flicker of hope back in people’s eyes.
The flip side was seeing it fade away in the weeks and months from now when it became evident Shelby Sherwood wasn’t coming home. Even Keith Janovic’s capture, if they ever did capture him, couldn’t make up for that.
Fiona turned off the television. “Thanks, but I meant what I said about moving on.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Sullivan said, and she heard the disappointment in his voice. “It was a privilege working with you.”
“Thanks.” She squirmed in her seat, not liking the favor she was about to ask. Sullivan was on a high-profile case, which meant exceedingly long hours. He probably had way too many balls in the air to be worried about making extra phone calls. “Would you mind getting in touch again? If you find out anything about Shelby?”
It had become personal at some point. Fiona had tried not to let it, but that never worked out.
“We’ll find her,” he said somberly.
“I know.”
Jack stared at the ME’s report on his desk, trying to glean any kernel of information he’d overlooked. Until the labs came back, this was the best he had to go on in terms of physical evidence. The cast of the tire tread, the green twine, and the biological evidence collected during autopsy all hadbeen sent out for analysis. Now it was time for some low-tech, back-to-basics detective work.
Fortunately, that was just the sort of work Jack excelled at. Fitting the puzzle together. Finding missing pieces where no one else had thought to look.
Unfortunately, he had very few pieces to work with at the moment.
Still no ID on the victim, although he fully expected Fiona’s postmortem drawing to solve that problem. She’d managed to translate a mutilated corpse into a smiling portrait. Someone would recognize her, and when they did, Jack would have an insight into the killer’s mind. How did he select his victims? Where did he operate?
In Lucy’s case, she’d just been wandering down the road on a bitter December night. She’d been cold, distracted. Too emotional after another fight with her parents to think about her personal safety.
What about Jane Doe? Had she simply been out walking alone near Graingerville? The clean, bare soles of her feet, plus the conspicuous lack of evidence in the field where she’d been dumped, told Jack the murder most likely had occurred elsewhere. Reinforcing this theory was the ME’s conclusion that the victim’s injuries had been sustained over the course of several hours, meaning the killer probably had held her captive somewhere else. But where? And why would the murderer dump the body on the outskirts of a town where someone might spot him coming or going? It was a ballsy move, and it bothered Jack.
He wondered where the killer had found her. Probably not a bar. As Fiona had pointed out, the girl looked young,maybe even younger than the ME’s report concluded. She wouldn’t have gotten served anywhere around here.
She could be a runaway, or a prostitute, or both.
But the physical findings didn’t bear that out. She’d been healthy, with the obvious exception of her final hours. She’d been well nourished, free of sexually transmitted diseases. She’d had straight white teeth and a cavity that had been filled at some point.
She was young. Hispanic. And beautiful, if Fiona’s picture was accurate. Those were three traits Jane Doe shared with Lucy, three traits Jack couldn’t get out of his mind. The similarities gnawed at him, made him uneasy for the simple reason that this was south Texas, a place where cultures collided, where tempers and resentments flared hot, especially during hard times. If beautiful Hispanic girls were being targeted around here, Jack knew this wasn’t a simple sex crime. They were dealing with something more complicated. And whatever it was, he felt sure the ramifications were going to rock his world.
As if they hadn’t already.
Jack rubbed his fingers over his eyes
The flip side was seeing it fade away in the weeks and months from now when it became evident Shelby Sherwood wasn’t coming home. Even Keith Janovic’s capture, if they ever did capture him, couldn’t make up for that.
Fiona turned off the television. “Thanks, but I meant what I said about moving on.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Sullivan said, and she heard the disappointment in his voice. “It was a privilege working with you.”
“Thanks.” She squirmed in her seat, not liking the favor she was about to ask. Sullivan was on a high-profile case, which meant exceedingly long hours. He probably had way too many balls in the air to be worried about making extra phone calls. “Would you mind getting in touch again? If you find out anything about Shelby?”
It had become personal at some point. Fiona had tried not to let it, but that never worked out.
“We’ll find her,” he said somberly.
“I know.”
Jack stared at the ME’s report on his desk, trying to glean any kernel of information he’d overlooked. Until the labs came back, this was the best he had to go on in terms of physical evidence. The cast of the tire tread, the green twine, and the biological evidence collected during autopsy all hadbeen sent out for analysis. Now it was time for some low-tech, back-to-basics detective work.
Fortunately, that was just the sort of work Jack excelled at. Fitting the puzzle together. Finding missing pieces where no one else had thought to look.
Unfortunately, he had very few pieces to work with at the moment.
Still no ID on the victim, although he fully expected Fiona’s postmortem drawing to solve that problem. She’d managed to translate a mutilated corpse into a smiling portrait. Someone would recognize her, and when they did, Jack would have an insight into the killer’s mind. How did he select his victims? Where did he operate?
In Lucy’s case, she’d just been wandering down the road on a bitter December night. She’d been cold, distracted. Too emotional after another fight with her parents to think about her personal safety.
What about Jane Doe? Had she simply been out walking alone near Graingerville? The clean, bare soles of her feet, plus the conspicuous lack of evidence in the field where she’d been dumped, told Jack the murder most likely had occurred elsewhere. Reinforcing this theory was the ME’s conclusion that the victim’s injuries had been sustained over the course of several hours, meaning the killer probably had held her captive somewhere else. But where? And why would the murderer dump the body on the outskirts of a town where someone might spot him coming or going? It was a ballsy move, and it bothered Jack.
He wondered where the killer had found her. Probably not a bar. As Fiona had pointed out, the girl looked young,maybe even younger than the ME’s report concluded. She wouldn’t have gotten served anywhere around here.
She could be a runaway, or a prostitute, or both.
But the physical findings didn’t bear that out. She’d been healthy, with the obvious exception of her final hours. She’d been well nourished, free of sexually transmitted diseases. She’d had straight white teeth and a cavity that had been filled at some point.
She was young. Hispanic. And beautiful, if Fiona’s picture was accurate. Those were three traits Jane Doe shared with Lucy, three traits Jack couldn’t get out of his mind. The similarities gnawed at him, made him uneasy for the simple reason that this was south Texas, a place where cultures collided, where tempers and resentments flared hot, especially during hard times. If beautiful Hispanic girls were being targeted around here, Jack knew this wasn’t a simple sex crime. They were dealing with something more complicated. And whatever it was, he felt sure the ramifications were going to rock his world.
As if they hadn’t already.
Jack rubbed his fingers over his eyes
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