“A lot of people don’t take valuables with them when they exercise. Still . . . you’d expect her to at least have a key with her, right? To a car or an apartment, if she lived close.”
He didn’t comment.
“You think this is related to the muggings from last month?” she asked. “Maybe the assailant is escalating?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know yet.”
“Or maybe someone took her keys and stole her car?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“What about timing?” she asked.
“What about it?”
“Well, the trail is a high-traffic area.”
“Not today it isn’t.”
“Yeah, that’s my point. Maybe it happened last night or this morning, before all the rain, and that’s why no one found her until this evening?”
Again, no comment.
“The juice bar is open seven to seven,” she said. “But Alvaro said he didn’t hear any gunshots.”
“You interviewed Alvaro?” He sounded ticked off.
“He also didn’t see any unusual cars parked behind the shop today. When the other lots get full, people sometimes park there and use the cut-through to the trail.”
Jacob finished off his taco and didn’t offer to support or refute anything she’d said.
“So, you still haven’t nailed down the time frame?” she asked.
“The ME should be able to help with that.”
Bailey itched to get out her notepad and write all this down, but she sensed he’d clam up on her. She was lucky to have him here at all. She munched on her chips and decided to change the subject for a while.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Does it matter if I say no?” He smiled slightly, and she got a warm flutter in the pit of her stomach.
“I’ve been covering the crime beat for almost a year. How come I haven’t crossed paths with you?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know.”
But something told her he did know. He seemed like the type who avoided reporters at all costs. Some cops liked to talk to the media, and they got all puffed up when they were interviewed—especially by a woman. Others said nothing and directed questions to the PR people.
A whoop went up across the street, and Bailey turned to see a pair of young-looking guys laughing and shoving back and forth. They seemed to be vying for the attention of two blond girls climbing into a pedicab.
Bailey turned around, and Jacob was watching the scene. She tried to guess what he was thinking. Was he wondering whether each of those people was going to make it safely home tonight? After years as a cop, was he able to see people out having fun without thinking of all the ways things could go wrong in a heartbeat?
There was no way he could do his job without becoming at least a little jaded. Her job was like that, too, and she felt an odd connection with him.
“It was weird being there today,” she said.
“Being where?”
“The lake.” She cleared her throat. “I’m down there almost every day. Seeing the ME’s van pull up . . .” She shook her head, and Jacob’s brow furrowed with concern.
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen before answering. “Hey, what’s up?” he said, turning so she couldn’t eavesdrop.
Bailey watched him, and she had the distinct impression he was talking to a woman. She didn’t know why, or why it would matter one way or another.
“Okay.” He glanced at Bailey, his expression grim. “I’ll be there.” He ended the call and stood up. “I need to go. Where are you parked?”
“Go ahead. I’m fine.”
“Where are you parked?”
She sighed. “Just down the block.”
They pitched their trash and headed back without talking, and Bailey stopped beside her car.
He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it over, surprising her. Maybe she’d made some progress after all.
“My cell’s on the back,” he said. “And if you go to the lake, be careful.”
“Always am.”
“I mean it.”
His sharp tone startled her, and she tried to read the look in his eyes.
“It’s really bad, isn’t it? What happened to her? That’s what you’re telling me,” she said.
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Yes, you are.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then gave a slight nod. “Just be careful.”
* * *
* * *
JACOB DROVE WITH his windows down, letting in the humid air and the street noise. The bars were closing soon, and people lined the sidewalks, flagging down taxis and Ubers and heading to parking lots to retrieve cars. He made his way through downtown and turned onto Cesar Chavez Street, which paralleled the lake. The storms had cleared, and through the trees he saw moonlight glittering off the water. It looked pretty. Peaceful, even. And most people didn’t know that just hours ago a woman’s brutalized body had been recovered from this same lake.
The sign for Jay’s Juice Bar came into view. The parking lot was empty, as he’d expected, and he swung into the lot. His headlights swept over the wooden shack and the dumpster beside it. He cut the engine and sat for a moment, looking and listening as the smell of garbage drifted over.
Jacob ran through his fact base. No ID, no wallet, no phone. No keys of any kind. No witnesses, either, and thanks to a combination of rain and lake water, they had shit in terms of trace evidence. Any footprints or drag marks they might have found had washed away.
The main evidence was the body itself, and Jacob was counting on the medical examiner to make sense of it. Normally he dreaded the ME’s office, but he was so desperate for answers right now, he was actually looking forward to tomorrow’s autopsy—which showed how fucked up his perspective had gotten.
He grabbed the Maglite from the console and got out, closing his door with a soft click. He turned the beam to high and swept it over the corners of the parking lot.
People sometimes park there and use the cut-through.
Bailey’s words came back to him, and he pictured her at that picnic table, slurping on her Coke. He should have known she’d go back and talk to the juice bar attendant. This case was shaping up to be a mess, and now he had Bailey Rhoads to deal with, with her plump mouth and her silver toe ring and her razor-sharp questions. He never should have given her an interview. Not that he’d revealed much, but still. She’d penetrated his defenses once, and he had no doubt she’d try to do it again.
Jacob aimed his flashlight at the sign posted on the chain-link fence: RESTAURANT PARKING ONLY. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED.
Had the victim parked here and used the shortcut? Maybe someone had followed her, killed her, and then stolen her keys and her car?
But this didn’t feel like a car theft. After twelve years on the job and five as a detective, he had a gut instinct for these things. Based on the clothing and the victim’s condition, it seemed more like a sexual assault. It was also possible the murder hadn’t happened here at all. Maybe the victim had been killed by her boyfriend or husband, and he brought her out here and dumped her in the lake.
Jacob walked around the fence and squeezed past a wall of overgrown brush. Lo and behold, there was a trail here, just as Bailey had told him. Jacob followed it slowly, careful not to trample any potential evidence in case this was a secondary crime scene. Not likely, given that CSIs and cops had spent hours combing this entire area. But Jacob erred on the side of caution, always, when it came to his work.
The brush thinned out, and he stepped around a puddle. Whatever footprints might have been here this morning or yesterday had long since disappeared.
Snick.
Jacob paused to listen, turning off his flashlight. The air smelled of rai
n and decaying plants. A warm breeze moved through the trees, making the shadows shift.
Snick.
Jacob stepped off the path. He moved through the brush, pushing leaves and branches aside.
Scritch-scratch.
He pivoted and switched on the beam, lighting up an armadillo rooting around a rotten log. The armadillo scratched and burrowed, unbothered by the spotlight. Jacob watched him for a moment, then turned and swept his beam back toward the path. Everything was wet and dank, and mud sucked at his shoes as he picked his way through the brush.
Something shiny glinted up at him. Jacob stepped closer, homing in with his flashlight on an object at the base of a mesquite tree. Pushing aside a leafy branch, he crouched down.
Damn. How had they missed this? A team of cops and crime scene techs had been out here for hours.
Jacob dug a latex glove from his jacket pocket. He took out his phone and snapped a photo. Then another. And another.
His heartbeat quickened as he studied the object partially buried in the muck. It was a cell phone. People lost them all the time. It might have nothing whatsoever to do with his case.
But Jacob’s gut told him it did.
CHAPTER
FOUR
BAILEY PULLED UP to her sister’s bungalow and was relieved to see Hannah’s silver Honda. Bailey eyed the car as she walked up the driveway. A layer of morning dew covered her brother-in-law’s pickup, but not the Honda, which meant her sister had probably just come off the graveyard shift.
Bailey passed the kitchen window, and Hannah glanced up from the sink and waved. Bailey let herself in the back door to the utility room. The dryer was going, and the cramped little space smelled of fabric softener.
“Morning,” Hannah said as Bailey stepped into the kitchen. Her oldest sister wore black Nikes and blue scrubs, and Bailey noticed the blood spatter on the cuffs.
“Hey.” Bailey gave her a hug. “You just get home?”
“Ten minutes ago. How about some coffee? I’ve got pecan praline.”
“Yum.”
“Sit down.”
The kitchen table was blanketed with stacks of neatly folded T-shirts and dish towels, so Bailey perched on a stool beside the back door.
Hannah took down a bag of coffee from the cabinet and measured out scoops, moving with the brisk efficiency of an ER nurse. She and Bailey had the same petite build, and they’d traded clothes growing up. Hannah got the good hair gene, though. Unlike Bailey and her middle sister, Miranda, Hannah’s dark brown hair was gorgeously thick and manageable, but instead of flaunting it, she always wore it in a loose bun secured with a scrunchie.
“You headed to the lake?” Hannah asked.
“Not today. I’ve got to work.”
Hannah smiled, but her tense expression didn’t fade as she filled the carafe with water and poured it into the machine.
“Long night?” Bailey asked.
“Traffic fatality. Point-two-two blood alcohol.” She shook her head. “Kid was twenty-three.” She switched on the coffeepot and leaned back against the counter with a sigh. “How are you?” She nodded at a newspaper on the counter. “I saw your story. Nice job.”
“Thanks.”
“You want some oatmeal?”
“I’m good. Hey, you happen to know an APD detective named Jacob Merritt?” Hannah frequently crossed paths with detectives, who were in and out of the emergency department to interview crime victims or suspects.
The microwave dinged. Hannah took out a glass measuring cup and poured hot water over a bowl of cereal.
“Homicide detective?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
She took a spoon from a drawer. “Tall, good cheekbones?”
“Yeah.”
Hannah nodded. “He’s been in some. Last time was . . . I don’t know, two or three months ago?”
“You remember the case?” Bailey asked.
“GSW.” She leaned back against the counter and stirred her oatmeal. “I remember the kid was a bleeder.”
“Kid?”
“Oh, you know. Nineteen or twenty. Something like that. We saved him, but he lost a kidney.” She scooped up a bite, giving Bailey a suspicious look. “So, what’s the deal? Please don’t tell me you’re dating another cop.”
“He’s the lead on this case I’m writing about.”
“The murder from the hike-and-bike trail?”
“It’s not confirmed as a homicide yet, but yeah.”
“Was it a sexual assault?”
“Don’t know yet. The detective’s dodging me.” Bailey pictured him standing beside her car last night as he’d handed her his business card. Whatever rapport she’d managed to build seemed to have evaporated overnight. She’d texted him this morning to ask about the autopsy timing, but he hadn’t responded.
The coffeepot beeped, and Bailey stepped over to the cabinet to get down a pair of mugs.
“That’s for you,” Hannah said. “I’m not having any.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m tapped. I’m going to get a shower and crash.”
Bailey poured coffee for herself and dumped several scoops of sugar into it. She perched on the stool and watched her sister over the rim as she took a sip.
“So, what do you hear about him?” Bailey asked.
“Not a lot.” Hannah took another bite and squinted as though she was trying to remember something. “Seems like I heard talk about him a while back, though. I think he or someone he works with got caught up in something.”
Bailey’s ears perked up. “Something bad?”
“I don’t think it was bad. I just can’t remember it.”
“When was this?”
“Had to be a year ago, at least. Maybe longer.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember what it was, though. He’s not exactly talkative. His partner’s the chatty one.”
“Really? Maybe I’ll try him.”
“Her.” Hannah turned and put her bowl in the sink. “Kendra Porter. Long blond hair, big boobs, thin. You can’t miss her.”
So, Jacob’s partner looked like a Barbie doll. Interesting. Bailey filed that away, along with the “something” Jacob had maybe gotten caught up in.
Hannah was watching her suspiciously, probably knowing she had more than a professional interest in Jacob Merritt. Bailey had sworn off cops after her relationship with Skip Shepherd had ended badly.
Actually, the ending part had been okay. It was your typical this-isn’t-working-maybe-we-should-see-other-people conversation. But then Bailey started covering the crime beat and did a big exposé on a couple of bad cops, and Skip caught heat from people who assumed he’d been her main source. Skip had shown up at her apartment and demanded that she tell him where she’d gotten her inside information, so he could get himself off the hook with his friends, and Bailey had refused. She wouldn’t out her sources, period. So Skip had called her a bunch of names and left, and she was pretty sure he’d gone on to spread a lot of crap about her with his friends in the department.
After that it had taken Bailey months to build up some decent rapport with people outside Skip’s circle so that she could do her job effectively.
“So, you’re not interested in this guy?” Hannah asked.
“Of course I’m interested. He’s a source for my story.”
Hannah lifted an eyebrow at her as her husband entered the kitchen in sweatpants and a faded T-shirt, with Bailey’s one-year-old nephew in his arms. Drew started squirming and reaching for his mother.
“Ma-ma!”
Her face lit up as she crossed the room. “There’s my boy. I missed you!”
Matt kissed his wife as he handed over the baby. “When do I get to be your boy?” He squeezed her butt, and she swatted his hand away.
“Stop! I’m all grubby.” S
he propped Drew on her hip as she opened a cabinet and took down a box of Cheerios.
“Hey, Matt.”
“Hey, Bay.” He grabbed the mug Bailey had gotten out for Hannah and filled it with coffee. “You’re up early.”
“I’m headed to work. Just thought I’d drop in.”
Hannah sank into a chair and settled Drew in her lap, and he immediately reached for a stack of dish towels. She moved them out of his grasp and distracted him with a handful of Cheerios. Drew wore the green T-rex pajamas Bailey had given him for his birthday. He carefully picked up a Cheerio and put it into his mouth, getting slobber all over his fist.
“Bailey’s on the front page this morning,” Hannah told Matt.
“Way to go.”
“Thanks.”
Hannah bounced Drew on her knee. “You working later?” she asked Matt.
“Have to stop by the job site, see if the tile guys finished.”
Matt was a contractor and spent most of his time renovating houses on the south side of town, where property values were soaring. He stayed busy, which was good, but he and Hannah never seemed to get a weekend off together.
Drew reached for another Cheerio. His intent little expression made Bailey’s heart squeeze, and she took a last gulp of coffee. She didn’t want to horn in on their limited family time.
“I’m heading out.” Bailey hopped down from the stool and put her mug in the sink. “I’ve got to write a follow-up today.” She planted a kiss on Drew’s pudgy cheek. He smelled like baby shampoo.
“If you go to the lake, be careful,” Hannah said, shifting into protective older-sister mode.
“Always am.”
“I’ll ask around about that detective. See if anyone remembers what that thing was about.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got sources.” Bailey winked at her. “Whatever it is, I’ll track it down.”
* * *
* * *
JACOB ARRIVED EARLY, with a full cup of coffee and an empty stomach, braced for the second-worst aspect of his job. As he crossed the parking lot to the ME’s office, his phone buzzed and he pulled it from the pocket of his jeans.
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