guys busy without looking for investigations to butt into?”
“The UNSUB crossed state lines to avoid police. It’s a federal case.”
“Okay.” She waited. “What else? I can tell you’ve been losing sleep over this thing and I’d like to know why. You’ve seen hundreds of cases.”
He put his beer down. She could sniff out a lie, so he might as well just tell her.
“When they called me in ten years ago, it was my first case as a lead agent. I got more involved with the families than I should have. Sheryl Fanning’s family in particular—that was harder than I’d expected. When you’re the lead, everyone’s looking to you for answers.”
Mark stared at his hands. He remembered Sheryl’s husband, her parents. Their grief had been enormous, and he’d felt powerless.
“They didn’t even have anything to bury,” he said. “I felt like I needed to give them some kind of encouragement, so I made them a promise. I said the investigation wouldn’t end, that I wouldn’t give up, until we got an arrest.”
It was a foolish promise—he knew that now—but he’d made it. And now ten years later, he still hadn’t delivered. So, yeah, this case was personal. Mark no longer made promises to people, but that long-ago one stuck with him.
“Every November nineteenth I get a call from her husband.” He looked up at her. “You know he still looks for her? Couple times a year he borrows a dog team from the local fire and rescue, goes tromping through parks and wilderness areas searching for her bones.”
Allison gazed down at him and those hazel eyes looked sad. Damn, why was he telling her all this?
He stood up. “Thanks for the drink.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“Now?” She glanced at her watch. “But it’s—”
“It’s November seventh, Allison. We’re running out of time.”
CHAPTER 7
Allison crossed the bullpen and yanked off her jacket.
“Reynolds is an idiot,” she said, tossing her keys on her desk.
“Nice way to talk about your boss.”
She glanced at Jonah, who was two cubicles away, doing what she should have been doing with her Sunday afternoon—catching up on paperwork.
Jonah leaned back in his chair and frowned at her. “What happened to your face?”
“Ran into a tree.”
He smiled. “And Reynolds is the idiot.”
She ignored him as she sank into her seat. “We now know of three women within an hour’s drive of here who have been attacked on October thirtieth. Not to mention a clear link between those crimes and others out in California. But are we looking for a serial killer? Heck, no, we’ve got the boyfriend.”
Something flickered across Jonah’s face, and Allison narrowed her gaze at him. She sprang to her feet.
“You’re doing it, too, damn it!” She was beside his cube in two strides. “What are you not telling me?”
“It’s not your case, Doyle.”
“It should be. I’m the one who found the Jordan Wheatley link. And Rachel Pascal.”
“Who had an accident, for all we know. A skull and a leg bone? You can’t even prove she was murdered.”
“Aha! You’ve checked out her case.”
Jonah looked annoyed. “Of course I’ve checked it out. I’m a detective. That’s what I do.”
“You know I’m onto something. And you’re holding out on me.” Just like Wolfe did, she thought, and her anger bubbled up all over again. “What does Reynolds know about Bender? Why is he so stuck on that, when we’ve even got the FBI down here saying we should be looking for a serial killer?”
Jonah sighed with resignation. He glanced around the room, which was practically empty except for a patrol officer on the phone.
“Bender won’t give us an alibi,” Jonah said. “And in this case, that’s a red flag.”
Allison thought about that for a moment. He was right—that was odd. “Because this is recent, you mean.”
“Exactly. If I came up and asked you what you were doing, say, the evening of January ninth
“The UNSUB crossed state lines to avoid police. It’s a federal case.”
“Okay.” She waited. “What else? I can tell you’ve been losing sleep over this thing and I’d like to know why. You’ve seen hundreds of cases.”
He put his beer down. She could sniff out a lie, so he might as well just tell her.
“When they called me in ten years ago, it was my first case as a lead agent. I got more involved with the families than I should have. Sheryl Fanning’s family in particular—that was harder than I’d expected. When you’re the lead, everyone’s looking to you for answers.”
Mark stared at his hands. He remembered Sheryl’s husband, her parents. Their grief had been enormous, and he’d felt powerless.
“They didn’t even have anything to bury,” he said. “I felt like I needed to give them some kind of encouragement, so I made them a promise. I said the investigation wouldn’t end, that I wouldn’t give up, until we got an arrest.”
It was a foolish promise—he knew that now—but he’d made it. And now ten years later, he still hadn’t delivered. So, yeah, this case was personal. Mark no longer made promises to people, but that long-ago one stuck with him.
“Every November nineteenth I get a call from her husband.” He looked up at her. “You know he still looks for her? Couple times a year he borrows a dog team from the local fire and rescue, goes tromping through parks and wilderness areas searching for her bones.”
Allison gazed down at him and those hazel eyes looked sad. Damn, why was he telling her all this?
He stood up. “Thanks for the drink.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“Now?” She glanced at her watch. “But it’s—”
“It’s November seventh, Allison. We’re running out of time.”
CHAPTER 7
Allison crossed the bullpen and yanked off her jacket.
“Reynolds is an idiot,” she said, tossing her keys on her desk.
“Nice way to talk about your boss.”
She glanced at Jonah, who was two cubicles away, doing what she should have been doing with her Sunday afternoon—catching up on paperwork.
Jonah leaned back in his chair and frowned at her. “What happened to your face?”
“Ran into a tree.”
He smiled. “And Reynolds is the idiot.”
She ignored him as she sank into her seat. “We now know of three women within an hour’s drive of here who have been attacked on October thirtieth. Not to mention a clear link between those crimes and others out in California. But are we looking for a serial killer? Heck, no, we’ve got the boyfriend.”
Something flickered across Jonah’s face, and Allison narrowed her gaze at him. She sprang to her feet.
“You’re doing it, too, damn it!” She was beside his cube in two strides. “What are you not telling me?”
“It’s not your case, Doyle.”
“It should be. I’m the one who found the Jordan Wheatley link. And Rachel Pascal.”
“Who had an accident, for all we know. A skull and a leg bone? You can’t even prove she was murdered.”
“Aha! You’ve checked out her case.”
Jonah looked annoyed. “Of course I’ve checked it out. I’m a detective. That’s what I do.”
“You know I’m onto something. And you’re holding out on me.” Just like Wolfe did, she thought, and her anger bubbled up all over again. “What does Reynolds know about Bender? Why is he so stuck on that, when we’ve even got the FBI down here saying we should be looking for a serial killer?”
Jonah sighed with resignation. He glanced around the room, which was practically empty except for a patrol officer on the phone.
“Bender won’t give us an alibi,” Jonah said. “And in this case, that’s a red flag.”
Allison thought about that for a moment. He was right—that was odd. “Because this is recent, you mean.”
“Exactly. If I came up and asked you what you were doing, say, the evening of January ninth
Similar Books
