to know and love. Patricia had rehabbed the cabin they’d bought as a getaway, made it their own.

They did not keep cash on hand. Patricia’s jewelry was untouched.

There was no indication either of them had ever had an extramarital affair.

The story also detailed various initial suspects in the case who had ultimately been cleared, including the boys.

“‘Sheriff’s detectives quickly took Ryan and Sean off their list. The boys were devastated by the loss and the boathouse had an alarm system that showed them inside the entire night,’” Bree read. “‘By all accounts, the Wheelers were a loving couple who lavished attention on their sons, who were later adopted by a relative back east. Sheriff’s detectives have been working the case on and off for three and a half decades. They still have no solid suspects or motive.’”

Bree looked up at Sampson. “What do you think?”

“For some reason, the kids’ last name was changed from Wheeler to Malcomb,” John said. “If they were adopted by the Alcotts, why didn’t they change the last name to Alcott or May?”

“Good point,” Bree said, noting it on a pad.

“Let’s talk to the lead detective there, the one with the Idaho police,” John said. “Finley Oakes.”

Sampson called the Bureau and was told Oakes had long ago retired and now lived in Bonners Ferry in northern Idaho. They found him on a Google search and called him.

“Finn Oakes,” he said. “Who’s this?”

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