you’re withholding information that pertains to my investigation.”
“I asked you a question about the bracelet. How does that equate to withholding information?”
“Would you rather have me think that you’re too young and inexperienced to handle looking at crime-scene photos.” He was baiting her, trying to get her to slip and tell him what was bothering her.
There was no way she would fall into his plan.
Living with her father had taught Jodie plenty about keeping her thoughts to herself. Giving people too much information about how you felt and what you wanted was like giving them the gun and the ammunition they needed to destroy you. Only a fool would do that. And Jodie wasn’t a fool. “I’ve seen a lot worse than those crime scenes when I worked for the Baltimore police.” And what I’d rather you do is stick to worrying about identifying your victims.”
Harrison looked like he planned to keep pushing for answers, but the door opened and Sam walked in, putting an end to the conversation. “Looks like you two are getting acquainted.”
“We were going over crime-scene photos I printed for you. Take a look at this one.” He pulled a photo from Jodie’s hand and handed it to Sam. “Both skulls had similar wounds to the head. I know for sure one of the victims was shot. I’m pretty confident the other one was, too.”
“You’re sure?” Sam glanced at the photo, his eyes flashing with interest.
“See the slice in the vertebra there? You take a look, too, Gilmore.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her over to look at the photo Sam held. “There’s a deep gauge in it.”
“I see it.” And next to the vertebra more of that white-blond hair. Jodie shuddered and looked away, hoping neither of the men noticed.
“I feel pretty confident that the bullet hit there, cut through the spinal cord and probably lodged somewhere in the diaphragm. I couldn’t find evidence of a bullet wound on the other victim, but I’m going to the coroner’s office tomorrow to go over the bones in brighter light.”
“The MO matches our more recent murders.” Sam ran a hand over his cropped hair and frowned. “We should get the results of the DNA test on the blood on Leah Farley’s shoe soon. If it’s her husband’s blood, we’ll be looking for a fugitive. If it’s hers…”
“You’ll be looking for a body.” Harrison didn’t seem to have any trouble saying what Sam hadn’t.
“Right. For now, we’ll assume she’s alive and that her husband’s death isn’t related to crimes that happened decades ago.”
“I’d say our victims were killed somewhere around twenty-five years ago.”
Jodie went cold at Harrison’s words but didn’t ask what she wanted to. Why twenty-five and not twenty-eight, thirty, twenty-one?
“I’ve already done a search of missing persons’ cases from Loomis and the surrounding area.” Jodie managed to get the words out past her tight throat, but her hands trembled as she lifted the pages of information and handed them to Sam.
“Any possible matches?”
“A few.” Harrison pointed out the names, but his eyes were on Jodie, his gaze direct and assessing. He’d noticed her reaction to the date he’d given. Just as he’d noticed her reaction to the photo of the bracelet.
She could tell him what she was afraid to voice, but she didn’t.
The woman could be anyone.
Or it could be someone she’d known.
Someone she’d loved. Someone she was sure had turned away and never looked back.
Until she had more evidence, she didn’t plan to admit that the skeleton could be her mother.
THREE
Jodie paced the room as the men discussed the female victim. She needed to get out of the office. Get away from the photos they’d spread out on the desk. Away from the words she didn’t want to hear. The victim was a young woman. Early thirties. Small-boned. Five foot five or six. Probably 115 pounds.
Jodie’s height. Jodie’s weight. Jodie’s bone structure. Jodie’s long blond hair.
Could it be a coincidence?
“It’s getting late. Let’s call it a night and pick this up again tomorrow.” Sam sounded as weary as Jodie felt. She couldn’t blame him. He’d been in Loomis for two months and barely had any evidence to show for it.
“Sounds good to me.” Harrison gathered the photos and handed them to Sam. “You wanted these.”
“Right. I’ll just file them in my office. See you both tomorrow.” He walked to a closed door, unlocked it and disappeared inside.
Jodie didn’t wait for a second invitation to end the day. She grabbed her purse and opened the front door, stepping out into the cool night. The rain had stopped, but moisture hung in the air, clogging her lungs.
“Jodie! Hold up a minute.” Harrison called out, and Jodie considered ignoring him. The last thing she wanted was to have another conversation with him.
She stopped anyway, her hand on her car’s door. “What’s up?”
“Funny, that’s exactly what I was going to ask you.”
“Nothing is up.”
“You ran out of there like the place was on fire.”
“It’s been a long day. Tomorrow will be even longer.”
“Somehow, I don’t think that’s the real reason you ran.” He scanned her face, his eyes seeming almost translucent in the fading light.
“It’s one of them.”
“And the others?”
“Not something I want to discuss.”
“Whatever you know, whatever you’re hiding, you’re going to have to tell me eventually.”
“Maybe, but not today.” Because telling Harrison would mean admitting she was scared. More scared than she’d been in a long time. Scared that the woman lying hidden for decades was the mother she’d spent twenty-five years despising, the mother who’d run away and left her three-year-old daughter with a father whose harsh criticisms and cold anger had bordered on abuse.
Harrison searched her face, his brow furrowed. Dark hair, a little too long in the back, brushed his collar as he nodded. “Fair enough, but you may as well know that there are very few secrets the dead can hide from me. I’m not too shabby about getting the truth from the living, either. If what’s bothering you has something to do with this case, you won’t be able to keep it from me for long.”
It was a promise more than a threat, and Jodie sensed that there was nothing arrogant about the words. Harrison Cahill was good at what he did. Great at it, if the little she’d seen was any indication. In other circumstances, she’d be
