Exposed

by Laura Griffin

  Craig and Buzz Cut stepped out of the room, and she flipped off all the lights. She took the handheld alternative light source from her bag and donned a pair of orange-tinted eye shields. She shone the ALS on the bedspread and the floor but saw no bright spots that would indicate bodily fluids.

  “Anything?”

  “Nope.”

  She glanced at the ME’s assistants as they spread out the body bag. She looked at Isabella. She heard the chilling sound of the zipper.

  “Wait.” Maddie crouched beside the body with the light.

  “What?”

  “Look at her arm.”

  She pointed to the bruises, four distinct ovals in a line. Maddie carefully lifted the shirt. Isabella had marks on her abdomen, too, and a large bruise above her eye, which was now staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as she waited to be loaded into the body bag.

  “These are old,” Maddie said.

  “How old?”

  “Days, weeks. The ME can determine with better accuracy when he does the autopsy,” she said. Clarke County wasn’t large enough to have its own ME’s office, either, so they used the one in neighboring Travis County.

  After carefully photographing the marks, Maddie stood up. “That’s it.”

  She followed the two men back to the living room and watched them carry the stretcher out the back door.

  “Find anything?” Craig asked.

  “Subcutaneous bruises,” she said. “They can show up under ultraviolet light days, sometimes even weeks, after the fact. She have a boyfriend that you know about?”

  “We’ll find out.” He glanced at the younger deputy. “The neighbor still out there?”

  “I’m on it.”

  He disappeared, and they turned their attention to Brooke, who was now dusting the front door frame for prints. Maddie crouched nearby. She examined a wood splinter on the floor atop a droplet of blood. She set up her mini tripod and took half a dozen pictures with the camera facing straight down. She moved on to another splinter a few inches away.

  Brooke glanced at her. “When you finish with that, can you do this door? I want to get it off the hinges and take it to the lab.”

  “For the tool marks examiner?”

  “That, and there’s a shoe print. Lot of good detail.”

  Maddie glanced at the front of the door, where there was, indeed, a clear print in the shape of a man’s shoe. It looked as though the killer had jimmied the lock and then kicked open the door.

  Maddie stood up. “You find her phone?”

  “Still searching,” Craig said.

  “I’d be interested to know who she’s been calling or texting tonight and what her plans were.”

  Craig watched her steadily. “You don’t like this for a burglary.”

  “Do you?”

  “Nope.” His gaze scanned the messy living room. “This scene is off.”

  Maddie crouched down and took another picture of the splinter. “This is your case, right here.”

  He knelt beside her. “A wood chip?”

  “Damn, you’re right.” Brooke stepped over to look at it.

  “Right about what?” Craig frowned at the floor.

  “The blood trail’s leaving the house. See?” Brooke crouched down and pointed at it. “You can tell by the shape—like a comet.”

  “The blood didn’t drip on the wood splinter,” Maddie said. “The splintered wood landed on dripped blood.”

  She watched his face as her words sank in.

  “The door was busted open after the murder. Damn, I think you’re right.”

  “I don’t think this is a burglary at all,” Maddie told him. “I think she let him in. I think she knew her killer.”

  Brian turned onto Maddie Callahan’s street just as a familiar white Prius swung into a drive. He parked in front of the house, and she eyed him warily as he climbed out of his Bureau sedan.

  “Working late?” he asked, joining her on the driveway.

  “What makes you say that?”

  Uh-oh. Defensive. And he hadn’t even asked a real question yet.

  “Just a guess.” He nodded at the mud on her boots. “Outdoor crime scene?”

  “Something like that.”

  For a long moment, they stared at each other, and he tried his damnedest not to look at her mouth.

  “Where’s Dulles?” She glanced at his car. “Don’t you guys travel in pairs?”

  “He’s back at the office, wrapping things up. How come you didn’t tell me you were a CSI?”

  “How come you didn’t tell me you were investigating the theft of a person? They have a term for that. I think it’s called kidnapping.”

  Brian rested his hands on his hips and gazed down at her. She had him there, but he wasn’t ready to concede the point.

  He looked up and down her street. She lived in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood in a relatively safe part of San Marcos. He shifted his attention to her house. The grass had been cut maybe a week ago, but the hedges badly needed trimming. Her porch light could have used a brighter bulb, but at least she had a security system, according to the sign in the flower bed.

  She was watching him, still waiting for an answer.

  “I can’t disclose details—”

  “—of an ongoing investigation. Yada, yada, yada.” She tipped her head to the side and looked at him.

  A car sped by, and Brian followed it with his gaze. He looked back at her. More curls had come loose from her ponytail, and it was obvious she’d had a long night. But she seemed wide awake, probably running on caffeine and adrenaline, same as he was.

  “Listen, Ms. Callahan—”

  “It’s Maddie.”

  Exactly the response he’d wanted. “Is there somewhere we can talk, Maddie? I’ve got some questions I need to go over with you. About this evening.”

  She watched him for a moment, and he wondered if she thought he’d come here to hit on her. Maybe he should have brought Sam along as a decoy.

  “How good are you at ignoring details?” she asked.

  “Not very.”

  “Hmm. Well, at least, try not to put in your report that I’m a chronic slob.” She started across the yard. “It’s been a hectic week.”

  She led him up the steps to a narrow wooden porch that looked freshly painted but lacked the decorative touches that many women liked to scatter around.

  She ushered him inside and deposited her purse on a small table already stacked with mail. He glanced at the keypad beside the door as she switched on a light and walked into her kitchen.

  “You don’t activate your alarm during the day?”

  “I don’t activate it at all.” She pulled open the refrigerator and took out a jug of orange juice. “Drink?”

  “No, thanks.” He stood in the arched doorway between the kitchen and the living room and looked around. Most of her furniture was beige and nondescript, but one wall of the dining area had been painted vibrant red and covered with framed eight-by-ten photographs. Brian edged closer.

  “Wow. You take these?” He glanced up as she came to stand in the archway.

  “Yep.”

  He scanned the shots, which showed soaring cliffs, snowcapped mountains, and water crashing against rocks. Another series showed llamas and birds.

  “Is this South America?”

  “Tierra del Fuego. I lived there for a year.”

  “What took you down there?”

  She shrugged. “I needed to get away. It was the farthest place I could think of.”

  He glanced up at her. Then he turned to a tall shelf where she kept a collection of photography books: Annie Leibovitz, Ansel Adams, a bunch more that didn’t ring a bell. On one of the shelves was a framed photograph of a smiling little girl at the top of a yellow slide.

  “That’s Emma, my daughter.”

  He looked up and instantly knew what she was going to say next.

  “She died when she was two.”

  Brian’s chest tightened. He stud
ied the picture again. The little girl had thick blond curls, sparkling brown eyes, and a wide smile.

  “She looks like you.”

  “You think?” She stepped closer and gazed at the photo. “People always say that, but I see Mitch. My ex.”

  He saw a shadow of something in her eyes, a sadness that would probably never go away. He didn’t know what to say.

  She stepped back into the kitchen and poured a glass of juice. “You were asking about the alarm,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s from the previous owners. I’ve been meaning to have it hooked up since I moved in, but . . .” She shrugged. “It’s on my to-do list.”

  “And you moved in . . . ?”

  “Three years ago.” She gulped down the juice and plunked the glass on the counter beside a pile of dishes. “Sorry it’s a mess in here. I’ve hardly been home in days.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  She looked at him.

  “We could go get a sandwich or something. I noticed there’s a diner a few blocks over.”

  “Thanks, but my appetite’s gone for the night. Occupational hazard.” She placed the empty glass in the sink. “So, you thought of more questions, huh? Fire away.”

  He watched her. Everything she’d said sounded cooperative, but there was an edge to her voice, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with her.

  Maybe it was just that she’d had a shit day. Or maybe she didn’t like investigators showing up at her house at midnight and asking lots of questions.

  Or maybe she just didn’t like him.

  But he doubted that was it. Truth be told, women liked him. He took a lot of crap about it from the guys at work, but it was a fact. Part of it was probably the badge—some women had a thing for authority. Part of it was probably his looks, which had always gotten him second glances. Part of it was probably that he liked women and made a point of treating them with respect.

  But this particular woman seemed immune to all that. She obviously didn’t have a badge fetish.

  “Seriously, ask away,” she said. “I’m officially off the clock for the night.”

  “First, I need to know how you heard about the kidnapping.”

  “That’s easy. Grapevine.”

  “Could you be more specific? We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to keep the media away.”

  She crossed her feet at the ankles. “I haven’t seen a newscast, so maybe you succeeded. But I spent the evening surrounded by cops, and it’s common knowledge you guys misplaced a witness in front of the bank today.” She paused. “Who is he, some hedge fund manager?”

  Brian reached into his jacket and pulled out a color photo. It was a graduation picture, the kind people tucked into printed announcements and mailed to relatives.

  “Her name’s Jolene Murphy.”

  Maddie’s brow furrowed as she took the picture. “God, how old is she?”

  “Twenty-three. That was taken a year ago. She works at CenTex Bank here in town. She was about to become a key witness in a federal investigation.”

  Maddie looked up at him, and her feisty expression had been replaced by genuine concern. “And you think she was kidnapped?”

  “We don’t know for sure. But she didn’t show up for a meeting with us today, and this suspect we’re investigating has been known to intimidate witnesses.” Intimidate. There was a euphemism. “The stakes here are high.”

  She met his gaze. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

  There was a shitload of stuff he wasn’t telling her.

  “Do you think you might have seen this woman today?” he asked. “Even a glimpse?”

  “I wish I could help you, but I really don’t recognize her.” She handed the picture back. “And I have an eye for faces. Do you have a picture of the people who took her?”

  “I don’t even have IDs.”

  “But you think it might be the man who mugged me—him and the driver?”

  “Could be connected, yeah. We’re probably looking for a crew of four, maybe five people, and you ran into two of them.”

  She watched him, and the gravity of the situation was clearly sinking in.

  “You might still be able to help us,” he told her. “I read the paperwork. Officer Scanlon was thorough, like you said.” He smiled faintly, hoping to lighten the mood. No dice. “He reported that you swung your tripod at the man who attacked you. Any chance you connected?”

  “I sure hope so. Otherwise, that’s six years of softball down the tubes.”

  Score. It was the first break he’d caught all day.

  “Where is it now?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “The tripod. If I send it to the lab, they might be able to get prints or touch DNA.”

  She just looked at him.

  “You’re familiar with touch DNA? It’s from sweat, skin cells?”

  She was a CSI, for Christ’s sake. Why did she look at him like he was speaking Chinese?

  “So . . . can I get it from you?”

  “Actually, no,” she said.

  “No?”

  “It’s already at the lab.”

  “What lab?”

  “The Delphi Center.”

  Brian stared at her. She’d checked his evidence into a private crime lab. Sam was going to flip a lid. The tripod had been his idea.

  “Maddie—”

  “What’s the problem? It’s already being processed.”

  “The FBI forensic lab is the best in the world.”

  “Ours is better. And besides, I’m friends with a DNA tracer there, and she offered to put a rush on it for me.” She tipped her head to the side. “I doubt you have that kind of in at Quantico. Being new and all.”

  He gritted his teeth. This was just what he didn’t need. He finally had a chance at physical evidence against Goran Mladovic’s hired guns, and his witness had rushed it to some private lab, where he’d probably never get his hands on it again.

  “You’re not the only one who wants them identified, you know.”

  Brian caught the determination in her voice. He looked at her bruised jaw again and felt a renewed surge of resentment toward the man who had hit her.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him. “If Delphi gets anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. His cue to leave.

  And why the hell not? He’d done enough damage for one day. In the last six hours, he’d managed to lose track of a key witness and possibly the only physical evidence they had that might identify Mladovic’s strongmen in time to help her.

  “I guess that’s it, then. For now.”

  She led him through her living room to the front door, and his gaze landed on the dormant keypad.

  “Lock up after me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sarcasm. He looked at her. “You keep any guns in the house?”

  “A pistol. Why?”

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Of course.”

  He glanced outside, then back at her. She looked worried now, and he felt bad about that, but he needed her to take this seriously.

  “Be careful,” he told her. “These people we’re dealing with, they don’t fool around.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Maddie dreamed about Emma. She woke up with a damp pillow and a vast, aching hole in her chest.

  The dreams came in three types. The first year, they were mostly about the accident. Later, she would dream of Emma sleeping, either curled against her in bed or passed out in her arms in the rocking chair, her little cheeks flushed from nursing. The third dream was of Emma in motion—running, swinging, scampering down the hill at the park, or climbing up the slide.

  Maddie loved the third dream, but she hated it, too. For a brief instant—that first fleeting moment of consciousness—she’d think the accident was the imagined part and Emma was still alive and happy and growing. But it only lasted a heartbeat, and then her dau
ghter would vanish like a mirage.

  Maddie stared at the numbers on the clock. She rubbed her sternum. It was no use trying to sleep again, so she tossed the covers away and decided to start her day.

  Arriving early at the lab meant prime parking, but it also meant she had to bring her own caffeine, because the Delphi Center’s coffee shop didn’t open until seven-thirty. She hiked up the building’s wide marble steps and was surprised to see Kelsey Quinn seated at the base of one of the Doric columns that flanked the entrance. In contrast to the jeans and work boots the forensic anthropologist typically wore when she was going out on a dig, today she wore slacks and a crisp white lab coat.

  “You’re here early.” Maddie stopped beside her.

  “Waiting on bones.”

  “New or old?”

  “Don’t know yet. Old, I’m guessing. Some cavers discovered a skull and a long bone over in Wayne County. The sheriff wanted me to have a look.” Kelsey gazed out over the dew-covered grounds. “Pretty morning, isn’t it? You should get your camera.”

  Maddie turned to look at the sloping meadow surrounded by tall pecan trees and gnarled oaks. The sun had just edged above the treetops, and the entire landscape was touched with gold. It would have been a picturesque scene, had it not been for the carrion birds circling nearby.

  Buzzards gave Maddie the creeps. She didn’t like their bald heads, or their beady eyes, or their huge wingspans. Their constant presence served as a reminder that her workplace sat in the middle of a body farm.

  “What happened to your chin?” Kelsey asked.

  She looked at her. “Is it that obvious?”

  “I have a trained eye.”

  Maddie sighed. Problem was, everyone around here had a trained eye, which meant that despite spending twenty minutes on her makeup this morning, she was going to be fielding questions all day long.

  “I got mugged last night. Maybe I should send out a memo.” She nodded at the coffee cup, hoping to change the subject. “Did you get that here? I thought they weren’t open yet.”

  Kelsey smiled. “Throw yourself on their mercy, and they’ll sneak you a cup.”

  Maddie used her security badge to swipe her way into the building and made a detour to the coffee shop, where she managed to score an extra-large latte and a blueberry muffin. She rode up the elevator to the photo lab, which shared a floor with Trace and QD.