Page 28 of Fatal Fame
She nodded. "Adirondack County Sheriff's Office. They'd been seeing each other for about six months, but it was supposed to be secret because he was married,” Wendy remarked with disapproval. "Rebecca knew it was wrong, but she convinced herself that he was going to leave his wife for her."
"And when he didn't?"
"She was devastated. Called me crying almost every night, saying she didn't understand how someone could just throw away what they had. She felt used. She kept thinking if she gave him space, he'd realize he'd made a mistake and come back to her."
Pierce exchanged glances with his team. A married cop having an affair with a murder victim, a recent breakup, emotional devastation, the pieces were forming a picture that could provide both motive and means for murder.
"Did Rebecca ever mention feeling threatened by Michael? Or by his wife?"
"Not threatened, exactly. But she was scared of what would happen if word got out about their relationship. Michael had made it very clear that his career would be ruined if anyone found out, and Rebecca was terrified of being seen as the woman who destroyed a police officer's marriage."
"What about alibis? The police must have investigated Michael as a potential suspect."
Wendy's expression darkened. "Oh, they investigated him. Turned out he was working a security detail that night, the Oktoberfest Weekend in High Peaks with dozens of witnesses. Officers often do these things for extra pay. Perfect alibi, almost too perfect if you ask me."
"Too perfect how?"
"Michael Torres had been doing private security work for months before Rebecca's death, but that particular night was thefirst time he’d done it in High Peaks. Convenient timing, don't you think?"
Pierce made careful notes, his mind already working through the possibilities. Alibis could be manufactured, especially by someone with law enforcement connections who understood how investigations worked. A security detail in High Peaks would involve multiple agencies, creating opportunities for coordination, slipping out unnoticed, and cover-up.
"Wendy, I need to ask this directly—do you think Michael Torres killed your sister?"
"I think Michael Torres knew more about Rebecca's death than he ever admitted to police. Whether he pulled the trigger himself or arranged for someone else to do it..." She shrugged. "But proving it is another matter entirely."
They talked for another hour, with Wendy providing details about Rebecca's routine, her relationships with neighbors and colleagues, and her concerns about Jacob's behavior in the weeks before their deaths. Nothing contradicted the timeline that Evelyn Cross had established, but Wendy's perspective added emotional context that helped explain the personal dynamics that might have led to murder.
"There's one more thing," Wendy said as they prepared to leave. "If you want to talk to someone who really knew Rebecca, you should speak with Liam. That's her older son, Jacob's brother. He was away at college when it happened, but he might have insights about his mother's relationships that I wouldn't know about."
"Where would we find him?"
"He runs a used bookstore here in town. He moved to Elizabethtown to be closer to me after the murders." Wendy wrote down an address on a piece of paper. "But please, don't tell him I sent you. He's very private about the family tragedy, and he might not appreciate me giving out his information."
Pierce pocketed the address, already planning their next move. "Thank you, Wendy. This has been incredibly helpful."
"Just find the truth, Mr. Landry. That's all I've wanted for ten years, someone to care enough to find the truth. I know you’ve received heat over this but I would rather someone is doing something than nothing."
The Book Nookoccupied a narrow storefront on Water Street, wedged between a hardware store and a café that had seen better decades. The building itself looked like it dated from the early 1900s, with tall windows and pressed tin ceilings that spoke to an era when Elizabethtown had been more prosperous than it was today.
Pierce pushed through the front door, triggering a bell that announced their arrival with a sound that seemed to echo through decades of accumulated silence. The smell hit him immediately—mustiness mixed with old paper and mildew that characterized buildings where moisture was a constant battle.
The interior was a maze of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with volumes that looked like they'd been there since the store opened. Narrow aisles wound between sections devoted to different genres, creating the kind of labyrinthine layout that serious book collectors loved and casual browsers found intimidating.
A large man with thick glasses sat behind the counter near the front, his attention focused on a paperback novel that he held with the careful reverence of someone who understood the value of words.
"Help you find something?" the man asked.
"Actually, I'm looking for Liam Hale. Is he available?"
The man's expression shifted slightly, moving from disinterest to mild suspicion. "You're not from around here."
"No, we're visiting from California. We're working on a documentary about his mother and brother."
"Liam!" the man called toward the back of the store without taking his eyes off Pierce. "Someone here to see you."
A voice responded from somewhere in the depths of the bookstore, and footsteps approached through the narrow aisles. Liam Hale emerged from behind a shelf of local history books, and Pierce was struck by how much he looked like the photographs of his mother that had appeared in newspaper coverage of the murders.
Tall and thin with dark hair and intelligent eyes, Liam had the kind of careful bearing that suggested someone who'd learned to be wary of strangers asking questions about his family. He wore dark jeans and a button-down shirt that looked like it came from a thrift store.
