Let Her Run, page 4
Fiona offered Jake a quick smile that made his face tingle. She really was beautiful, especially with the sunlight through the windshield lighting up her amber eyes hidden beneath glasses. Her red hair shone like a jewel.
He focused on the road, trying not to get any ideas. He'd already messed up by kissing her before, and she was going through a breakup. It was a bad idea to have those thoughts about her.
But, to his surprise, Fiona said, "I, um... I told you I broke up with Mark."
Jake nodded. "Yeah... you doing okay?"
"I am," she said. "Mark was very overbearing. I had wanted to end it for some time."
"I hope it wasn't because of me," Jake said, referring to the kiss. "Because of what I did."
"No," Fiona said, sinking in the seat.
It felt hot and stuffy in here, and Jake felt the need to crack a window and let some airflow in.
"He was too much," she said. "It was more than... that."
He knew they needed to talk about the kiss. To clear the air on it. Jake wasn't even sure how he felt about it--he'd been caught in the moment, unable to deny his attraction to Fiona. It had just sort of happened.
And he felt bad about it; he really did.
As much as he did like her, he didn't want to confuse her. She deserved more than that.
"I'm really sorry about that, Red," Jake said, his voice quiet and low.
Fiona's eyes snapped to him. Jake focused on the road, slowly moving up the sunny street.
"Why are you sorry?" she asked.
"I shouldn't have done that," he said. "I shouldn't have kissed you."
Fiona's expression softened. "It's okay, Jake," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't mind it."
Jake's heart skipped a beat at the admission. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? He risked a glance her way, but her eyes were focused on the road ahead.
"I just don't want to complicate things," Jake said, his voice low.
Fiona was quiet for a moment, and Jake was afraid he had upset her.
"It's okay, Jake," she said softly. "Really, it is. I didn't hate it. But we can't do that again. Not right now."
Jake felt a rush of relief mixed with disappointment. Fiona was right, of course--they had a job to do, and they couldn't afford any distractions. But he couldn't deny that he wanted her, that he had wanted her for some time now. At first, he'd been worried it was because Lauren moved away, but he realized that his attraction to Fiona had been growing before that.
It was dangerous, he reminded himself.
At the same time, he'd made a lot of mistakes with Lauren, and he'd regretted them.
If, theoretically, he and Fiona were to give it a shot...
He wouldn't make those same mistakes.
He wouldn't beat around the bush or mess with her feelings. He hated the idea of hurting her, of confusing her.
But he had already messed things up by kissing her in the first place.
As they pulled up to Sharon French's house, Jake's thoughts were jolted back to reality. This was a murder investigation. He needed to focus on finding the killer.
Whatever was going on with him and Fiona could be dealt with later.
CHAPTER FOUR
Fiona took in the sight of Sharon French's house, shocked by how calm, quaint, and undisturbed it was. If it weren't for the outline of a body on the floor, along with the officers milling about, it would seem like a normal calm day inside of a woman's home.
"This was where she was found," a young male officer told Fiona and Jake, gesturing toward the outline on the floor in the kitchen. Fiona noted that the outline of the feet extended beyond the wall, which would have given the witness a view from his spot at the front door. So far, that checked out.
"And there was no sign of forced entry?" Jake asked.
"Nope," the officer said. "We confirmed it with the witness; he had knocked on the door, and it had merely pushed open. This was yesterday afternoon. Wasn't till the coroner's report came in last night that we realized this was a murder."
Fiona stepped closer to the outline, trying to see if she could gather any clues from the scene. She had to admit the lack of forced entry was curious. It could have been someone Sharon knew, or someone who was able to pick the lock. But why kill her? What was the motive? Glen Hartwell had been found very much the same, according to the report; when his wife and children had come home, they had found the door open, and the wife had stepped in to find her husband motionless on the floor, just as the plumber had found Sharon.
Jake joined her, crouching down beside her. "What do you think?" he asked.
"It's hard to say," Fiona murmured. "I'd like to take a look around and see if anything stands out."
Fiona examined the kitchen, taking note of the lack of any sort of struggle or disarray. It seemed like the killer had just walked in and killed Sharon without any sort of altercation.
"Did she have any enemies, any recent conflicts or disputes?" Fiona asked the officer.
The officer shook his head. "Not that we know of. Nothing concrete, anyway. We heard from the neighbors that she could be, well..."
"Well, what?" Jake asked, hands looped in his pants.
"A bit of a stickler," the officer explained. "Shouting at kids for loitering, getting mad at neighbors for letting their dogs pee on her lawn... stuff like that. She wasn't very well-liked. But we couldn't find any overt enemies either."
"But she could have some," Jake said.
"Sure, she could," the officer replied.
Even if Sharon wasn't well-liked, they didn't currently have anything linking her to Glen. Still, Fiona took note of it in case it was useful for later.
Fiona nodded, her mind already racing with theories and possibilities. She walked over to the counter and examined the fruit bowl sitting there. It was full of ripe apples and bananas.
"Did she have any visitors or anyone she was expecting?" Fiona asked, looking at the officer.
The officer shrugged. "We're still working on talking to anyone who may have seen anything, but so far, no one has come forward with any information."
"Okay," Fiona said. "Let's take a look around the rest of the house."
Jake nodded, and the two of them began to move through the rest of the house, checking rooms and looking for any sort of evidence. Fiona felt a sense of dread as she walked through the quiet, undisturbed home, starting with the living room. The forensics team had already made their sweep, but some officers were still around, taking hair samples.
As they moved through the living room, Fiona's eyes fell on a framed picture sitting on a side table. It depicted Sharon smiling, arm in arm, with a man who looked to be in his late forties. Fiona picked up the frame and examined it closely. This must have been a relative, or maybe her ex-fiancé.
Fiona made her way up to the second floor with Jake, her feet padding over the soft carpet. She noted that there were no signs of a struggle anywhere in the house. It was as if the killer had come and gone without leaving a trace.
As she walked into the first bedroom, she noticed that one of the windows was open slightly. Fiona moved closer, examining the sill. There were no signs of forced entry, but she could see that the roof would be easy to climb.
"Could the killer have gotten in this way?" she asked Jake.
Jake followed her gaze to the open window. He moved closer, examining it as well.
"It's possible," he said before pulling out his phone and taking a picture of the window. "We should check to see if there were any footprints on the roof or any other indication that someone might have climbed up there."
Fiona nodded in agreement. They both left the room, making their way downstairs and to the backyard. The early summer sun shone down on them, and Fiona squinted against it as she took in Sharon's well-manicured backyard. One thing was certain: she took good care of her home. Everything seemed to be in pristine order, and the garden was too well-cared-for to be done by Sharon alone. She suspected a professional landscaping crew was responsible for the array of healthy flowers and perfectly-placed soil, complemented by sparkling stones.
Fiona and Jake walked to the edge of the roof, examining it for any signs that someone had come this way. They checked for footprints by the roof but found none, not even a single out-of-place pebble or leaf. It seemed that whoever had visited Sharon on that fateful day had done so without leaving a trace.
Just then, Fiona heard a distinct buzzing sound. It was like a violent hum--something she'd never misplaced. As an entomologist, it was her job to recognize the sounds insects made, and she was certain that it sounded like a wasp nest.
"Jake, do you hear that?" she asked.
He nodded and followed her gaze to the roof. Sure enough, a wasp nest was tucked away in one corner of the roof, hidden among the vines.
"They are quite active," Fiona commented. She frowned. It was probably nothing, but: "Sharon seemed to care very much about keeping things in order, yet she left this wasp nest."
"Maybe she's allergic," Jake said. "Didn't want to deal with them."
"Right," Fiona said. He was probably right; after all, wasps weren't what killed Sharon French or Glen Hartwell, and it probably wasn't anything at all.
But still, something about the wasp nest bothered Fiona. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she was missing, something important.
Either way, there seemed to be no clues here that would lead them to Sharon French's killer. And with that being the case, Fiona was sure she could understand more if she actually saw Sharon's body.
"I think it's time we head to the coroner's," she told Jake.
CHAPTER FIVE
The coroner's office was a stark contrast to Sharon's pristine home. It was cold and clinical, and the smell of disinfectant hung heavily in the air, stinging Fiona's nose. Fiona and Jake were ushered into a small room, where a middle-aged man in a lab coat was waiting for them.
"I'm Dr. Cohen," he said, extending a hand to Fiona. "You must be the team working on the French case."
Jake offered his hand. "Yes, I'm Agent Jake Tucker, and this is Fiona Red, forensic specialist."
Fiona nodded and shook his hand. "We were hoping to see the victim's body and get a better idea of what we're dealing with."
"Of course," he said. "Right this way."
Dr. Cohen led them through a maze of hallways until they reached the morgue. He pushed open the door, revealing a room filled with metal tables and cabinets. The air was freezing, and Fiona could see her breath in front of her.
A sense of dread settled heavily in Fiona's stomach. She had seen too many murder victims in her time as an agent-in-training, but each one still affected her in some way.
Sharon's body was lying on a table in the center of the room, covered with a white sheet. Fiona felt a pang of sadness as she looked at the still form. This was a person, someone with hopes and dreams and a life that had been snuffed out too soon.
Dr. Cohen pulled back the sheet, revealing Sharon's face. Fiona steeled herself and leaned in for a closer look.
The first thing she noticed was the complete stillness of her, as though she were merely sleeping and suspended in time. It was a remarkably clean death, with no immediate signs of trauma. But Fiona could see the evidence of poison--the yellowish tinge around her eyes, which were thankfully closed shut.
Jake hung back, watching with his arms crossed over his chest. Fiona shot him a look, comforted by his presence in the room, even if things did feel slightly awkward between them now. She was still in shock he had brought up the kiss--more than that, she was shocked at what she'd said. That they couldn't do it again. It was true--Fiona knew it was for the best, but even still. She couldn't deny her feelings for Jake, but now, after that, she was sure he probably felt like she didn't want him that way at all. Which, as much as she tried to deny it, wasn't true.
She looked away from Jake and back at Sharon's body, trying to focus. She snapped on some latex gloves and stepped up to examine the body. She ran her fingers lightly over the victim's skin, searching for any type of clue or evidence that could help them. But there was nothing remarkable--no broken fingernails, no bruises or lacerations on her body, no indication of a struggle before death. No needle marks to show any sort of injection site.
"And this poison," Fiona began, "it hasn't been detected in the bloodstream of either victim?"
"No," said Dr. Cohen, "but the coloration around her eyes tells us it had to be a foreign agent that caused this. We don't see something like this occur naturally, and it doesn't appear to be an allergic reaction either."
Fiona had to agree. She looked down at the body, noting the color around Sharon's closed eyes. "It's not unheard of for poison to be nearly impossible to detect in the blood." But if the killer was using such a discreet poison, she wondered--did they not want it to be known?
Were these murders, or more like quiet assassinations?
Moreover, Fiona wondered how the poison was administered. She didn't see any visible trauma. She made her way to Sharon's face, then gently pried her mouth open.
At first, all she could see was pink flesh, but as she looked closer, she began to notice something peculiar. She saw faint, dark marks on the inner walls of Sharon's throat. Trauma from a foreign object--possibly a tube?
“Did you see this, Dr. Cohen?” Fiona asked.
Dr. Cohen leaned forward, frowning. “No, I was waiting for you to complete the examination. This is new to me.”
"What is it, Red?" Jake asked, still keeping his distance from the examination table.
"It looks like somebody forced something into her throat," Fiona said.
Dr. Cohen flashed a light into Sharon's mouth, a solemn look taking over his face. "Yes... it appears as such. Could this be how the poison was administered?"
Fiona nodded. "It's possible. The killer could have forced the poison down her throat using a tube or some other device."
Jake stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Sharon's body. "But how did the killer get close enough to her to do this? Especially if there was no sign of a struggle."
Fiona chewed her lip, deep in thought. She was starting to get a clearer picture of what had happened to Sharon French, but it still wasn't enough. They needed more evidence.
"We won't know for sure until we run more tests," she said.
Jake raised an eyebrow. "What kind of tests?"
Fiona turned to him, her expression serious. "More toxicology, for starters. Forensics could still pick something up."
"The team is working on it now," Dr. Cohen said. "I can call you if we get any leads."
Fiona nodded. Until then, she needed to think. What kind of nearly undetectable poison could be administered in some sort of tube? She was also concerned by the fact that the killer had managed to get it inside of the victim, but only by damaging her throat. No signs of force outside of that. How was that possible?
As they left the coroner's office, Fiona's mind raced with questions and theories. Maybe the killer had pretended to be a medical professional, luring Sharon into a false sense of security before administering the poison. She had a feeling that they were dealing with a highly skilled killer, someone who had planned this murder to perfection. But why? What was the motive behind killing Sharon French and Glen Hartwell, and who was the killer?
She couldn't help but feel like they were missing something crucial, something that would connect all the pieces together.
As they approached Jake's car, he turned to her and said, "You okay, Red? You've been awfully quiet."
Fiona nodded, lost in her thoughts. "I'm fine, just trying to process everything. There has to be something we're not thinking about here."
"Agreed." They got into the car, Jake behind the wheel, Fiona in the passenger seat. Jake sighed and turned to Fiona. "I still think our best bet is trying to draw any connection between the victims. Sharon's the latest. Let's talk to the ex-fiancé."
***
As they drove to Sharon's ex-fiancé's house, Fiona's mind swam. She and Jake were quiet as he drove--something felt different between them. Their usual easiness was more tense, shadowed by the conversation they'd had earlier. Jake seemed to accept that Fiona had said nothing could happen between them, but part of her regretted speaking so soon and with such finality. Had she messed everything up?
Was there even anything to mess up, to begin with?
Jake was the one who had apologized for the kiss. Maybe he regretted it for more reasons than one.
Fiona shook her head, trying to clear those thoughts away. She had a case to work on, and the victims needed her to be in the game. She thought of what she'd once told Jake when she first met him, and he was secretly dating Lauren--that a relationship that distracted from work couldn't be good. And here she was, falling for him, dreaming about him, even when she knew it was a bad idea.
So she wiped those thoughts away and focused forward. Jake turned into a quaint neighborhood, navigating the streets toward Sharon's ex-fiancé's house.
As they pulled up to a small bungalow with a neatly trimmed lawn, Fiona took a deep breath and steeled herself for the interview. They were here to find out if Sharon had any enemies, any reason someone would want her dead, and most importantly--if she somehow knew Glen Hartwell.
Jake stepped out of the car, and Fiona followed suit. They made their way up the walkway, and Jake rang the doorbell. They waited for a few moments before a man opened the door. He was tall, with closely cropped brown hair and a strong jawline, but with tired, puffy eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
"Can I help you?" he asked, eyeing them warily.
"Mr. Duke Reynolds?" Jake asked, flashing his badge. "I'm Agent Jake Tucker with the FBI, and this is Fiona Red. We were hoping to talk to you about your ex-fiancé."
Duke's posture was immediately tense. "You want to talk about Sharon... she's dead, you know. The police told me." He laughed awkwardly. "Of course, you know, what am I saying?"
Even though Duke and Sharon had broken up, it was obvious he was torn up over her passing.
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