Hidden

by Laura Griffin

  A shrill whistle jerked Bailey from her thoughts, and she turned to see the UT women’s rowing team slicing across the water. Their coach followed close behind them in a launch—one of the few motorized vehicles allowed on the lake.

  She held up her megaphone. “In two, power ten!” she commanded as the boat razored through the water.

  Bailey wiped her forehead with her arm. With a few quick strokes, she maneuvered to the dock, where a kid with a goatee and a blond ponytail waited to help her. Sam wore a blue Austin Rowing Club T-shirt and pink Hawaiian shorts today.

  “Leave her in,” Sam told her. “We’re hot-boating.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “We’re booked solid till noon, and someone’s right behind you. Here he is now.”

  Bailey unfastened her feet from the stretchers and stepped out of the boat. Sam held it steady as a skinny guy wearing a Texas Regatta T-shirt walked over. Bailey traded nods with him and headed to the boathouse to retrieve her gear from a locker and change into flip-flops. When she came out, Sam was at the water cooler dumping in a bag of ice.

  “Saw you out there,” Sam said. “You were really hauling.”

  “It’s nice out.”

  Sam replaced the lid on the cooler. “Supposed to get hot later. Hundred and two by lunchtime. That’s what the radio said.”

  Bailey filled a paper cone with water and took a cold gulp. She looked at Sam, glad to have a chance to talk to him alone.

  “So, did you work Saturday?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “You see anything unusual on the trail?”

  His brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Any suspicious people or cars? Any unusual noises?”

  “Like . . . maybe a scream for help?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shook his head. “Couple of cops were just here, asking me the same thing.”

  “Really? When?”

  “Just now.” He nodded toward the parking lot.

  Bailey turned and followed his gaze. Past a row of boat trailers, she spotted an unmarked police car. No detectives in sight. She looked around and noticed a blond woman in a dark pantsuit standing beside the trailhead, interviewing a guy in running shorts.

  “Hard to believe it happened just up the trail,” Sam said.

  “I know.”

  “I mean, that’s freaking creepy.”

  “Yeah.” Bailey scanned the area for Jacob. Was the blond woman his partner or some other APD detective assigned to the case?

  “They think it happened Friday night or early Saturday morning.”

  Bailey looked at Sam. “What’s that?”

  “The murder. That’s what the detective said, anyway.”

  “And you were working both days?”

  “Friday I was off. I was scheduled Saturday, seven to three. But we pulled all the boats out by one because of the rain.”

  Bailey spotted Jacob at the water fountains, and her heart rate kicked up. He wore dark pants and a dress shirt today, sleeves rolled up already, and he was interviewing a woman with a stroller.

  What was it about this man? Maybe she was light-headed from her workout. Yeah, right. That would definitely explain why the mere sight of him made her heart start to pound.

  Bailey had done some asking around, and she was pretty sure she’d found the “something” Hannah had heard about Jacob. Last summer he and another off-duty officer had had an altercation in the parking lot of the Ice House, which was a cop hangout downtown. According to Bailey’s dispatcher friend, the other cop had been talking trash about Jacob’s partner. The dispatcher didn’t know the details, but whatever was said must have been really offensive because Jacob had given the guy a split lip over it. He didn’t seem like the type to lose his cool over something petty.

  Bailey glanced at Jacob’s partner again, wondering if maybe there was some sort of love triangle involved.

  She turned back to Sam, but he’d returned to the dock to help someone launch a kayak. Bailey shouldered her backpack and started up the trail. Jacob was watching her now as she approached him. He had that intent look about him, and she could tell he was in cop mode. No hint of the smile he’d given her last night when he needed a favor.

  “What brings you here?” he asked.

  “Just finished my workout.”

  His gaze dropped to her flip-flops.

  “I row,” she said.

  “With a team or—”

  “Single scull.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “I figured you for a runner.”

  “Nope. Not for me. I like the water.” She nodded at the trailhead behind him. “What brings you out here this morning?”

  A pair of cyclists whisked past, and Jacob touched Bailey’s arm to guide her to the side of the trail. Her skin tingled from the contact.

  “We’re conducting interviews,” he said.

  “You’re looking for regulars?”

  “People tend to stick to routines, especially when it comes to exercise. We’re looking for anyone who saw something out of the norm.”

  She turned toward the boathouse. “Well, there’s the boathouse staff, but I hear you talked to them already. There’s also a running club that meets by the nature center every morning at six thirty. You could talk to them.”

  “We did.”

  She gazed up at him and was struck once again by those serious dark eyes. He’d shaved since she last saw him, and she caught the faint scent of his soap or cologne. She suddenly felt self-conscious of her sweat-soaked clothes. She took a step back, and he gave her a quizzical look.

  “We posted your photos,” she said. “Any new leads?”

  “Not yet. But the local news stations ran them, too, so that’s good. We’re hoping to get an ID soon.”

  “Give me a heads-up when you do.”

  He nodded, but it was noncommittal.

  “That was our deal.”

  He smiled. “I don’t remember a deal.”

  “It was unspoken. I agreed to get your pictures posted, you agreed to give me a heads-up if anything came of it.” She put her hand on her hip. “Are you backing out now?”

  “No.”

  He gazed down at her, and she got the impression he found her amusing. She should probably be annoyed, but his smile was too appealing, and she was glad to see him here, even though she was all sweaty from her workout.

  “I need to go,” he said.

  “Keep me posted.”

  “I’ll call you if anything big breaks.”

  “If anything breaks.”

  * * *

  * * *

  JACOB LEFT THE lake without a single new lead. They’d interviewed dozens of regulars, but only a few had been there on Saturday morning, and the ones who had said they’d seen nothing suspicious or noteworthy. He walked across the parking lot beside the weathered wooden boathouse with the Texas flag painted on the side. A series of boat trailers lined the asphalt beside the building.

  Single scull. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Bailey had an independent streak. As Jacob crossed the parking lot, he imagined her pulling in here at the crack of dawn and walking alone past the canoe racks where anyone might be waiting in the shadows.

  Two days ago, he had never so much as talked to Bailey Rhoads and knew her only by reputation. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And bumping into her. Whenever he saw her unexpectedly his mind went blank. Jacob needed to snap out of it and get focused on his case. He probably shouldn’t have gone to her office last night, but he was running out of options, and he’d take any help he could get at this point if it meant getting an ID on his victim.

  He approached the old gray Taurus he’d parked along the s
treet near a bagel shop. Kendra was in her own car this morning, and she’d decided to stay to interview the nature center staffers for a second time, hoping to shake something loose. Jacob was ready to cut his losses and see if any forensic reports had come in yet.

  He popped the locks and slid behind the wheel. He’d picked up the Taurus from the motor pool at oh-dark-hundred this morning and made it over here as the first of the early-morning joggers were beginning to trickle in. The lakefront was awake now, busy with runners and cyclists and dog walkers, even a few summer tourists on Segways. The coffee shops were busy, too, as commuters stopped in to load up on caffeine and carbs.

  Jacob surveyed the sidewalks crowded with people, almost all of them with a phone in hand. A pair of women with matching blond ponytails and yoga mats tucked under their arms strode up the sidewalk together. They looked to be friends, except they didn’t say a word to each other as they stared down at their devices. Another woman with a yoga mat under her arm walked past them going the opposite direction. She stopped at a wrought-iron gate and pulled a card from a little purse looped around her wrist. She swiped the card through a reader and opened the gate.

  Jacob’s pulse picked up. He reached for the accordion file in the back seat and fished out the envelope containing the white card with the magnetic strip on the back.

  He got out and walked up the street, eyeing the building as he neared the gate. The ground level was a bank. Jacob had driven by here yesterday and noted what looked like offices on the upper four floors, but maybe he’d been wrong about that.

  Jacob waited for a break in traffic and darted across the street as a thirtyish man stepped through the gate. He had a computer bag slung over his shoulder and looked to be headed to work. The gate clanged shut behind him.

  Beside the gate was a small black card reader. Jacob swiped the keycard through. A light flashed green and the lock made a snick.

  Jacob stared down in disbelief. He pushed the gate open and followed a narrow cobblestone walkway into a small courtyard with a gurgling fountain at the center. To his left was a tall glass door with LAKEVIEW COURT etched across it. Entering the air-conditioned lobby, Jacob took off his sunglasses. One side of the lobby had an elevator bank and a wall of mailboxes. On the opposite side was a windowed office. Photos taped to the window showed apartment interiors and views of the lake.

  Jacob stepped into the leasing office, and a fiftyish woman with bottle-blond hair looked up from her computer.

  “How may I help you?” she asked with a smile.

  “Jacob Merritt, Austin Police.” He flashed his credentials. “I need information about one of your tenants.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  BAILEY CUT THROUGH the newsroom, hoping to get in and out before Max spotted her and started nagging her for updates that she didn’t have. She walked through the sea of desks and workstations. Several years ago, the Herald had ditched the traditional cubicle setup and started clustering the desks together in “pods,” which were designed to “facilitate information sharing.” The staff hated the change, of course. Reporters were territorial enough about their sources without having to conduct phone interviews while directly facing colleagues who didn’t even bother to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping on every word.

  Bailey dumped her backpack onto her desk chair. Her pod was empty at the moment. She shared it with several sports guys whose computers were decorated with Longhorn paraphernalia. Glancing across the newsroom, she was relieved not to see Max in his windowed office. But the conference room blinds were shut, and her chest tightened with apprehension. Were they letting someone go? She spotted Lance at the coffee maker. She dug some money from her backpack and darted over to catch him.

  “Hi, Lance.”

  “Hey, Bay.” He looked her over and lifted an eyebrow at her shorts and flip-flops. Lance was dressed for success in slacks and a blue silk tie, meaning he probably had a city council meeting later.

  “Who’s in the conference room?” she asked.

  “Sophia.”

  She felt a stab of fear. “Sophia?”

  “Relax.” He sipped his coffee. “She’s interviewing a new stringer for the lifestyle section.”

  “Oh.”

  Bailey stuffed a dollar bill in the glass jar beside the Keurig, then spun the coffee carousel and selected an extra-dark roast. She grabbed a chipped Snoopy mug from the drying rack by the sink.

  “So, you’re still working the lake trail murder?” Lance asked.

  “Yep.”

  The machine whirred, and she watched her mug fill.

  “They have an ID yet?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Suspects?”

  “No.”

  He shook his head. “My girlfriend’s down there all the time with her running club. She’s really freaked out by this thing. Hope they make an arrest soon.”

  “Same.” Bailey picked up her coffee. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  She headed back to her desk, where she sank into her chair and scanned the newsroom as she waited for her computer to boot up. Still no Max, and she didn’t see any other metro reporters, either. Everyone was out, and it was unnervingly quiet.

  Bailey checked the budget for tomorrow and saw that her story had been planned for A-1 again. RHOADS—LAKE MURDER FOLLOW. Just the words put a cramp in her stomach. She checked her cell phone for the nth time this morning. Her source at dispatch still hadn’t responded to her message.

  “Thought you were off today.”

  She turned around to see Max looming behind her. Her boss was tall and lanky and had a neatly trimmed beard. He wore his typical starched shirt with jeans today, but his eyes were bloodshot and his hair looked messier than usual.

  “I just stopped in to see if anything came in on the scanner last night,” she told him.

  “Nothing interesting.” He sat on the edge of her desk with a sigh.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah.” He combed his hand through his hair. “The twins are sick. We were up all night.”

  “I’m sorry. What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Some kind of summer cold. Selma’s taking them to the doctor this morning.” He glanced at his watch, and she knew he would rather be with his wife than working. He was a family guy, but his job required crazy hours.

  “Hey, thanks for getting those photos posted,” she said.

  “No problem. They get any tips yet?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  “You check with your PD source? The dispatcher?”

  “I was just about to call her again.”

  “You know you’re on for tomorrow, right?”

  “I know.”

  He looked her up and down, and she sensed his disapproval. Not about her casual attire. Max didn’t care about that, and he knew she was technically off right now because she’d worked the weekend. Although no one was every really off around here. They simply worked from home. But Max seemed uneasy, and Bailey got the feeling he didn’t think she was up for this assignment. Bailey was the youngest reporter and the only woman to ever cover the crime beat, which made her doubly determined to prove herself.

  “What’s your plan if they don’t come up with an ID?” he asked.

  She didn’t have a plan.

  “I know someone in the ME’s office who might have something,” she improvised. “And I’ll interview the lead detective and find out where everything stands. I heard they were going through parking lot footage looking for leads.”

  He nodded. “Have they scheduled a presser for today?”

  “No.”

  He stood. “Well, try that dispatcher again. Just in case that detective blows you off. Who’s the lead on this one?”

  “Jacob Merritt.”

  Max scoffed. “You won’t get crap from that
guy. Try his partner. Kendra something.”

  “Porter.”

  “Yeah, try her. Merritt’s tight as a drum. Expect him to stonewall.”

  * * *

  * * *

  DANA SMITH LIVED in a spacious one-bedroom unit on the fourth floor. The apartment faced west and had a narrow balcony barely large enough for a chair. If Jacob leaned out far enough, he could see a partial view of the lake, including the stretch of shoreline that had been a crime scene Saturday night.

  Just one more strange circumstance in a list of strange circumstances that was growing longer by the minute.

  Jacob stepped into the bathroom now and looked around. The counter was clean and uncluttered. With a gloved hand, he pulled back the shower curtain. A row of high-end hair products lined the tub, and a pink razor sat in the soap dish. He turned to the mirrored cabinet above the sink. Opening it, he found mouthwash, dental floss, and about a dozen bottles of vitamins. Under the sink he found a stack of beige bath towels and a teeth-whitening kit.

  Jacob returned to the living room, where a dark gray sofa and matching armchairs were arranged around a wooden coffee table. Fuzzy pink throw pillows added some color, but the entire place had a bland, staged look, like an IKEA showroom.

  Jacob poked through a stack of mail on the coffee table—all flyers and catalogs addressed to Current Resident. Set apart from the stack was a Lululemon catalog with several pages earmarked. It also was addressed to Current Resident but the street listed was Mockingbird Cove. Jacob took out his phone and snapped a picture of the address.

  Stepping into the kitchen, he opened several cabinets to find plain white dishes. No coffeepot, but on the stove was a red teakettle. The kitchen drawers held the usual assortment of flatware and utensils. He opened another cabinet to find a hodgepodge of chunky ceramic mugs in different shapes and colors that looked like they’d come from a garage sale.

  Jacob opened the dishwasher. The top tray held a cereal bowl and two wineglasses. Dirty or clean? He held one of the glasses up to the window, and sunlight illuminated several fingerprints. Either she’d used both wineglasses herself or she’d had someone over. A CSI could tell him.