by Irene Hannon
Was that what the two of them had been talking about while they walked toward her office from the lobby?
No matter. There was no reason to pretend she didn’t recognize it.
She examined it again. “It’s from Gourmet to Go, I believe.”
“That’s right.” The chief crossed her legs, her posture relaxed . . . but her eyes were sharp as nails. “The police found it in Joe Andrews’s house. I wonder how it got there?”
Stay cool. You might have made one small slip with the accident assumption, but you covered it well. This label fragment proves nothing.
“I have no idea. Perhaps he had . . .” She looked up just as Robert stepped into her outer office, Frank Nelson in tow.
He came to an abrupt halt outside her closed door when he spotted the police uniform.
Beside him, Nelson stiffened.
Silently she cursed the fishbowl environment Robert believed engendered openness and communication.
That would change under her leadership. People deserved some privacy.
Before she could rise and join them to smooth things out, the two men turned and left.
Wonderful.
More explanations to make—all thanks to the woman sitting across from her. Chief Grant should have let the dead rest in peace.
She stood. “I think we’re finished here. And I need to return to my meeting.”
The two cops looked at each other and rose.
“By the way, we did get a DNA confirmation on the bones. They’re Alena’s.” The woman tucked her portfolio under her arm but didn’t extend her hand.
Just as well. Jessica wasn’t in the mood to play nice anymore.
“We’ll be in touch.” The detective didn’t offer his hand, either.
“I can’t imagine why you’d waste your time with me. I won’t be of any help to your investigation. But if you do need to contact me again, please do so at my home. I don’t have time for these kinds of interruptions during business hours.”
“Even in the cause of justice?” The lady cop studied her.
“I’ve told you everything I know.” She crossed to the door and opened it. “Cathy will walk you to the lobby.”
Her secretary jumped up, circled her desk, and waited.
In silence, the two cops moved past her and followed the woman down the hall.
As they disappeared, Jessica let out a long, slow breath. Everything was fine. She was okay. The cops were still fishing. Still working a hunch. They had no hard evidence, other than that piece of label from the salsa. The clerk at Gourmet to Go who’d been on duty Saturday could confirm her order, but that didn’t prove anything. She was a regular customer who often ordered takeout dinners on weekends.
The label itself was suspicious, but not incriminating.
Unless her fingerprint was on it.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she steadied herself on the edge of the desk. Might she have touched that part of the label?
Yet even if she had, they didn’t have her prints to check for a match.
Or did they?
She’d held the photo the lady cop handed her.
Her heart stuttered again.
Had the woman done that on purpose, to get her prints—or was she being paranoid?
Surely the latter.
Besides, what were the chances a legible print would be on such a tiny piece of the label? As near as she could remember, she’d only touched the edges of the lid.
Yes. The odds were in her favor. They might suspect she was involved—she would, in their place—but they’d find no proof.
Better to focus on damage control with Robert and Frank than worry about her visitors. She’d covered her tracks.
The police would never be able to touch her.
21
That was interesting.” Mac aimed for a bench in the lobby as they exited the elevator from the Peterson-Bradshaw offices.
“Very.” Lisa sat and angled toward him. “She did her best to recover, but the accident reference was a big slip.”
“That wasn’t her only one. Early on she asked what happened to Erika and Joe but never followed up when we didn’t respond.”
“No need to if she already knew.”
“Bingo. And I’m not certain she caught that lapse.”
“Maybe she was distracted by the accident misstep. The label threw her too.”
He rested his arm along the back of the bench. “It also planted some doubt. She has to be wondering if there are prints on it.”
“There aren’t. I asked the sheriff. As a matter of fact, the only prints they found in the house were Joe’s and his pastor’s.”
“Jessica doesn’t know that, though. Despite her calm, cool façade, my guess is she’s rattled—and rattled people make mistakes, especially if the pressure intensifies.”
She squinted at him. “You have something in mind?”
His gaze flicked to her hair, inches from his fingers, its softness calling out to be touched. Oh yeah. He had something in mind. One of these days he was going to—
“Mac?”
He blinked. “What?”
Amusement glinted in her eyes. “Do you need another shot of caffeine?”
“No. My adrenaline is already juiced.” And how. “I just got distracted for a moment.”
“You mentioned exerting pressure. Did you have a specific idea about how to do that?”
He forced his mind back to the subject at hand. “Yes. Is your reporter friend Rick still hanging around?”
“He calls every few days asking for an update on the bones case. So does a writer from the Post-Dispatch. I’ve been putting them off.”
“Maybe it’s time to fill them in on the latest—the official ID on the bones, the recent deaths of two of Alena’s college friends . . . one of whom we questioned. Then there’s the third friend, who’s alive and kicking and definitely qualifies as a person of interest. I doubt she’d welcome a lot of media attention.”
Lisa’s expression grew pensive. “Using the press to our benefit. That’s an interesting strategy.”
“I’ve seen it work.”
“I have too—though never in a case quite like this. But I’m willing to try almost anything that might give us a break. We’re running out of options.”
A sudden, strong urge to reach over and smooth away the creases in her brow swept over him, and he tightened his grip on the back of the bench, fisting his other hand in his lap. “You want to talk through some ideas?”
“Yes. You go first.” She turned even more toward him, her knee brushing his. He could feel the warmth of her skin through both layers of fabric.
Focus, McGregor.
He shifted his leg a hair away. “What do you know about these reporters?”
“Rick strikes me as smart, ambitious, and searching for a story that will help him break out of the pack. Look how fast he showed up at the construction site. I don’t know the woman—not much worthy of Post coverage happens in Carson. She called as soon as Rick broke the bones story and did a small article.”
“It would be advantageous to have both print and broadcast media on this. Wider coverage will ratchet up the pressure.”
She tipped her head. “Are you thinking publicity that ties her to a police investigation might make Jessica crack?”
“Honestly? I’m not certain what it will do. But she’s in line for the top slot in a firm known for its integrity. Peterson-Bradshaw boasts a roster of ethical, conservative clients who wouldn’t look kindly on a company led by a scandal-plagued executive. Media coverage will add one more layer of pressure, and we can capitalize on that by paying her another visit at her office. Every time we show up there, every time we talk to her, is another opportunity for her to slip—like she did today. Sooner or later she might make an incriminating comment.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Remind me always to stay on your good side.”
He unlocked his hold on the back of the bench and brushed his fingers over
her shoulder. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
He was rewarded with the hint of a smile. “Nice to know. So . . . I think I’ll add a small press conference to tomorrow morning’s agenda. Special invitation only.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He shifted around to survey the tempest outside. “I’d suggest waiting for a break in the weather before we leave, but that could be a while.”
“I’m prepared for the storm.” She lifted her collapsible umbrella. “We could share.”
Tempting.
Very tempting.
But after all the caffeine he’d ingested, his heart was beating plenty fast already. Getting that up close and personal with the lovely police chief might vault it into the danger zone.
“I’ll be fine. I can run fast.”
She inspected the street scene through the windows in the two-story atrium, her expression skeptical. “If you say so.” She rose, and he stood too. “I’ll let you know how the mini press conference goes. Once I share the news, I’ll sit tight until the stories break, then drop in again on Jessica.”
“Count me in for that visit. Now that Erika’s dead, I have a vested interest in shaking some clues loose too.”
“You got it. Stay dry.” With a wave of her umbrella, she strode toward the door.
Mac followed more slowly. He hadn’t lied about being able to run fast—but even he couldn’t outpace this relentless rain. His jacket would be soaked by the time he got to his car.
Still . . . getting a little waterlogged was a small price to pay if today’s visit with Jessica Lee helped solve the mystery.
Trouble was, they weren’t a whole lot closer than they’d been before talking with her again. The truth about that fateful day remained as buried as Alena’s bones had been.
And for all they knew, that truth might not be as unsavory as they suspected. Maybe the whole thing had been nothing more than a dumb, innocent college prank gone very wrong.
But the latest deaths weren’t innocent. He knew that as surely as he knew Lisa wouldn’t rest until she got to the bottom of this thing. They were far too coincidental to be accidents. Jessica had something to hide, a connection to Alena’s death she didn’t want revealed, and Erika and Joe knew about it . . . making them a threat she’d needed to eliminate.
Every instinct he’d developed over the past dozen years told him that.
Lisa wasn’t giving up, and neither was he. Like her, he’d been born with the justice gene—along with a sixth sense that had served him well as both a SEAL and a cop.
And right now, that sixth sense was telling him they were getting very close to discovering the truth—whatever that turned out to be.
“Thank you both for coming out so early. At least the rain stopped overnight.” Lisa ushered the two reporters into her office and toward the chairs across from her desk.
They eyed each other, their rivalry clear despite their different mediums.
Good. She wanted them both to hustle on this. To aggressively pursue the story. To dig deep.
To annoy Jessica Lee.
She took her seat and positioned a sheet of paper in front of her. “I know you’ve both been interested in the bones that were unearthed four weeks ago. Since that day, an active investigation has been under way by this police department, with assistance from the St. Louis County Police Bureau of Crimes Against Persons. We’ve been following leads and talking to people of interest. I can now report, based on DNA matching, that the bones belonged to Alena Komisky, a Czech Republic national who was in the US as part of a student exchange program. She was reported missing from Mizzou twenty-four years ago.”
“Can I get some on-camera comments after we’re finished here?” Rick continued scribbling.
“A few.”
Diane from the Post scowled at him. “Are you going to scoop me with this on the noon news?”
He grinned at her. “That’s my plan.”
“But there’s more to the story, which might lend itself to the kind of in-depth coverage best provided in print,” Lisa said.
That seemed to mollify the woman. “Can you tell us how you identified her?”
“Sure.” She explained how the botanist had helped them date the grave, how the small garnet found by the forensic anthropologist had been instrumental in helping her pick Alena out from the missing persons reports, and how they’d visited with the original case detective in Columbia.
“This is a great human interest story. It could be worthy of a feature. Missing student turns up after twenty-four years . . .” Diane’s eyes glittered like a bloodhound’s hot on a trail.
They were reacting exactly as she and Mac had hoped.
“But what happened to her after she disappeared? How did she die?” Rick asked.
“Blunt force trauma to the head.”
“So this was murder?” Diane jotted some notes in the notebook on her lap.
Lisa leaned forward and folded her hands on her desk. “We’re continuing to investigate that—and here’s where the story gets even more interesting. We tracked down her roommate and the two friends who were with the roommate the night Alena disappeared. That roommate and one of her friends both died in the past week.”
The two reporters stared at her.
“Were they . . . killed?” Diane’s pen was poised above her notebook.
“Both deaths appear to be accidental.” She gave them a few details—and the names of the deceased.
“What about the third friend?” Rick asked.
“We’ve talked with her twice. She lives in the area.”
“Is she a suspect?”
Lisa hesitated—purposely. “Let’s just say we’re interested in continuing our conversation with her.”
“Who is she?”
“At this point, I’d prefer not to reveal her name.” She stood. They had more than enough to get started—and if they were as eager to dig into this as they seemed, it wouldn’t take them long to uncover the identity of the third friend. “Rick, I’ll be glad to answer a few questions on camera now. And Diane, if you need anything else, let me know.” She handed over one of her cards.
The woman wasted no time heading out while Rick summoned his waiting cameraman.
They filmed in her office, where she confined her answers to fact rather than supposition, again avoiding any mention of Jessica by name. She wouldn’t put it past the woman to sue for libel.
Seconds after Rick and his colleague packed up and left, Florence strolled in, Tally on her heels. “Things are hopping around here today.”
Lisa slipped off her uniform jacket and hung it on the hanger behind her door. “I hope they start hopping even more. All we have so far with Jessica Lee is speculation.”
“Near as I can tell, you’re doing your best to smoke her out.”
“I just hope it’s enough.” Lisa gave Tally a pat on the way back to her desk. “I’m running out of strategies.”
“Well, I’ll bend the good Lord’s ear on this one. If that woman was involved in all those deaths, she needs to be brought to justice.”
“I agree—and I think I’ll join you in that prayer campaign.”
Because truth be told, it might very well take the intervention of a higher power to bring a just resolution to this case.
At the discreet knock on her office door, Jessica looked up from the consumer demographic report she was reading.
Robert was standing on the threshold, parallel creases denting his forehead.
She set the report aside. Despite a flicker of unease, she managed to maintain a pleasant expression. “Come in.”
He entered, closing the door behind him.
Not a positive sign.
Robert was an open-door, up-front kind of guy.
She studied him as he sat in one of the chairs across from her desk. Was this more fallout from the impromptu visit he and Frank Nelson had paid to her office while the police were here?
No. Not likely. She’d passed the visit o
ff as investigative protocol, a final follow-up with one of the few people who’d known Alena. He’d seemed to buy that explanation yesterday—though it was clear he’d have preferred no client witness the incident. Especially a new—and huge—client like Gram’s Table.
So what was this about?
She leaned forward, fingers linked, matching his concerned demeanor. “Is everything all right?”
He adjusted his tie. No casual attire for this guy on the job. He understood the importance of image in their business—just as she did. “I’m not certain. My wife called a few minutes ago. She said there was a story on the noon news about that young student you knew who disappeared. I thought we should watch it together. Apparently there’s more to the story now. Could you pull it up on your computer?”
TV coverage?
That police chief had to be behind this. If she hadn’t passed more info to the press, they wouldn’t still be on the story.
Fighting down a surge of anger, she modulated her voice and swung toward her computer. “Of course.”
Don’t say anything more until you see the coverage. Silent is always better than sorry.
She googled the noon news and found the story immediately. It had been the lead item—and that relentless police chief was front and center on the screen.
Another swell of anger rolled through her. That woman had done nothing but cause problems since the day those bones were uncovered.
Positioning her chair so she could keep one eye on Robert and one on the screen, she tuned in to the reporter.
The man didn’t say a thing she hadn’t already heard, but the deaths of Erika and Joe were news to Robert. His frown deepened as the reporter noted that the investigation was ongoing, then mentioned that the police were continuing to talk with a local resident who’d also been an acquaintance of the deceased student.
The reporter didn’t mention her by name—but if he dug into the original story, it was only a matter of time before he figured it out. All he had to do was pull some of the articles from the Missourian that had come out after Alena disappeared. It had been a huge deal in Columbia, and though she’d tried to evade the press, her name had been mentioned a few times as an acquaintance of the roommate.