Page 24 of Little Child Gone

Cold started to seep through her heavy parka. “I just have a few questions. And it’s really cold out here.”

“Fine.” Regan opened the door just enough for Nikki to squeeze inside the mobile home. She wiped her boots on the mat. When her eyes adjusted, Nikki scanned her surroundings. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the modern, open-concept home smelled and looked clean, with pretty laminate flooring throughout the main areas.

A large computer desk and an impressive setup with three monitors took up a large amount of the main room. Nikki had already learned Regan worked in IT, but instead of hanging up software certificates, Regan had gone for an entirely different look.

Nikki stared at the familiar, awful face adorning the wall. An autographed drawing by Richard Ramirez had been framed next to a photo of the serial killer in his prison jumpsuit. Two clown paintings by John Wayne Gacy flanked it, and a wanted photo of Ted Bundy, along with an authenticated letter from Bundy, held a place of honor above Ramirez and Gacy.

She stared at Regan. “Are all of these real?”

He puffed out his scrawny chest. “Ramirez’s, yes. The Gacy and Bundy ones are replicas, but I’m always on the lookout for authentic memorabilia.”

“You’re a serial killer fan?” An interest in true crime was one thing, but the serial killer collecting obsession made no sense to her. Lack of real-life experience was the only reason she could come up with for people like Regan romanticizing ice-cold killers.

“Oh yeah.” He grinned, showing bright, straight teeth. “If I didn’t have anxiety issues, I’d have gone into psychology just to interview them.”

Nikki struggled not to roll her eyes. He was one ofthose. Thanks to television and pop culture, too many people thought a degree in psychology was all someone needed to go into forensic psychology. Television and movies seemed more intent on making her job sound thrilling than helping the public. Given his fervor for true crime, Nikki was surprised he didn’t recognize her or Matt Kline’s name. “You collect serial killer stuff and don’t know about Matt Kline’s family? The Bone Lake murders?”

Regan shrugged. “I know. But killing for selfish reasons like covering your own ass doesn’t interest me. I’m into the psychology.”

“I interviewed Richard Ramirez in grad school.” She looked Regan in his dark eyes. “I can assure you, it wasn’t a fun experience.” Her mentor Elwood had taken Nikki with him to interview Ramirez during her final year in graduate school. It had been her first experience of San Quentin and wiped out whatever idealized version Nikki had of the world.

Regan’s eyes bulged, and she knew he was about to ask her all about that hot, miserable day. She beat him to the punch. “You have the only view of the Hendricksons’ old place. Did you ever notice anything unusual?”

“Since it’s been empty?” Regan thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. But I also stopped paying attention after Karl died.”

“Did you know him well?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say well, but I had a soft spot for the old codger. He reminded me of my grandpa.”

“Karl lived alone, right?” she asked. “Did he have any sort of home health aide?”

“No, he didn’t, at least not that I knew of. That’s why I tried to check in on him when I could after I bought the place.”

“What did his children have to say about that?”

He made a face. “I tried to check on Karl to make sure he didn’t need anything. Once a week for three years until he died, and I only saw his daughter once. He mentioned his son lived out of state and they spoke weekly, but I hated seeing how alone he was. Money doesn’t buy everything. And that’s all she cares about,” Regan added. “I don’t know the details, but I know she tried to block the sale to me. She wanted the entire acreage kept together to sell as one.”

“His daughter’s an attorney. She didn’t handle the sale for him?”

“No, some guy out of Forest City.” Why hadn’t Karl had his daughter handle the sale? Was it simply because they didn’t talk?

“What about his grandson?” The Watsons didn’t appear to have a good opinion of Spencer Bancroft.

“Never really met him,” Regan answered. “Only time I saw him, he was digging through the old shop for stuff to sell, so he said. That wasn’t too long before his grandpa died.”

“You’re in IT, right?”

His eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

“I’m FBI.” She smiled. “And that’s public information. I take it you work from home?”

“Software engineer,” he said. “Healthcare IT.”

“Which healthcare system?”

He shook his head. “I work for the medical software company. That’s why I work from home. If I worked for the hospital system, I’d have to go into work a few times a week.”

“You like your peace and quiet?” Nikki asked.

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