CHAPTER SIX
The cleaning staff were servicing my motel room when I returned. I walked to the rear of the building and sat on a bench with a commanding view of the sluggish, dark waters.
Not for the first time, I wondered if Bobby Cutler had thrown Christine Conroy’s body into the river, her skeletal remains now lodged under some tree or rocks downstream like Chief Marshall suspected. Never informed where her body lay, I determined I would find it and modern-day forensics would give up clues about how she met her untimely death.
Back in my room, I went through the cold case boxes and updated myself with any new information. Three hours and four cups of coffee later I’d learned a lot of details about this case, some which I already knew, some which remained irrelevant and some that were n
