He had to check himself at the thought that they had never been given the chance to get to know one another as adults. Hell, his mother hadn’t even been around during his teenage years. Or when he’d left the nest in becoming a man and a special agent with the National Park Service. But maybe they could bridge the gap across the spiritual divide should he be able to solve her murder at long last.

  Garrett turned to the info on retired Special Agent Dexter Broderick. Now seventy-five, he was apparently residing at a nursing home in Asheville on Mountainly Lane.

  Let’s see what blanks he can fill in, Garrett thought, and he was out the door.

  * * *

  MADISON RECEIVED A report of a possible armed robbery by Milepost 374.4, close to the Rattlesnake Lodge Trailhead. She headed there to rendezvous with Law Enforcement Ranger Richard Edison.

  Back to business as usual...somewhat, she thought, with the Blue Ridge Parkway Killer still on her mind.

  Garrett had just called to say that he was en route to see the retired ISB special agent who’d worked on the original Jessica Sneed investigation. Seemed as though Garrett was now of the belief that his mother’s death might be tied to the current serial murders on the parkway. The notion gave Madison a fright. But it was also something she could see as a possibility, remote as it seemed given the wide time frame.

  If Jessica’s killer is still at large today, he deserves to be apprehended and sent to prison, Madison told herself. And if the unsub and the present-day perp were one and the same, all the better to solve it in one fell swoop.

  Pulling off the parkway behind Richard’s vehicle, Madison got out and approached him as he spoke to a thirtysomething Asian man standing beside his car, a blue BMW Gran Coupe.

  Richard turned to her. “Hey.”

  “What happened?” she asked, looking from one to the other.

  “This is Pierre Yang,” Richard said. “Why don’t you tell Ranger Lynley what you told me?”

  Madison gazed at the brown-eyed man, who was medium in build with short dark hair in a spiky cut, as he told her, “I pulled off to the side here to take some pics, and another car stopped. A guy got out, carrying a gun, and demanded my cell phone, camera and wallet, which had cash and credit cards in it.” His voice shook. “Of course, I gave them to him. He got back in his vehicle and took off. I had a second phone in my car that I used to call you guys.”

  She frowned. “Sorry you had to go through that, sir.”

  “Me too.” He scratched his pate. “Guess I shouldn’t have stopped here.”

  “You have every right to.” Madison believed that the culprit had likely followed the mark and waited for an opportunity to strike, as was the case for these types of crimes. She faced Richard. “Did you get a description of the suspect?”

  “Yeah.” He glanced at a notepad. “White male in his teens. Slender, blue-eyed with blondish-brown hair in a fringe cut and wearing a white T-shirt, jeans and black sneakers.” Richard looked at the victim. “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” Pierre replied with a nod.

  “What type of car was he driving?” Madison asked. She listened as he described it as a dark-colored sedan similar to a Mitsubishi Eclipse. When asked about the weapon the unsub was brandishing, Pierre believed it to be a .22 caliber pistol. “We’ll do what we can to help you retrieve some of your stolen items,” she told him. “I would strongly suggest you cancel the credit cards right away, to limit your liability.”

  “I’ll do that,” he assured her.

  “Good.” Madison turned to Richard and said, “After you finish taking Mr. Yang’s statement, notify the local authorities and see if they have reports of any similar crimes of late. Could be this is part of a theft ring, seizing upon any opportunities that come their way on the parkway or greater area.”

  “Okay.” Richard adjusted his campaign hat and looked at Pierre. “Let’s go over everything that happened.”

  Madison left them, knowing that her fellow law enforcement ranger could take it from here. She headed back to her patrol vehicle, wondering why so many teenagers seemed to be going off the rails these days. She supposed there could be many explanations, not the least of which was a misguided belief that they were owed something for nothing. If she were so fortunate to have children of her own someday, she would certainly do her best to ensure they were well grounded with strong values. Madison couldn’t help but think that if their father happened to be Garrett, he would be of the same mind.

  * * *

  GARRETT PULLED INTO the parking area of the Seniors at Blue Ridge Retirement Village. He got out and went inside the Victorian-style facility. At the front desk, he flashed his identification and asked to see Dexter Broderick. A moment later, a fortysomething female with a platinum bouffant approached him in the lobby and said, “I’m Wendy Schneider, the nursing home manager and health services coordinator.”

  “Special Agent Sneed,” he told her.

  “You wanted to speak with Mr. Broderick?”

  “Yes. I’m looking into a cold case he investigated when he was with the National Park Service.”

  Wendy arched a brow. “Not sure he can be much help to you, Agent Sneed,” she indicated sadly. “Mr. Broderick is currently suffering from moderate dementia as a result of Alzheimer’s disease. His memory loss is pretty significant, and he’s easily confused.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” Garrett had come across people with Alzheimer’s in his personal and professional life and wouldn’t wish this progressive disease on anyone.

  “But there are times when he’s lucid,” she said. “Moreover, Mr. Broderick rarely gets any visitors these days. He’s currently out in the garden getting some fresh air. You’re welcome to speak with him for a few minutes, if you like.”

  “I would like to do that, thanks,” Garrett said, believing it was worth a try.

  He was led through the facility and out a door to a large area with a well-manicured lawn, a variety of plants and flowers, a wilderness path and a pond. They approached an elderly, thin man who was sitting on an Adirondack rocking chair in a shaded area.

  “Mr. Broderick,” Wendy got his attention. “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Really?” Dexter’s blue eyes lit beneath thinning white hair in a Boston style with a widow’s peak.

  “I’m Special Agent Garrett Sneed,” Garrett said and stuck out his hand. Reluctantly, Dexter shook it with his own frail hand. “You worked on a case for the National Park Service thirty years ago.”

  “Did I?” He scratched his pate in straining to remember.

  “It was a murder investigation on the Blue Ridge Parkway.” Garrett took a breath. “The victim, Jessica Sneed, was my mother.”

  “Jessica Sneed?” Dexter’s chin sagged. “Your mother?”

  “That’s right. I’ve reopened the case in trying to solve the crime,” Garrett told him. “She was stabbed to death.” He glanced at Wendy, who had stepped farther away to give them a little privacy but was clearly listening to every word, based on her expression.

  “I’m sorry,” the older man said sincerely. “I tried to find out who did it.”

  “I know you did.” Garrett was thankful for his service and that his memory was still there on this occasion. “Do you recall anything that might be able to help me find her killer?”

  Dexter sucked in a deep breath, peered at him and said, “Who did you say you are?”

  “Special Agent Sneed of the National Park Service.”

  Dexter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do I know you?”

  “We just met.” Garrett could see that he was losing him. “We were talking about the murder of Jessica Sneed on the Blue Ridge Parkway.”

  “We were?” Dexter widened his eyes, but they looked blank. “Sorry, but my memory isn’t what it used to be. What is this about? And who did you say you are?”

  Guess this is about as far as I’m going to get, Garrett thought, eyeing Wendy as her cue that the interview was over. He turned back to the former special agent and said, “Just a friend who came to check on you.”

  Dexter looked confused, then broke into a grin. “Nice of you. Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” Garrett forced a smile. “Take care of yourself, Dexter.”

  “I will.”

  Wendy walked up to them and said to Garrett, “Hope you don’t feel this was a waste of your time.”

  “I don’t,” he stressed. “NPS special agents always have a bond, no matter what. I’ll show myself out.”

  * * *

  MAYBE I’LL HAVE better luck at the Buncombe County Sheriff’s Office, Garrett told himself as he took the short drive there. That was assuming this wasn’t a wild goose chase in trying to open a cold case by tying it to a current investigation.

  When he arrived, Sheriff Jacob Silva greeted him and said, “I had one of my deputies pull up what we had on the Jessica Sneed case and lay it out in an evidence room for you to take a look at.”

  “Appreciate that,” Garrett told him.

  “No problem.” Silva furrowed his brow. “I warn you, though, it may be difficult to look at.”

  “I get that.” Garrett met his eyes steadily. “I’m up to the task.”

  “All right.” Silva lifted the brim of his hat. “If we can do anything else to help solve your mother’s murder, we’re more than willing to do so.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

  Silva gave him a thoughtful look. “You’re thinking that the same killer could now be targeting women on the parkway?”

  Garrett waited a beat before responding contemplatively, “All options are on the table at this point.”

  “They should be.” The sheriff bobbed his head. “Some of the worst serial killers started early in life and stayed at it or picked back up in their later years.”

  Garrett kept that thought in mind as he walked into the evidence room. On the metal rectangular table was a pair of nitrile gloves and evidence collected from the crime scene on the parkway thirty years ago. In plastic bags were his mother’s clothing, shoes and backpack. Also bagged was the murder weapon. He put on the gloves and opened the bag, examining the survival knife while holding it by the wooden handle. This differentiated from the rubber handle used in the stabbing deaths of Olivia Forlani and Nicole Wallenberg. He didn’t put much stock in that, as different times, different handles.

  Garrett swallowed hard as he put the knife back into the bag, pained at what it had done to his mother. Had the same unsub used another knife to resume murdering women? Or was the case unrelated, if not just as sickening? Once he had perused the evidence and gone over some witness statements and incidental notes by investigators, Garrett had seen enough to warrant continuing to investigate what could well have been a one-off in the killing of his mother.

  Outside the room, he spoke with Sheriff Silva, who pledged continued cooperation and added, “By the way, the sheriff thirty years ago, Lou Buckley, is now retired and living the good life in Kiki’s Ridge. You might want to speak with him. I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you what he remembers about the case.”

  “I’ll do that,” Garrett said, more than willing to follow up on this with the former sheriff in the pursuit of long overdue justice.

  Chapter Fourteen

  That afternoon, Madison accompanied Garrett to Price Lake at Milepost 297, where they found the man they were looking for, she believed. Retired Buncombe County Sheriff Lou Buckley was standing on the pier, trout fishing. It saddened her to learn that his former colleague in law enforcement, retired ISB Special Agent Dexter Broderick, was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. Madison recalled that her grandfather had been in the early stages of dementia before eventually dying from a heart attack.

  “Since Buckley’s office had jurisdiction on the homicide at that time, hopefully he can provide some insight into the case,” Garrett told her as they walked down the long pier.

  “We’ll see,” she said, still wrapping her mind around the notion that a cold case could be the key to solving a current one. She wondered if the unsub was the same or if they were connected to one another in some way.

  Garrett cut into her reverie, remarking, “Glad to hear that your teenage armed robber ran out of steam quickly.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re dumb enough to try to use a stolen credit card less than an hour after stealing it.” She rolled her eyes at the stupidity of the young criminal. “Duh.”

  He laughed. “Well, thieves aren’t always the brightest bulbs in the chandelier.”

  “I’m just happy for the victim that his items were recovered with minimal loss,” she said, while knowing Pierre Yang’s story could have ended much more tragically since he was robbed at gunpoint.

  “Yeah.” They approached the seventysomething man, who was heavyset and wearing a fishing trucker hat with tufts of white hair beneath it. Garrett asked, “Sheriff Lou Buckley?”

  He turned to face them with blue eyes behind browline glasses. “Haven’t been called that in a very long time.”

  “Once a sheriff, always a sheriff,” Garrett uttered respectfully.

  Lou chuckled. “True enough.”

  “I’m ISB Special Agent Garrett Sneed, and this is Law Enforcement Ranger Madison Lynley.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” He was holding a lightweight trout rod in the water. “In fact, Sheriff Silva gave me a heads up that you wanted to talk to me about a cold case—the murder of Jessica Sneed...your mother.”

  Garrett nodded. “That’s right. I’m reopening the investigation. Anything you can tell us about the case would be helpful.”

  “First of all, I’m sorry she was killed that way,” Lou expressed. “I seem to recall that you were, what, about five at the time?”

  “Yes,” he acknowledged, tilting his face to one side.

  Lou glanced out at the lake and back. “Losing your mother at such a young age...you both deserved better.” He paused reflectively. “I had just been the sheriff of Buncombe County for a couple of years when the crime occurred on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It threw us all for a loop, as the parkway had been relatively peaceful in those days. Initially, our office battled it out with the National Park Service on who should take the lead in the investigation. Guess I had a stronger will and won out.”

  Madison asked him curiously, “What takeaways did you get from the case?”

  Lou considered this before responding, “The biggest takeaway, I suppose, was that the killer had to have been someone who knew the parkway inside and out. This would have given him a way in and out quickly.”

  “You mean like a park employee?” Garrett wondered.

  “Possibly, though we were able to eliminate as suspects everyone on duty that day. Even off duty workers, for that matter. Unfortunately, we didn’t have the same access and inroads to visitors on the parkway or national forest. As such, it was likely someone among this group who killed your mother.”

  Garrett’s jaw set. “Were there any similar murders during that time frame?” He thought about the evidence he’d reviewed in the case.

  Lou sighed musingly. “As a matter of fact, a year later, a young woman was stabbed to death in a similar fashion near the Yadkin Valley Overlook on the parkway.”

  “Was the killer ever caught?” Madison asked.

  “Yeah, an arrest was made a couple of days later. Man named Blake O’Donnell confessed to the crime, while insisting he played no part in the murder of Jessica Sneed. Seemed like we had an open-and-shut case.” Lou paused, frowning. “Then O’Donnell recanted his confession, claiming it had been coerced. The jury never bought it. Neither did I. He was tried, convicted and sent to prison.”

  “Was he ever released?” Garrett questioned.

  Lou shook his head. “He was killed behind bars, five years into his sentence. Ironically, he was stabbed to death by a fellow inmate after getting into a fight.”

  Could the jury have gotten it wrong and sent a man to prison for a crime he hadn’t committed? Madison couldn’t help but ask herself. Might the Blue Ridge Parkway Killer have more murders under his belt than met the eye?

  She took a step closer and asked the former sheriff intently, “Do you think it’s possible that Jessica’s killer could be at it again, killing women on the parkway?” She assumed he was aware of what was happening and the similarities between the cases.

  Lou looked out at the lake, where his rod remained in search of fresh trout. “The unsub would likely be in his fifties and up,” he muttered. “As I’m sure you know, most serial killers are younger than that. But the comparisons are hard to ignore. Even for an old geezer like me.” He took a breath. “Anything’s possible. If this is the direction you’re going in, you’re welcome to all my files on the original case, which I have in some boxes in my basement. If you’d like, I can send them over to the sheriff’s office. Or to the Pisgah Ranger District headquarters. Your call.”

  “We’d like that,” Garrett readily agreed. “The ranger district office would be good.”

  “Consider it done,” he said. “Again, I regret that when I was the Buncombe County Sheriff, we were unable to crack the case of your mother’s death. It’s one that got away.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Sheriff. Not all cases go as we’d like them to.” Garrett looked at him sympathetically. “I’ve had my fair share of investigations that dried up and there was nothing I could do about it.”

  “Same here,” Madison pitched in, wanting to ease his burden, while knowing that law enforcement was anything but a perfect science where all the bad people were held accountable for their actions. Still, she could only hope that the unsub or unsubs who’d left Jessica Sneed, Olivia Forlani and Nicole Wallenberg dead well before their times would one day have to face justice.