Hidden

by Laura Griffin

  Bailey took out her pen. “So, I understand you were friends with Dana?”

  He tipped his head to the side. “Friends?”

  “You weren’t?”

  “I didn’t know her very well, really. She was quite an introvert.”

  Bailey sighed. She’d been all over town today, and she was striking out. Meanwhile, her profile was due in a few hours.

  “She did spend a lot of time here.” He gazed out at the room. “She liked books. And she loved our Rossetti.”

  “Rossetti?”

  “The painting by the alcove there. Dana called it ‘the Sunshine Girl.’”

  Beside a windowed alcove was a large painting in an ornate gold frame. Bailey stepped closer. The picture showed a woman in a billowing yellow dress reclining on a sofa. Her cascade of blond curls spilled over her shoulders and swirled around her arms.

  “Are you familiar with Rossetti?”

  Bailey turned around, and Alex was standing closer now.

  “No. But that looks like nineteenth century.”

  He nodded. “He was the star of the Pre-Raphaelite movement in England. It’s really an exceptional piece. Collectors contact us all the time, wanting to acquire it, but we’d never part with it.”

  Bailey stepped closer to the painting. The woman had delicate features and smiled coquettishly, as though trying to tempt someone to join her on the sofa.

  “She looked like her.”

  Bailey turned to Alex. “Who? Dana?”

  “Except for the blond.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Dana’s hair was much darker, you know.”

  She studied the picture again. Then she turned to face Alex, determined to get something she could use before she had to rush back to the newsroom.

  “What was Dana like?” she asked. “Besides introverted?”

  He seemed to think about it. “Smart, I would say. She asked good questions.”

  “About what?”

  “Whatever.” He gave a shrug, and Bailey felt a surge of impatience.

  “Do you know anything about her family? Her background? Where she went to school?”

  “No, no, and no.” He gave a slight smile. “Sorry. Like I said, she wasn’t very talkative.”

  “Do you know where she was from?”

  He looked up at the painting and sighed. “Everywhere and nowhere.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He glanced at Bailey. “I asked her once, and that’s what she said. ‘I’m from everywhere and nowhere.’ I have no idea where she was from originally, but it wasn’t here.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She complained about the weather all the time. Didn’t understand how anyone could take the heat.” He shrugged. “The classrooms aren’t air-conditioned, so it does get pretty oppressive. But nothing like the heat wave we had a few years ago.”

  Bailey stifled a sigh. She’d been out all afternoon, and she hadn’t gleaned anything substantive for her article. She looked at the Rossetti again.

  “Wish I could help more, but I really didn’t know her outside of the museum,” Alex said. “Did you check her Instagram account?”

  “I don’t think she had one. I understand she didn’t like computers.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Her employer.”

  He laughed. “Dana loved computers. She was in here all the time using ours.” He nodded at the row of workstations by the door. “She parked herself in that chair every Tuesday and Thursday from after class until closing.”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  THE POLICE DEPARTMENT’S technology lab occupied a remote corner of an underground warren of offices that Jacob typically tried to avoid. But some of his favorite people worked down there, so every so often he had to make the trip.

  “I was wondering when you’d turn up,” Gabby said as he stepped into the lab. They kept the lights dim, and Gabby’s face was a ghostly blue in the light of her computer screen. Jacob couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like her short brown hair was streaked pink today. It changed week to week.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked, glancing around. Someone had a Muse concert playing at one of the workstations, but Gabby was the only person in sight.

  She plucked out her earbuds as he walked over. “Brian took off for the night, and Luis is grabbing dinner.” She nibbled on a red gummy worm and regarded him with a suspicious look. “Where have you been? I was expecting you hours ago.”

  Jacob sat on the edge of her desk and set down his case file. “I’ve been slammed.”

  “What’s that?” She nodded at the photo clipped to the folder.

  “The victim had this tattoo. I’ve been trying to find someone to translate the words.”

  She pulled the file closer and studied it. “Looks like Chinese. You should ask Luis. He speaks Mandarin.”

  “He does?”

  “One of his hidden talents.” She held out the bag of candy. “Want some?”

  “Sure.” He dug a worm from the bag and popped it into his mouth as he looked at her screen. “What’re you working on?”

  “The footage from the nature center camera. Camera two, to be precise.”

  “How many do they have?”

  “Three.” She sighed. “So far, nothing resembling our victim.”

  “Did you get the footage from the boathouse camera?”

  “It’s next on my list.”

  Gabby tapped her mouse to pause the video and swiveled to face him. “You know, some feebie called today and asked for copies of all this.”

  That was news to Jacob, but he wasn’t surprised. “What’d you tell him?”

  “What do you think? I gave him what he wanted. He made it sound like they were taking over the case.”

  “And yet you’re still going through footage.”

  “Yup.”

  Gabby handled video evidence for the department’s high-priority cases, which might include anything from hit-and-run accidents caught on film to sex abuse. She had an eye for detail and an uncanny ability to spot hidden clues in even the most mundane surveillance footage. Gabby’s work had provided a key break in more cases than Jacob could count, and he never missed a chance to hit her up for help.

  But this time, helping him could get her in trouble.

  She crossed her arms. “Look, you asked me to comb through and look for our victim. That’s what I’m doing. I figured if you wanted me to stop looking, you would have said so.”

  Jacob watched her, trying to read her expression.

  “Do you want me to stop looking?”

  “It’s a sensitive case,” he said.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “No.”

  “Then I plan to keep going,” she said matter-of-factly. “If I find something useful, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Luis walked into the room. “Hey, you’re here. I just left you a message.”

  “I got it,” Jacob told him. He stood up and gave Gabby a hard look. “Let me know if you get sidetracked.” In other words, if another case fell into her lap and demanded her attention. “And keep me posted on that security footage.”

  She put her earbuds in and shooed him away. “Go. You’re distracting me.”

  Jacob joined Luis at his cubicle, which was actually two cubicles combined into one. Luis had two desktop computers and a laptop, plus numerous power cords. One entire side of his workspace was dedicated to cell phones, and he had chargers of various shapes and sizes plugged into a power bar.

  Jacob recognized the black cell phone he’d rescued from the muck behind Jay’s Juice Bar.

  “You won’t believe what I got.” Luis sank into his chair.

  “What’d you get?”

  “I got it working, for starters. You believe that shit?
This thing was dead. I thought it was hopeless.”

  “So, you were able to turn it on?”

  “Yes.” He leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head as he smiled at Jacob. “And retrieve the call history.”

  This was why he loved working with Luis. When he set his mind to something, he was tenacious as hell.

  “Tell me about the call history.” Jacob pulled a chair from a neighboring cube and sat down.

  “Well, it was weird.” Luis frowned and leaned forward, hunching over the phone.

  “Weird how?”

  “Like, sporadic. I only found two outgoing calls.”

  “Two since when?”

  “Since ever. Like I told you, this thing is a burner. She only ever made two calls on it, and nothing incoming.”

  “Nothing? Did you confirm the number I gave you?” Jacob had texted Luis with the number of Dana’s phone, according to Celeste Camden.

  “Yeah, that’s the other thing. That number doesn’t match.”

  “It’s not her number?”

  “Not on this phone it isn’t.” Luis slid the device across the counter. “This is a different number.”

  “What’s the area code?”

  “Nine three seven. But that doesn’t necessarily tell you anything because these burners are sold in batches to stores like Walmart, Target, Best Buy. It could have come from anywhere.”

  “Can you track down the batch?”

  “Maybe, but you’re missing the point. She had two outgoing calls, and one of them was made Saturday.”

  “As in three days ago?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Saturday at 6:26 a.m. Based on the timeline the ME gave us, that sounds like she called someone right around the time she was murdered.”

  Jacob stared down at the phone. This lead sounded too good to be true, and maybe it was. Luis slid a slip of paper in front of him. It had two ten-digit numbers scrawled across it.

  “Top number is her phone,” Luis said. “Bottom number is the one she called.”

  “What about the first phone call?”

  “Both outgoing calls were to the same number.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “Have you tried—”

  “I called this number from another phone, but it’s out of service. I’m still working on this, though, so I’ll let you know when I have more.” He nodded at the file folder in Jacob’s hand. “What’s that?”

  “A picture of the victim’s tattoo. I’m looking for someone who can translate the words.” He handed him the folder.

  “That’s easy.” He tapped each of the characters. “Love, strength, happiness.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  Jacob sighed. “I was thinking it might say a name. Or something about flight.”

  “Because of the robin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Birds are pretty common, as far as women’s tattoos go. Maybe she just liked the design.” He handed back the file.

  “Thanks for the language help. I didn’t know you were an expert.”

  “My mom is from Hong Kong. I spent ten years in Saturday school.”

  Jacob’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out. Bailey. He stood and stepped into the neighboring cubicle, where Muse was playing.

  “Hey, I’m tied up right now,” he told her.

  “I figured, or you would have called me.” She didn’t sound irritated, but he definitely caught something in her tone.

  “Can I call you later?” he asked.

  “When?”

  “When I get off work.”

  “It’s better if you come by. I need to talk to you face-to-face. It’s about the case.”

  Jacob didn’t say anything. Going to her home was a bad idea, for many reasons. But he didn’t want to say no.

  “When do you get off?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Probably seven or eight.”

  “Come by my place, even if it’s late.”

  Jacob paused. “Which unit?”

  “Two fifteen.”

  He was committed now. Unless he made up an excuse.

  “And don’t blow me off,” she said. “It’s important.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  BY NINE O’CLOCK, Bailey decided he’d blown her off. She sat cross-legged on her sofa, stroking Boba Fett’s ears while she read through the autopsy report on her computer for the third time.

  Murder cases were the worst ones she covered, partly because of ME’s reports. She hated the dense passages filled with clinical prose that distilled a life, a person, down to a few stock phrases. It was the same thing she hated about funerals. People issued emotional clichés that, at best, gave a snapshot of someone’s life but didn’t come close to giving a full picture.

  Bailey closed out of the document and sighed. Glancing up at the ceiling, she wondered about her upstairs neighbors. Not a sound tonight, which probably meant they were out. It was nice to have some quiet, but they could come home stumbling drunk at any time.

  Boba Fett got up and rubbed his chin against her arm.

  “What’s up with you?” she asked, scratching his neck. Usually, he was sacked out in her bedroom by now, not wide awake and clamoring for attention. Maybe he sensed her nervous energy tonight. Bailey was wired. She felt like she’d had three cups of coffee, but she hadn’t had a drop since the morning.

  Her cat settled back on his haunches and watched her with those sea-green eyes, and his look of concern reminded her of Hannah.

  How do you do your job, Bay?

  Her sister had asked that once after reading a three-part series Bailey had written about online sex predators grooming kids as young as nine.

  It was a strange question coming from someone who dealt with blood and sickness every day, and Bailey had tossed the question right back at her. Neither of them had ever really answered. Both of their jobs definitely had their dark sides, not to mention crazy hours. But Bailey loved her work anyway. She wasn’t sure why she did what she did, only that she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  Three sharp raps on the door made her heart skitter. She got up and checked the peephole. Jacob still wore his work clothes, and it looked like he hadn’t been home yet.

  She opened the door. “Hi,” she said, trying for nonchalance.

  “Hi.”

  They simply stood there for a moment, and she stepped back to usher him in. She looked him over, noting his badge and holster. He seemed so official, and she was standing there in a tank top and running shorts, with bare feet.

  “Long day?” she asked.

  He raked his hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

  “How about a drink? I’ve got beer, wine.”

  “I’m still on call.”

  “Water, Gatorade—”

  “Water’s good.”

  She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the fridge. Boba Fett had vanished. He was shy with visitors.

  “Thanks.” Jacob unscrewed the top from the water and watched her as he took a swig. He had that five o’clock shadow thing happening again, and she remembered how the stubble had felt under her fingertips.

  She nodded at his gun. “Doesn’t that thing get heavy?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t imagine wearing that all the time. What about when you’re on vacation?”

  “Depends. I’ve got a Glock 42 and an ankle holster when I want to travel light.” He took another swig and set his bottle on the counter. They stared at each other across her kitchen, and Bailey felt a warm pull in the pit of her stomach. He was thinking about last night—she could tell.

  He sauntered into her living room and looked around at the low bookshelves
lining three of the walls. She’d made them last summer out of cinder blocks and wood slats after getting tired of the milk crates she’d used in college.

  “Lot of books,” he said.

  “It’s my indulgence.”

  “I see why you don’t want to move.” He stepped closer and tipped his head to read the titles. “Orwell, Atwood, Vonnegut.” He looked at her. “Dystopian fiction?”

  “And true crime. And horror. And politics. Of course, some people would tell you that’s all the same.”

  Why was she babbling? Butterflies flitted in her stomach as she watched him checking out her living room. She wondered what he thought of her home. He lived in a house, not an apartment. It was another symbol of their age difference. He was thirty-four—eight years older than she was. She’d been looking into his background. She also happened to know his address and what he’d paid for his house two years ago. Amazing the info you could dig up with a simple Internet search.

  He stepped closer to a shelf with framed photos along the top and zeroed in on a picture of Bailey with her sisters and their father at the marina in front of their catamaran.

  “This the Mary Alice?” He looked at her.

  “Yeah.”

  “You look like your dad.”

  She smiled. “People say that. I don’t see it at all.”

  “The eyes.”

  He turned to face her, and again she felt that warm pull.

  “I learned a lot today,” she said. “Some of it I wanted to run by you.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You turn in your profile?”

  “It’s on hold.”

  “Why?” He looked concerned.

  “There are some things I’m trying to pin down.” She stepped back into the kitchen and grabbed a water for herself. He followed her and leaned back against the counter, and he was watching her now with a look she couldn’t read.

  “Let me ask you something.” She took a sip of water and set down the bottle. “You think it’s possible Dana wasn’t who she said she was?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . do you think it’s possible she misled people? Her employer, her friends, everyone.”

  “What makes you think that?”