Touch of Red

by Laura Griffin

  Everyone gathered around his chair as he scrolled through a seemingly endless series of photographs. The shots started at the base of the driveway, capturing the car and the house, and then nearing the back door where the body was found.

  “That’s a lot of photos,” Callie said.

  “Shoot your way in, shoot your way out,” Brooke said. “That’s Maddie’s motto.”

  “Here.” Roland stopped on a close-up shot of the driveway near the deck. A thin brown line on the asphalt appeared to be a muddy tire track.

  “Zoom in on that,” Sean said.

  Roland enlarged the image. It definitely looked like a mark made by a bike tire.

  “The rain washed it away before anyone got a good look at it, but at least we have it on film,” Roland said.

  “Does this mark match the bike?” Callie asked.

  “Hard to say ‘match’ when all we’ve got to go on is a photograph,” Brooke told her. “But I would say it’s consistent with the bike we found in the hollow, which suggests the rider of the bike was at the crime scene.”

  Callie tipped her head to the side. “So, the scenario is that this kid sees something terrifying, leaves the scene in a hurry and isn’t paying attention, and gets hit by a car as he races away?” She looked at Sean for confirmation.

  “You’re assuming it’s an accident,” Sean said.

  “You’re not?”

  “Maybe the car belongs to the killer.”

  Brooke shuddered. The possibility had kept her up all night. Had Samantha’s killer seen the child witness fleeing the house and tried to chase him down? If so, had the child escaped or not? A whole team of officers had combed the area last night, but they’d recovered no further clues beyond the crumpled bicycle and the youth-size Red Sox cap that Sean had found in the hollow.

  “I hope you’re wrong about this,” Callie said. “But no matter what, we need to find this kid.”

  “We’re also working on a shoe impression we recovered near the trash cans,” Roland said. “The feds maintain a database, and I submitted what we have. Haven’t heard back yet, but I can tell you it’s a herringbone tread pattern.”

  “We’ll be able to get a brand for you,” Brooke said. “I can send you a picture, too, when it comes in.”

  The lab phone rang, and Roland reached for it. “Trace evidence.” He listened for a few moments and looked at Brooke. “Sure, I’ll tell her.” He hung up. “That was Dave upstairs. He finished with the paint sample. Comes back to a Ford pickup or SUV, dark red.”

  “Damn,” Callie said. “There have to be a lot of those in town. And statewide? We’re talking about thousands.”

  “Date range ’96 to ’05,” Roland added. “That should help narrow it down.”

  Alex Lovell stepped into the lab and looked surprised to see so many people. Her gaze settled on Brooke. “I got those results back.”

  Brooked nodded.

  “Whenever you get a minute.” Alex gave her a meaningful look and slipped out.

  What had Alex found? Whatever it was, Brooke couldn’t think about it right now.

  She turned to Sean. “One last thing—and it may or may not help you. The bicycle is a boy’s Mongoose mountain bike, around ten years old. Given that we think the boy riding it is around that age, it’s safe to say the bike’s a hand-me-down or possibly purchased at a resale shop. I know it’s a long shot, but—”

  “We’ll check into it,” Sean said.

  “We need to move on this vehicle lead.” Callie’s phone chimed, and she pulled it from the pocket of her blazer. “Sorry, I have to take this. Thanks for the fast turnaround, you guys.”

  Callie stepped out, leaving Sean behind with Brooke and Roland.

  “Walk me out?” Sean nodded at the door.

  Brooke followed him into the dim hallway. The trace-evidence lab occupied a remote part of the Delphi Center, and she wasn’t used to so many visitors coming and going.

  Sean propped his shoulder against the cinder-block wall and gazed down at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re tense.”

  “I’m worried.” About the child, she meant, but she didn’t have to say that. Sean knew.

  His gaze was steady, and she looked up into those sharp eyes that missed nothing. Was he this perceptive with everyone, or just her?

  He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’ll find him, Brooke.” He rested his hand on her shoulder.

  “I know you will.”

  • • •

  Brooke went directly to the cybercrimes unit on the Delphi Center’s top floor. The lab seemed strangely deserted for a Friday morning.

  “Where is everyone?” Brooke asked as she approached Alex’s cubicle. A row of vintage Star Wars figures lined the wall she shared with the neighboring cube.

  “We pulled an all-nighter. Child-porn ring out of Dallas.”

  “God. I don’t know how you do that.”

  “Same way you do.” Alex pushed over a chair for Brooke to sit in. The slender brunette had a low-key way about her that always put Brooke at ease. “I hear you caught the Samantha Bonner homicide. Sean and Ric are on it?”

  “They’ve got a whole team.”

  “Are we running all the evidence? I haven’t seen a computer or a cell phone, but if they send something over, I can bump it to the front of my line.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell Sean.”

  “Here.” Alex nodded at the phone on her desk. “Have a look at what I found.”

  Brooke eyed her phone with apprehension. It sat atop the mouse pad, and Brooke’s glittery-white phone case was off to the side. “Did you have to take it apart?”

  “Actually, no. Turns out your culprit is a stealth app.”

  “Stealth?”

  “It’s not visible. Unless you installed it, you wouldn’t even know it was there.”

  “You did.”

  “I know what to look for. Thwarting electronic surveillance is my specialty.”

  “Electronic surveillance.” A bitter lump rose in Brooke’s throat.

  “That’s right.”

  Before joining the Delphi Center, Alex had run a PI firm that specialized in helping women in trouble disappear. Many of her clients were in abusive relationships and needed to drop off the radar.

  Brooke had never imagined herself in that category. She wasn’t. Not really.

  “Brooke?”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I said, have you heard of Tagger?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a spying app.”

  Damn him.

  Damn him, damn him, damn him.

  He’d gotten hold of her phone. When had he done it? And how had he known her password?

  “Can you prove who put this app on there?” she asked Alex.

  “That’s what sucks. We can’t. It’s completely traceless until someone comes up with a program to crack it, which hasn’t happened yet. Believe me, I’ve looked around.”

  “When did he do this?”

  “I can’t tell. But it could have been done remotely, so the possibilities are pretty wide-open. You think it’s your ex?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  Alex stared at her.

  “What?”

  “You’ve told me he’s controlling, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “Is there anything else?” Alex asked. “Anything physical? You could press charges.”

  “No.”

  “You could. Trust me. I’m married to a cop, and he could help you.”

  “Thanks, but it wasn’t like that. It never got to that point.” Not really. “I saw where it was heading and I got out. At least, I thought I did.”

  Alex nodded. “Good for you.”

  Right. Good for her.

  Brooke wished she could feel good about it, but instead she felt angry. And embarrassed. Yeah, she’d gotten out, but not before he’d maneuvered himself into a pos
ition to control her life from the inside out. And he was still doing it.

  Tears of frustration burned her eyes as she stared at her phone. “So . . . what does this app do, exactly? He’s able to see where I am? Listen in on my calls? What?”

  “He knows your location anytime your phone is with you.”

  Brooke’s chest clenched. “Son of a bitch. I hate him.”

  He’d been tracking her movements when she went out with friends, or to the gym, or on a solitary run to clear her head. God forbid she ever went on a date again.

  No wonder he’d been showing up all the time.

  “The good news is, this app’s GPS only. He hasn’t hijacked your camera or anything.”

  Her heart skittered. “That’s really possible?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Guess I’m lucky, then, huh? And, hey, what would it matter anyway, since he’s seen everything already?”

  “It’s your privacy, Brooke. It matters.”

  She looked away. “Sorry. I’m just . . . pissed.” She wiped her cheeks, embarrassed now all over again for crying in front of Alex.

  This was not her. None of it. Brooke didn’t cry over guys.

  She didn’t let guys control her or jerk her around. Or tell her what to wear or how to cut her hair or what to eat, for Christ’s sake. Except that she had, and now everything had gotten so out of hand.

  The crazy thing was, she’d actually thought she loved him at one point. How had she been such a terrible judge of character?

  Alex focused on the phone, swiping at the screen while Brooke got her emotions under control. She’d thought she’d put all this behind her, and now it was back again.

  “You’ve got two options,” Alex said matter-of-factly, as though Brooke weren’t sitting there weeping. “Option one, remove the app.”

  “Sounds like a no-brainer.”

  “The problem with that option is that he’ll know that you know he put it there, which could prompt communication.” Alex paused. “When it comes to cases like this, where the guy is controlling and obsessive, where there’s any sort of stalking behavior, communication is what you want to avoid. It only feeds his delusion that you’re in a relationship together. He’s trying to get a reaction out of you, and you don’t want to give him one. You’re better off ignoring him.”

  Brooke’s chest burned. “So, I’m just supposed to let him spy on me indefinitely?”

  “I’m not saying that. Another option is to accidentally ‘lose’ your phone. Go paddleboarding and drop it in the lake or something.”

  Brooke squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Damn it, I don’t have time for this! I’m working a homicide case.”

  “If he thinks it was lost or stolen, then he won’t suspect you’ve figured him out when you switch to a new device.”

  “I can’t afford a new device. Anyway, I like this one. I bought this phone less than a year ago, and I paid good money.”

  Alex nodded. “Okay. I hear you. But I’ve seen this before. You’re essentially calling him out on what he did, and that might spark a confrontation. Are you willing to risk that?”

  Brooke wrestled with the question. What was wrong with her? She used to be so decisive. He’d undermined her faith in her own decision making.

  “It’s your call, Brooke. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.” Alex gave her a calm, reassuring look, and Brooke had never been so grateful to have her for a friend.

  Brooke stared down at the phone—her phone—and she felt a surge of fury.

  “Remove it. I don’t care what he thinks. He can go screw himself.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “This could be a waste of time, you know.”

  Sean glanced at Callie as she maneuvered the unmarked police unit through afternoon traffic.

  “If she’s wrong about the kid witness,” Callie elaborated.

  “She meaning Brooke.”

  “That’s right. Or even if she’s right about the kid witness, but wrong about him being on that bike, then we’ve wasted most of the day.”

  It was a fair point. They’d spent the better part of the day systematically working the list of locally registered vehicles that fit Brooke’s description. They were on number thirty-two of more than one hundred. In a homicide investigation, early days were critical, and Sean hoped to hell they hadn’t wasted one.

  “It’s a solid theory,” he said. “Outside the box, but solid.”

  “Solid but not provable. That’s my point.”

  He looked at her. “Not provable yet. If it pans out, we might have ourselves an eyewitness.”

  Callie stopped at a red light, and Sean checked out the gas station on the corner. No people with dark red pickups or SUVs gassing up or buying snacks.

  “So, you have a thing for her?”

  He looked at Callie.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Callie smiled. “I’ve worked with you for a year now.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m a detective. I detect things. Such as vibes between people.”

  The light changed, and Sean looked out the window. Between people. So, Callie didn’t detect that this thing—whatever it was—was only one-sided. Sometimes Sean wondered. Brooke seemed guarded around him, immune to his efforts to get her to loosen up. It wasn’t a problem he usually had.

  A lot of women had a thing for men in law enforcement, but not Brooke. She’d never seemed particularly impressed by Sean’s job, which made him all the more determined to impress her in other ways. Sean wanted to get to know her. He wanted to get past the cool and aloof attitude she showed the world.

  “You take the Fifth, huh?” Callie turned onto a street. “Why am I not surprised.”

  Sean gave her what he hoped was a neutral look and then read off the street number. “Should be up here on the left.”

  Callie neared the house, and low and behold, a dark red F-150 was parked right in front. No need to sneak up the driveway and set off a bunch of dogs.

  Callie rolled to a stop and Sean hopped out. He circled the vehicle, a late-nineties pickup with an extended cab. He noted a scratch in the paint where someone had keyed the driver’s-side door, but no dents. And no paint transfer, white or otherwise.

  He returned to the car, frustrated. This process was tedious. They’d called every body shop in town this morning searching for the hit-and-run vehicle, but no one had seen it. That would have been too easy.

  His phone buzzed as he slid back into the Taurus. “Byrne.”

  “I’ve got something for you.”

  Brooke’s voice dissolved his tension. He liked the sound of it. And he liked that she knew she didn’t need to identify herself.

  “Lay it on me, and I hope it’s good.”

  “I can narrow the list for you. Factoring in the wheelbase, we believe you’re looking for a pickup truck, not an SUV.”

  Sean paused. “You went back and measured those tread marks. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because you didn’t spend your first year as a CSI investigating motor-vehicle accidents for the sheriff’s office. I haven’t always had this cushy gig at Delphi.”

  Cushy. Right. Sean knew what kind of hours she worked. With the exception of Wednesday night, Brooke was always one of the last to leave a crime scene. And she often went back for a second pass if the evidence she’d collected the first time didn’t yield any leads. Brooke was fiercely dedicated to her work, and Sean admired her for it.

  And, yes, Callie was right. He had a thing for her.

  “Thanks for the tip.” He wanted to ask Brooke what she was doing later, but he’d wait until he was alone.

  “No problem. Call me if anything breaks, okay?”

  “Same for you.” He ended the call and looked at Callie. “Pickup trucks only, not SUVs.”

  “Go, Brooke. What’s that do to our workload?”

  Sean scanned the list. “Cuts it in half.”

  • • •


  Brooke surveyed the storefronts. A dry cleaner, a nail salon, a doughnut shop. She had already tried the Dairy Queen on the corner and the convenience store across the street, but those had been dead ends. Her best bet was Sunrise Donuts.

  Brooke had left work early to canvass Samantha Bonner’s neighborhood. Roland would lecture her if he knew what she was up to. This wasn’t her job. But Sean’s team was overwhelmed, and Brooke couldn’t let perfectly good leads go unpursued—not when a child’s safety was at risk.

  She entered the shop and was immediately hit by the scent of fried sugar. She didn’t even like doughnuts, but her stomach growled in response.

  A pimply-faced teen in a yellow apron stood behind the cash register. Beside him was a portly man who looked remarkably like the guy from the old Dunkin’ Donuts commercials. Time to make the doughnuts. He was loading a sheet of fresh, perfectly glazed pastries into the case.

  “Are you the manager?” Brooke asked cheerfully.

  “Yes.”

  She flashed her official-looking Delphi Center ID badge. He glanced down, but didn’t study it closely.

  “I’m looking for a neighborhood boy who may have been in here recently. Around ten years old? He rides a white bike and wears a blue Boston Red Sox cap.”

  The manager fisted his hand on his hip. “What’s this about?”

  She smiled. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “We get a lot of kids in here. Especially after school.” He glanced at the window, and Brooke followed his gaze. He did, indeed, have a number of young customers clustered around the metal picnic tables outside. They looked too old, though. One girl held a pink leash with a sleeping beagle on the end of it.

  “It’s possible this boy might have had a dog with him?” Brooke looked at the manager.

  “Sorry. Don’t know him.” He finished arranging pastries and looked at her. “You want to order something?”

  “Uh . . . yes. A chocolate glazed. With sprinkles.”

  He nodded at the kid behind the register and then shuffled into the back room.

  “Anything else?” the teen asked.

  “And a bottle of water, please.”

  She glanced back at the outdoor tables. Not a single one of the customers there looked to be younger than fourteen.

  “I know that kid you’re talking about.”