laptop. Anything else you need?”
Neil looks at me, lifting one finger to ask for a moment. Standing quickly, he pulls open the door a crack, while I bury my embarrassed face in the washcloth. I don’t even bother trying to hear what else is being said; my mind has slipped back to where an innocent woman was found murdered in my favorite park, clutching my name in her hand. The thought that Lars, a man I’d talked to, shared stories with, went on a freaking date with, might be responsible has my guts in a twist. A new wave of nausea has me resume my position over the toilet, retching.
“Shit,” I hear Neil say. “Gotta go.”
The door shuts with a click, and for a moment, I think he stepped out. Until his large hand scoops my hair back, holding it away from my face. Jeepers , how much more embarrassing can this get?
“Just go,” I mumble when I finally manage to catch a breath.
“Not a chance in hell,” he replies, turning the tap back on to rinse the washcloth I’d dropped on the floor. “Get used to it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
N eil
“What’s up?”
I’m surrounded by the case files Gus dropped off with my computer, taking up half the dining room table. I’d just left Kendra in the bathroom to take a quick shower when he showed up. After setting up tracking on Kendra’s phone, connecting it with my laptop and the FBI computers in Durango in case the guy tried calling again, Damian ended up leaving with Gus, promising to be in touch.
A quick glance at my phone screen before I answered showed Damian’s name.
“Just got a call from the field agent who went to check out the conference. Lars Cayman left around noon, citing a family emergency. But get this: he was seen around all weekend, even participated in a few workshops. Theoretically, he could’ve been responsible for Tracy Poole’s murder, but something about this seems off. The timeline is pretty tight, especially if we consider the possibility she was held somewhere for the weeks since she’d been missing. She would’ve had to have been pretty damn close by for him to be able to have coffee with Kendra, fetch Tracy from wherever she was and drive her into the park. Neil, whoever it is, took his time with her. She was raped and sodomized. The coroner doesn’t think it was the first time; there was evidence of prior damage done. The carving on her back was done intricately, artfully. It would’ve taken hours. Hours he didn’t have, because the hotel in Grand Junction confirmed him checking in just prior to midnight.”
And just like that, the case we thought we had deflates like a balloon.
“Fuck. Back to square one,” I swear, doing my best to keep my voice down so Kendra, who’s puttering around in the kitchen, can’t hear. But Mal does. He’s sitting across from me with a concerned look on his face.
“Perhaps,” Damian concedes. “But don’t forget the piece of the map they found on her body. Cayman may have been in Grand Junction, but how the hell did a piece of one of the maps Kendra gave him end up clutched in the hands of the victim? Like I said, something is seriously off here. The office in Grand Junction has a few people going over pictures taken at the conference to see if they can pick him out. The DMV photo of him they pulled is a few years old, but I’ll email it to you to see if Kendra recognizes him. I also have them pulling her telephone records, see if that helps us any.”
“What about the school he works at? Anyone on that?” I ask, sharing the uneasy feeling Damian seems to have.
“First thing tomorrow I’ll have someone in Gallup with an eye on Cayman. But in the meantime, if you could do a bit more creative surfing into whatever online accounts Tracy Poole had, I’d be much obliged. I’ll be in touch later.”
“Damian?” Mal asks under his breath as I put down my phone.
“Cayman seems unlikely at this time.” I tell him the rest of what Gomez just relayed. About halfway through, I can sense
Neil looks at me, lifting one finger to ask for a moment. Standing quickly, he pulls open the door a crack, while I bury my embarrassed face in the washcloth. I don’t even bother trying to hear what else is being said; my mind has slipped back to where an innocent woman was found murdered in my favorite park, clutching my name in her hand. The thought that Lars, a man I’d talked to, shared stories with, went on a freaking date with, might be responsible has my guts in a twist. A new wave of nausea has me resume my position over the toilet, retching.
“Shit,” I hear Neil say. “Gotta go.”
The door shuts with a click, and for a moment, I think he stepped out. Until his large hand scoops my hair back, holding it away from my face. Jeepers , how much more embarrassing can this get?
“Just go,” I mumble when I finally manage to catch a breath.
“Not a chance in hell,” he replies, turning the tap back on to rinse the washcloth I’d dropped on the floor. “Get used to it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
N eil
“What’s up?”
I’m surrounded by the case files Gus dropped off with my computer, taking up half the dining room table. I’d just left Kendra in the bathroom to take a quick shower when he showed up. After setting up tracking on Kendra’s phone, connecting it with my laptop and the FBI computers in Durango in case the guy tried calling again, Damian ended up leaving with Gus, promising to be in touch.
A quick glance at my phone screen before I answered showed Damian’s name.
“Just got a call from the field agent who went to check out the conference. Lars Cayman left around noon, citing a family emergency. But get this: he was seen around all weekend, even participated in a few workshops. Theoretically, he could’ve been responsible for Tracy Poole’s murder, but something about this seems off. The timeline is pretty tight, especially if we consider the possibility she was held somewhere for the weeks since she’d been missing. She would’ve had to have been pretty damn close by for him to be able to have coffee with Kendra, fetch Tracy from wherever she was and drive her into the park. Neil, whoever it is, took his time with her. She was raped and sodomized. The coroner doesn’t think it was the first time; there was evidence of prior damage done. The carving on her back was done intricately, artfully. It would’ve taken hours. Hours he didn’t have, because the hotel in Grand Junction confirmed him checking in just prior to midnight.”
And just like that, the case we thought we had deflates like a balloon.
“Fuck. Back to square one,” I swear, doing my best to keep my voice down so Kendra, who’s puttering around in the kitchen, can’t hear. But Mal does. He’s sitting across from me with a concerned look on his face.
“Perhaps,” Damian concedes. “But don’t forget the piece of the map they found on her body. Cayman may have been in Grand Junction, but how the hell did a piece of one of the maps Kendra gave him end up clutched in the hands of the victim? Like I said, something is seriously off here. The office in Grand Junction has a few people going over pictures taken at the conference to see if they can pick him out. The DMV photo of him they pulled is a few years old, but I’ll email it to you to see if Kendra recognizes him. I also have them pulling her telephone records, see if that helps us any.”
“What about the school he works at? Anyone on that?” I ask, sharing the uneasy feeling Damian seems to have.
“First thing tomorrow I’ll have someone in Gallup with an eye on Cayman. But in the meantime, if you could do a bit more creative surfing into whatever online accounts Tracy Poole had, I’d be much obliged. I’ll be in touch later.”
“Damian?” Mal asks under his breath as I put down my phone.
“Cayman seems unlikely at this time.” I tell him the rest of what Gomez just relayed. About halfway through, I can sense
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