Crime for the Books, page 17
“Hey, Lyla.”
I glanced over my shoulder.
“FYI, he’s inside.” Her face told me exactly who he was.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A flurry of activity buzzed around me when I walked through the white double doors of the police station. The new desk sergeant sat behind an enormous mahogany desk in the poorly lit front room with a phone to her ear. Her hair looked disheveled, and her face flushed when I walked up to the glass separating the desk from the waiting area. She held up a finger when she noticed me. I stepped back, realizing there weren’t any vacant seats available, and stood to the side, glancing up at the plaque that hung over the glass. I knew it by heart, but I read it every time I came into the building anyway.
It read:
The Sweet Mountain Police Department’s focus is:
To protect and serve our citizens with a high level of integrity
To utilize a community policing philosophy
To strive for excellence in all that we do
To become less incident driven and more proactive in preventing crime
“Is that the woman from the news this morning?” a voice behind me said.
I kept my head down.
“Yeah, yeah. I think it is.”
The closed security door between the waiting room and the office buzzed open, and the girl at the desk waved me through. A wave of gratitude washed over me. An uproar began from impatient people waiting to be taken care of, and I hurried through the door before my entrance provoked a mobbing. Concern agitated my insides like a butter churn.
The state officers were conversing with Quinn at the back of the room. The tension radiated around us like thick heavy humidity. The air almost felt too stifling to breathe. I had never encountered this sort of activity in Sweet Mountain before. People I’d never seen before scurried around the tiny office.
Brad stood with his hand on one of the partitioned walls at Harry’s desk. My pulse quickened.
A man loaded down with a portfolio, a heavy-looking bag slung over his shoulder, and a thick wool coat tried to get by me.
“Oh, sorry.” I stepped out of the doorway to allow him to leave, intending on making my way to where Quinn stood.
Brad raised his head then, and our eyes met. My feet were nailed to the floor by creeping dread. I’d known I would be facing him. Steeled myself for it. It made sense that they would be bringing in the most experienced investigator handling the state’s Jane Doe cases. But the brief distraction in the lobby had thrown off my concentration. The door closed behind me with a solid thud, and I jumped. Thankfully, it shook me out of my momentary discomposure. I cleared my throat, straightened, and broke eye contact.
“Lyla!” Quinn called curtly and waved for me to follow him to his office before disappearing inside the small room. Harry rolled back in his chair and watched me as he chewed on the back of his pen. I gave him a nod of acknowledgment, and he returned it. I’d seen a different side of Harry at the cemetery. As much as he attempted to be a senior officer on the force by default because of his cousin, he wasn’t. Quinn had mentioned that he was green. And that he definitely was, but there was a great strength within him as well. The scene and Jane Doe had shaken him. More so than he’d thought it would. He’d held it together, though. Secured the scene and gotten everyone down to the police station promptly. He’d be a good cop one day.
I navigated around the beige room with its ratty, green, threadbare carpet, giving Brad a wide birth. As wide as I could manage in the small space. He didn’t make a move to stop me, and for that, I felt appreciative, or perhaps slightly disheartened. I didn’t know for sure. We’d pretty much said everything there was to say on the phone. Still, it felt uneasy.
By the time I rounded the water cooler, I’d concluded that it didn’t matter. My whipsawing emotions had no bearing on why I was here. I would compartmentalize anything and everything. To do my job and secure Sweet Mountain’s safety, I had to.
A wise decision with the press nearby. I pushed open the door with Chief Daniels stenciled on it.
“Close the door,” Quinn said as he settled into his chair and removed his uniform cap. His office had wood paneling and an artificial plant in the corner. Other than that, it still lacked any descriptive pieces, which surprised me, because Courtney had mentioned to Melanie that she would be redecorating it for him.
“Not an ideal way to come back from your honeymoon.” I moved my bag from my shoulder to the floor. “I hated to interrupt your trip. If I’d had any other choice, I wouldn’t have. Was Courtney terribly upset?”
He shifted in his chair and ran a hand over his cleanly shaven face. Without his goatee, he looked younger. I hadn’t seen Quinn clean-shaven in years. “She’s fine. Honestly, I wished you called sooner.” He ran both hands through his short salt-and-pepper hair. “Maybe I could have managed this case better. I would have reined Rosa in, avoided a lawsuit, and kept the staties out of town.” He let both hands settle on the desk. “Greene mention anything to you about terms of the suit? Perhaps what they’d be willing to settle for to make this go away?”
“No. I didn’t think Mr. Greene was handling the lawsuit.”
“Someone in his office is.” He stretched. “Okay. Listen, you’re going to be working with GBI Jones on this Jane Doe situation. He was brought in by the state, not me.”
“That makes perfect sense to me.” I appreciated his use of Brad’s formal title—clear boundaries.
“Is that going to be a problem for you?”
“No. No problem at all.”
He rummaged around his desk. “Good. The department is packed, and moving some of the work to your uncle’s office would help. Jones will have all the clearance needed for the two of you to access databases.”
I nodded. There were a lot of people who bought Hollywood’s portrayal of private investigators. In fact, PIs were valuable assets in criminal investigations and often worked with the police and other law enforcement agencies when the situation called for it. Unlike the police, whose actions might be restricted as officers and enforcers of the law, a PI, as a private individual, might not be as limited. A private investigator could go and do things they couldn’t.
“I’ll introduce you to the two state police working on the case.” He opened and closed a few drawers. “It should go without saying, but I must say it.” He gave up on his search and lifted his head. “Rosa isn’t to be consulted on anything to do with this case.”
“Of course.” I leaned forward. “Are you taking the threat against her seriously? Someone impersonated her for a reason, and whatever that reason was, it may have gotten her killed.”
I reminded him about the flyer.
“I’m on it. I don’t want you to concern yourself with anything to do with Rosa. Focus on the Jane Doe.” His voice had an edge to it. “Are we clear?” There was a knock at the door, and he didn’t wait for my answer. “Come in.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brad walked into Cousins Investigative Services later that afternoon. I’d made up my mind that I would keep all our interactions professional. We had a case to solve, and nothing in our personal life should interfere with the job. I flipped the sign to CLOSED.
“You can use the desk.” I’d cleared the desk off in anticipation that he’d need it. He liked to spread his work out, use multiple screens and have plenty of elbow room. I was good working from the seating area. The coffee table would be adequate for my printouts and such.
He made no move from where he stood. His blank expression unnerved me more than anything else. He looked good, though, dressed in his gray slacks and navy sports coat. I’d put that outfit together for him several months ago and convinced him to purchase it.
I gave myself an inward shake. “Coffee?” I kept my back turned and began making myself a cup at the coffee bar.
“Are you actually going to pretend that everything is fine between us?”
I turned and stared him straight in the face. “Yes. We have a job to do. My friend’s life may be in danger. In fact, I’m almost certain it is.” I’d sent Rosa a text asking her to please take care and be extra vigilant. It’d been clear to me that some of the alleged accounts of her activity at the manor hadn’t been Rosa herself but the impostor. “Our personal relationship has ended. Plain and simple. Let’s focus on what’s important.” I felt proud that my tone was steady. Confidence oozed from my pores, even though I felt the opposite.
His eyebrows pulled together. “Closing your eyes to reality won’t change things. It’ll make them worse.”
A flush crept into my cheeks—hot and tingly.
So we were doing this then. Fine.
“I’m not closing my eyes to anything. My eyes are wide open. I see you, Brad Jones. I know what you did and who you are.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. “I told you what that was about,” he said, quick and low.
Anger built up in the pit of my stomach. “Yes, you told me. You went dark while I was dealing with this mess. And when you finally crawled out of your hole, you told me that your ex, the one you planned on building a life with but didn’t because you worked together, changed jobs.” I threw up my hands. “Now you can crawl back into her bed. She did exactly what you wanted.”
He snorted and shook his head. “I see plainly what you think of me. That our understanding about work only applies when you deem it relevant. If roles were reversed, you’d expect me to sit back and wait until you finished your case with a smile on my face. It’s happened. And she and I closed a case right before her retirement party. Yes, we were celebrating.”
Celebrating. I could spit nails.
“And honestly, Lyla, why do you care? You made it abundantly clear that you didn’t see us moving to the next phase in our relationship.”
I felt unsteady. Brad’s words caused me to momentarily falter, but I rallied. “The next phase? We both agreed things were good as they were. I thought—”
“No. You shut me down every time I brought it up. You physically shuddered when I discussed marriage or living like a civilian family.”
Did I? I scanned my brain and suddenly recalled a conversation we’d had at dinner with my folks. Somehow Little League had come up. I thought my father had mentioned something about his colleague’s grandson playing or something. Mother had brightened at Brad’s comment that he’d love to coach T-ball or Little League one day. The inference had been there. I’d cringed at the idea of being a minivan-driving mother. Laughed at the notion, even. Why? Because Brad had expected me to quit my job and find something less dangerous. And his ex had done just that.
I sighed. “So it was already over, and I had blinders on.”
Brad gave me a sad smile. “You’ve made it clear we want different things.”
I’d thought we were perfect together—both career driven, enjoying the freedom of being untethered. I sighed as I recalled a couple of instances where I’d pushed away his references to a future that had me home with kids or in another type of job while he continued working in law enforcement. Perhaps I’d have looked at the idea more fondly if he’d painted a world where I’d still be working in my chosen field. I should have discussed it with him. I’d chosen to ignore it instead, afraid to find out he wanted more than I could give him.
Ugh. I’d never wanted to be a person who denied the facts. Denied what was right in front of me.
“Why ice me?” Anger gave way to remorse. “You could have told me. Should have.”
“I had a sensitive case.” He moved to the desk then and put his briefcase down. He leaned against it, looking weary as he folded his arms. “I left my phone at my apartment. I couldn’t chance it being discovered. And as soon as I got back, I called. I planned on coming down and speaking with you face-to-face. Then I got the call about the Jane Doe here. I’d been pulled in and knew you were wrapped up in it. I hate this. Hate it, Lyla. I don’t want this to end. I love you. But after knowing where I stand, do you?”
He waited for me to speak. He shifted his feet. The first sign that he, too, battled inner turmoil. The lines around his eyes looked deeper. Granted, I felt I might have overreacted in my anger, misreading the situation. A case I could understand. Would have if Mel hadn’t clued me in on what Wyatt had witnessed and Dean’s interjection. Still, I felt betrayed. He’d admitted having feelings for his ex.
Resentment burst out of me. “You agreed our arrangement worked. You convinced me it was what you wanted too!”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m getting older. Dealing with the worst this world has to offer day in and day out makes me want a safe haven. A little place I can shut out the world—my work. I want a family before I’m too old to play with the kids. Can’t you understand that?” His voice was soft and reasonable, a tactic to both reach and calm me. I’d heard him use it before.
He opened his eyes and waited for me to speak. People like us didn’t have the luxury of living under the pretense that the world was a perfectly safe place. The world we lived in would seep into the imaginary life he’d envisioned. And how could it not? We held people’s lives in our hands every day, whether it be a mother searching for a missing child, a Jane Doe whose life had been brutally ripped from her, or a club member I loved dearly whom I believed to be in danger. No—either he understood my calling was just like his, or he didn’t.
“Think on it, Lyla. Think hard. We’ll put a pin in this until after we close this case. And either way, I can still work with you. You are a capable investigator growing into a stellar one. You’re right. Our cases are too important to allow any personal drama to affect them.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”
I searched his face. His dark gaze was serious, a look that I was sure struck fear in the hearts of those he went up against. A look that had warmed mine. He was right. I owed it to him to consider what he’d said and not give him a flippant or knee-jerk answer while my emotions were stirred up. I’d read somewhere once that there’s a time to think and a time to lay fallow. Now was a fallow time.
I closed the distance between us and took his hand. “Deal.”
* * *
A couple hours later, we’d gone through the coroner’s initial findings. The Jane had most likely died of asphyxiation. We’d have to wait for the final report to know for sure. Dental records were being searched, and we’d have to wait on those as well. From the initial findings, it didn’t appear she’d spent a lot of time in the dentist’s chair.
We couldn’t run her prints because someone had tampered with them. A grotesque and calculated act. We couldn’t use my go-to facial recognition software with her nose broken and her left cheekbone shattered. It would be futile. We went through missing persons and found several hits that could be her. Anyone could get a uniform, it seemed. There were companies online that made them but didn’t keep good records. Or at least they didn’t want to share their records. We’d have to get a court order to access anything. That would take time. Brad and I had both come to realize we were dealing with a person with psychopathic tendencies.
“Another dead end.” I stretched, leaning forward on the settee, after I ended the call I’d been on.
Brad lifted his head, but his fingers were still moving on the keys. “What did you find?”
“The missing person in Savannah didn’t have a cleft chin. That and the fact that the Mustang was stolen more than three weeks ago in Alabama, and we’ve got nothing.” The VIN number had gotten a hit immediately. Our Jane must have pulled the plate and replaced it with a cardboard tag.
“Savannah was our best lead.” He rolled back in the chair.
“Yep. Now we got bupkis.”
“Hmm. This Dean fellow. The one that brought you the images of Jane. Do you think he has any more pictures we could use?”
I rose. “That’s a good question. Maybe. Dean’s staying over at Holiday Inn Express. No, wait—” I recalled him texting me the other day. I scrolled through my texts and found his. “He’s changed hotels. He’s staying at the other Holiday Inn. I think I should pay him a visit. I’ve been thinking about him and wondering why he’s stuck around. He came by here looking for work. Ex-military.” I took a deep breath. “Something is off about him.”
“Off how?” Brad rose and grabbed his sports coat off the back of the chair.
“He’s too helpful. I get he might be attempting to prove himself to land a job, but he’s too attentive.”
Brad pursed his lips. “That’s not something off. That’s being male. He’s attracted to you.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged and grabbed my purse. “Let’s take a ride. I don’t want him to have time to gather himself. I want to catch him unawares. See what his deal is. If he’s into me, I can use that.”
Another snort from Brad, which I ignored.
When we pulled up to the hotel, there were a couple of press vans. It looked as if the hotel had emptied itself of all its guests. People were everywhere, and car horns blew. People were fleeing like bugs from a trap.
Police and ambulance sirens bellowed in the distance.
“What the hell?” Brad hit his lights on his unmarked black Lincoln and pulled up to the front, parking by the curb.
Joel came through the automatic doors holding a tan blanket to his chest, his expression ghostly. He proceeded to wrap the blanket around the shoulders of a woman sitting on the curb. I recognized her from the article. The jowly woman who’d loved attention sat with her arms wrapped around herself, rocking.
Brad unclipped his badge from his belt. “Police. Everyone, back up, please.”
Judy Galloway lifted her watery gaze. “There was so much blood. Blood everywhere.”
Alarm prickled my scalp. I moved over to Joel, who clutched me like a barnacle. His hands were shaking.
Brad bent down and had a low discussion with the woman.
“What happened?” I asked Joel softly.
“You know that guy you asked me about? Dean something or other?”
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