her, check with his officer, check on … hell, every damn thing that could possibly be related to Hannah Parker.
Out of habit, he looked out his window, able to see the front of Treasure Island and nearby, the front of Brannon McKay’s loft. Across the street, but out of his sight, was Hannah’s place. She’d been discharged that morning and although it had burned his gut, he’d been forced to let her leave the hospital.
Her cousin had taken the day off and Gideon knew for a fact that Griffin had been watching her throughout the day. At least when Brannon wasn’t with her.
But night was rolling around and she’d be alone soon. Unless she gave into Griffin nagging her. That could go either way, Gideon knew, because the Parkers were stubborn people.
Aware that Deatrick was still watching him, he nodded. “It was handled, but apparently she butted heads with that asshole Hansen again.” He blew out a breath and studied his notes. “We need to figure out where he was the night Hannah wrecked.”
“You think he might have had something to do with it?” Deatrick’s lip curled. “That boy doesn’t have the brains God gave a goat.”
“Oh, I’m aware. But we don’t get the job done unless we investigate everything.” He took his time and looked around the quiet station. The small town of McKay’s Treasure didn’t need a heavy police force and nights were almost always peaceful. Weekends changed things up some and summers changed it up even more.
But nothing felt peaceful right now and Gideon had already advised all of his officers that if anything felt unusual, if anything was out of the ordinary, nobody was to wait—he was to be called immediately . He wished he had it in the budget to hire some more people. Even one more person, but that wasn’t going to happen.
“But you think Doc Briscoe’s idea … you’re thinking it’s maybe on the money.” Deatrick watched him narrowly.
“I’m thinking that there’s too much we don’t know.” He looked up then and met the younger cop’s eyes. “Now you and I both know what we’re looking at here—Shayla Hardee was just plain stupid and that likely led to her death. I can only hope we can find who it was that did her. But…” The grim reality of the past few weeks set in and it showed in his voice, showed on his face and in his eyes. “You saw her body. So did I. What he did was cold. Whoever did that is a thinker. He didn’t let emotion get in the way and he didn’t hurry. He had a job to do and he did it.”
Gideon riffled through his files and found the list of Shayla Hardee’s personal effects. Clothes, make-up, jewelry. No phone. No camera. “Then he cleaned up. Most of the video was shot on a fairly recent Sony model. I’m going to reach out to the state, see if they can’t narrow it down more for me.” So far, they hadn’t been able to locate the camera. Her husband had told them they’d bought one a couple of years ago, right before an anniversary trip, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it. And it was a Sony.
That camera wasn’t in the house.
It hadn’t been in her car.
It hadn’t been found during the search.
“It wasn’t her husband. We’ve already ruled him out and we’ve got no leads. So we’re dealing with somebody cool enough, collected enough, cold enough to kill a woman and then clean up and leave next to no evidence behind. There were a few fibers on her body, but they were cotton. There was no DNA, nothing to actually tie our killer to our vic. Cold. Smart.”
“Not her husband, that’s for damn sure,” Deatrick muttered. Roger Hardee had been a fucking mess ever since his wife’s death. Usually the husband—spouse—was the most likely suspect, but they hadn’t had to look at him long to know he wasn’t the man they were looking for, even aside from the alibi he’d provided.
“Roger can’t clean his own ass without help,” Gideon said, aggravation chewing at him. Again, he
Out of habit, he looked out his window, able to see the front of Treasure Island and nearby, the front of Brannon McKay’s loft. Across the street, but out of his sight, was Hannah’s place. She’d been discharged that morning and although it had burned his gut, he’d been forced to let her leave the hospital.
Her cousin had taken the day off and Gideon knew for a fact that Griffin had been watching her throughout the day. At least when Brannon wasn’t with her.
But night was rolling around and she’d be alone soon. Unless she gave into Griffin nagging her. That could go either way, Gideon knew, because the Parkers were stubborn people.
Aware that Deatrick was still watching him, he nodded. “It was handled, but apparently she butted heads with that asshole Hansen again.” He blew out a breath and studied his notes. “We need to figure out where he was the night Hannah wrecked.”
“You think he might have had something to do with it?” Deatrick’s lip curled. “That boy doesn’t have the brains God gave a goat.”
“Oh, I’m aware. But we don’t get the job done unless we investigate everything.” He took his time and looked around the quiet station. The small town of McKay’s Treasure didn’t need a heavy police force and nights were almost always peaceful. Weekends changed things up some and summers changed it up even more.
But nothing felt peaceful right now and Gideon had already advised all of his officers that if anything felt unusual, if anything was out of the ordinary, nobody was to wait—he was to be called immediately . He wished he had it in the budget to hire some more people. Even one more person, but that wasn’t going to happen.
“But you think Doc Briscoe’s idea … you’re thinking it’s maybe on the money.” Deatrick watched him narrowly.
“I’m thinking that there’s too much we don’t know.” He looked up then and met the younger cop’s eyes. “Now you and I both know what we’re looking at here—Shayla Hardee was just plain stupid and that likely led to her death. I can only hope we can find who it was that did her. But…” The grim reality of the past few weeks set in and it showed in his voice, showed on his face and in his eyes. “You saw her body. So did I. What he did was cold. Whoever did that is a thinker. He didn’t let emotion get in the way and he didn’t hurry. He had a job to do and he did it.”
Gideon riffled through his files and found the list of Shayla Hardee’s personal effects. Clothes, make-up, jewelry. No phone. No camera. “Then he cleaned up. Most of the video was shot on a fairly recent Sony model. I’m going to reach out to the state, see if they can’t narrow it down more for me.” So far, they hadn’t been able to locate the camera. Her husband had told them they’d bought one a couple of years ago, right before an anniversary trip, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it. And it was a Sony.
That camera wasn’t in the house.
It hadn’t been in her car.
It hadn’t been found during the search.
“It wasn’t her husband. We’ve already ruled him out and we’ve got no leads. So we’re dealing with somebody cool enough, collected enough, cold enough to kill a woman and then clean up and leave next to no evidence behind. There were a few fibers on her body, but they were cotton. There was no DNA, nothing to actually tie our killer to our vic. Cold. Smart.”
“Not her husband, that’s for damn sure,” Deatrick muttered. Roger Hardee had been a fucking mess ever since his wife’s death. Usually the husband—spouse—was the most likely suspect, but they hadn’t had to look at him long to know he wasn’t the man they were looking for, even aside from the alibi he’d provided.
“Roger can’t clean his own ass without help,” Gideon said, aggravation chewing at him. Again, he
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