He leaned forward in his chair. "There was a horrific murder committed in a small town near Bradford over thirty-five years ago. Does the name Carson Fellows mean anything to you?"
There was a sharp intake of air and then an ominous silence at the end of the line. "Mom, are you still there?" Frankie asked worriedly after several seconds had elapsed.
"I'm…I'm here." Selma cleared her throat. "It's all over town that the murdering rapist son-of-a-bitch is out of prison. We'd have never known if he hadn't violated his parole. Out only six months. He never should have been released after what he did."
Frankie and Johanna looked at each other in shock. Selma rarely uttered a curse word, but when she did, it meant her normally pleasant, slow to anger demeanor had reached the boiling point and control was no longer possible.
"Has anyone in Bradford spotted him?" the Sheriff asked. "Has he tried to make contact with anyone he might have been acquainted with from his past?"
"No. I doubt he'd dare show his face here again. He wouldn't last a day. Actually, there's no reason for him to come here anyway. He has no family or friends left here."
"That's what I thought," George answered quietly. He ran a large hand over his jaw. "Selma, I have to tell you something, but I need you to promise me that you'll stay calm."
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