He’d signed them. Just like his victims.
She dropped the plane back onto the shelf where it rocked onto its nose, but didn’t break.
She scanned the rest of the bookshelves, walked her fingers along the trim in search of anything hidden. Found nothing.
Turning to his hobby table, Jamie sat in the small, plastic-backed chair and surveyed the newest model. The plane was half built, unpainted. The rounded body sat on a wood block, its middle carved out to hold the plane upright.
The tools were put away.
The table had been cleaned off. There were no remnants of glue or paint anywhere.
Immaculate.
Jamie dropped to her knees and peered up at the underside of the table. Nothing.
Next, she opened Marchek’s tool chest. She removed the top tray and set it in her lap. Slowly, she lifted each tool, studied it, and set it on the table.
Marchek would be furious that someone had pawed through his precisely organized tools. The image offered her only fleeting satisfaction.
She lifted a tool that looked like it belonged to a dentist. It was the width and length of a pencil with a sharp, curved hook on one end. She suspected it was for carving tiny grooves. Jamie imagined the mark on Emily Osbourne’s thigh and thought it was the perfect size for that too. She pulled an evidence bag from her pocket and dropped the tool inside.
“Found something,” one of the techs called out.
Jamie set the tools down and walked into the bathroom.
Hailey stood at the door. “What is it?”
The tech pumped his fist into the air. “This bathroom outlet is loose.” He drew out a Master Lock key. “Found this inside.”
“Good work,” Hailey said.
“Now we need to find out what it fits,” Jamie said.
“Some storage facility, maybe,” Roger suggested.
“Is there anything in the building?” Hailey asked.
Jamie spoke up. “No storage here, but we can do a search of sites in the area. He doesn’t have a car that we know of, so he can’t be going far.”
“It’s a step in the right direction. Thanks, Alex.”
Alex blushed at Hailey’s attention, and Jamie returned to the tool kit. Nothing else stood out. She went through the chest twice more before moving on.
Hailey had continued to the closet, so Jamie took Marchek’s kitchenette. The room was spotless. The floor’s linoleum was lined with tiny cracks. A couple of the tiles were mismatched pieces, but it gleamed of a recent waxing. She studied the mismatched linoleum. Thinking she might find something, she tried unsuccessfully to pry them loose.
Next, she turned to the cabinets. The first two cupboards were empty. The third contained perfectly stacked cans of corn, black and kidney beans, chilies, and soups—mostly chicken noodle. His refrigerator held a gallon of one percent milk that was almost full and three nonalcoholic beers. He had three glasses, three plates, two bowls, and one set of silverware. It was all clean and stacked in its own cabinet. A roll of paper towels was the only thing out on the counter. The freezer was empty. Not even ice or an ice tray.
Under the sink, Jamie found a scrub brush, a small container of Dove dishwashing soap, and a single pot with no lid.
It was almost as though Marchek kept a full residence somewhere else.
The thought was terrifying.
Jamie dragged the chair from Marchek’s modeling table into the kitchen. Standing on it, she searched the empty cabinets. She had reached the last one when Hailey walked in.
“Any luck?” Hailey asked.
“Nothing. You?”
“No. This place is amazing. There are no papers, no checkbooks, nothing.” Hailey looked around. “How does this guy live?”
“Like a criminal,” Jamie said flatly.
“Does he have a bank account?” Hailey asked.
“He does,” Jamie confirmed. “We checked it. Nothing unusual. Wells Fargo, few hundred dollars in it. Deposits his paycheck, all withdrawals are in cash. No credit cards. Pays rent in cash. Buys his models and very little else.”
Hailey glanced into the cabinets. “I see that. What about utilities?”
“He’s got a deal with the manager. They’re included in the rent,” Jamie told her.
“So if he’s got a rental space, it’s going to be hard to trace.”
“Damn near impossible.” Jamie stepped down from the chair, grabbing the edge of the sink as she did. The panel on the front of the sink seemed to shift as she came down. She stared at it. A small hole where a knob had been was empty. Her sink was the same way. It was a panel made to look like a drawer. No drawer could fit there because of the sink. She ran her hand across it. Using her fingernails, she pried the side. It didn’t budge.
She dropped to her knees and stuck her head under the sink. Glancing up, she could see a small cupboard.
“What is it?”
“I think this thing opens.” Using Marchek’s one clean butter knife, Jamie pried at the edge until a small triangular-shaped drawer fell open.
Inside were several pieces of paper and a small digital camera.
Hailey lifted the camera. “Nice work, Vail.”
Jamie picked up the papers by a corner. One was Marchek’s birth certificate and the other was a list of model airplanes with little check marks next to the maybe fifteen of the list of forty or so. “Nothing here. What’ve you got?”
“Holy shit.”
Jamie looked over as Hailey stared at the screen on the back of the silver-colored camera. The camera was about the size of a pack of playing cards and the screen was dark, making it hard to see the image. Jamie squinted at a woman getting out of a dark car.
Behind her, there might have been another person in the passenger seat, but Jamie couldn’t tell. Beside the woman’s head, something hung from the rearview mirror. The car’s interior light shined through it, creating little rainbows in the photo.
Jamie focused back on the woman until the image cleared in her mind. “Shit. That’s—”
“Natasha Devlin,” Hailey confirmed.
Chapter 17
Hailey had spent that afternoon in the lab with Roger. There was only one photograph of Natasha on the memory card in Marchek’s camera. While the camera was easily a decade old, the memory card, stamped by the factory in China, was made last October.
Roger’s tech team worked for two hours to enhance the image. They needed something more to help them identify either the man himself or the car, which would lead them to the man’s identity.
In the end, the best they could do was confirm that the photo was of Natasha.
Hailey had known that immediately.
In her hand, Natasha held the engraved trophy that she had received at the awards banquet that evening. It was for her role in leading a massive, cross-departmental training effort.
The presence of the trophy confirmed that the photo was taken the night of the awards banquet—the same night Natasha was killed.
The car and the man in the background were unidentifiable. Hailey had sent the image to the rookie, Mackenzie Wallace, in hopes that she might have recognized the car from that morning.
But no luck.
Taking a photograph of someone was not illegal. Until they had some evidence that connected him to an actual crime, Marchek remained a free man.
Roger was turning his attention to the mold he’d made of Tim Worley’s head injury, with the hopes that it might lead them somewhere.
Worse, the crime scene team couldn’t find a speck of evidence that Marchek was inside Natasha Devlin’s office. The print on the department sign proved he was there, but the station hallways are open to the public.
The print itself wasn’t enough without something linking him to the crimes.
There was no evidence that the tool found in Marchek’s house had been used to carve into Emily Osbourne’s leg.
No evidence on it at all.
Marchek’s apartment was too clean. He had t
o be keeping a crime kit somewhere else.
The tech guys were pulling together a list of all the storage areas within a five-mile radius so they could distribute a photo of Marchek and see if anyone recognized him.
It was a long shot at best.
Hailey and Jamie Vail had also drafted a memo to go out to the division captains in an attempt to compile a list of men Natasha was recently involved with.
To say it was going to be an awkward request was an understatement. The request to air dirty laundry, even in the pursuit of a killer, was not going to be popular.
The case demanded truthful disclosure, but some of those men were married. They weren’t going to want to come forward and admit to infidelity, much less infidelity with a woman who had been murdered.
More public embarrassment was the last thing the department needed.
Plus, from what Hailey knew of Natasha, it was going to be a lengthy list.
Exhausted from the day, Hailey had almost considered skipping the Rookie Club dinner tonight. But going home held less appeal. Since Jim had pulled strings to put her on the Dennigs’ murders, John drilled her with questions about the case.
More and more, it was like she was living with Jim.
Plus, she had been the one to convince Jamie to go and she wasn’t going to give her an excuse to miss another one. Hailey was clearing the piles from her desk in preparation for leaving when Bruce walked into the department. It was the first time she could remember him coming into her department and the sight of him gave her an uncomfortable start.
“Inspector Wyatt.”
She nodded.
“I’d like to discuss the Devlin case with you if you’ve got a minute.” He pointed to the small, windowless conference room in the corner of the department.
She considered denying him, but decided against it. Refusing IA was on level with refusing a captain. It would garner suspicion. Bruce knew that and she was certain he’d used it to his advantage. “Of course,” she agreed. “Unfortunately, I’ve got only a couple of minutes. Let me get the file.”
He waited while she found the binder she’d started on Natasha’s murder and followed him into the conference room.
He let her pass and shut the door behind her, leaning against it. “You’ve been ignoring me.”
She crossed her arms without sitting. “You were there that morning—at her murder scene. I found out from Jamie Vail. You said you didn’t know anything about it. Why didn’t you tell me?” She put her hand up, lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t care now. I don’t want to talk about this now. I’m on my way out.”
“Going home?”
She shook her head. “Rookie Club dinner.”
“Can we have a drink after?”
“I don’t think so.” She started toward the door.
He took her arm, pulled her close.
She let him hold her for a moment, then pulled gently back. “I can’t have you lie to me, Bruce. There’s too much at stake. I won’t let you ruin my career.”
“You think that’s what I was doing?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter if that was the intention. It can’t happen again.”
With that, she pulled the door open and walked back into the department.
Jamie Vail stood propped against Hailey’s desk. She eyed Hailey, then Bruce.
“You ready?” Hailey asked.
“Ready, but not excited,” Jamie said.
Hailey nodded. She knew Jamie hadn’t been to a Rookie Club dinner since Natasha and Tim.
“Thanks for the update,” Bruce said.
“No problem. I’ll follow up tomorrow.” Hailey waved as he left, trying to look nonchalant, casual.
Jamie said nothing while Hailey packed up her stuff and locked her desk.
“Everything okay?” Jamie asked when they were in the hall.
She didn’t trust herself to meet Jamie’s gaze. “Same old bullshit.”
Jamie said nothing else. Hailey noticed she wore makeup now. The dark circles under her eyes looked lighter than they had only a few hours earlier when they had searched Marchek’s apartment. A dusting of blush added depth to her cheeks, and a subtle shimmer shone on her lips. When she glanced up, her eyes seemed brighter.
Outside, the rain was more like heavy mist. Hailey pulled on her trench coat, tied the belt. She wished she’d brought a hat. The wave in her hair went nuts with moisture. “You hear anything from the DA on Marchek?”
She held out hope that they would find a way to put him behind bars, despite how little evidence they had.
Jamie shook her head. “Captain told me he didn’t think the picture was enough. Circumstantial at best. Doesn’t prove Marchek was with Natasha at the time of death. Doesn’t prove he’d ever interacted with her. In fact, the presence of another person in the car suggests he wasn’t involved in her death. Captain says it’s more like an alibi than evidence of guilt.”
Hailey sighed. “I got similar from Marshall.”
Jamie didn’t respond.
Justice sometimes moved far too slowly for her liking.
“You still meet at Tommy’s?” Jamie asked, pulling up the hood on her windbreaker.
“Yep.”
“Still drink margaritas?”
“Not much has changed,” Hailey said.
“Everything has changed,” Jamie said, sounding almost breathless.
“That, too,” Hailey agreed.
*
The ride was quiet. Hailey always looked forward to this night, to the combination of these women. Most were intensely passionate thinkers, and the dinners reminded her how the police department’s struggle against crime brought out the strongest will in people.
But it wasn’t an especially happy bunch, either. Most of them had dealt with great trauma in their lives—personal, as well as professional. Divorce, alcoholism, and suicide were rampant among police officers, and the women were not immune.
Hailey acknowledged that she was among the luckiest of them for the stability of her home life. And for the fact that she had an existence completely separate from police work. Many officers married other officers, which compounded the difficulties of the job. Escaping work became almost impossible. But, she also knew the strong, communal spirit that was shared with two people in the same business.
With Bruce and John, she had both.
She wasn’t ready to let Bruce go, especially with the way things were with John. She needed someone she could be herself with.
Less and less was John that person.
These women should have been enough. The Rookie Club served the same purpose as a professional organization. There were other professions where like-minded people sought out the company of those in their same situation—doctors, lawyers, artists, writers. Those situations didn’t match theirs. Not in intensity, or in the evil of what they saw, the most grotesque aspects of human nature.
Maybe doctors were closest. They, too, faced issues surrounding the delicacy with which questions of life and death were handled. With cops, it was the most extreme stresses that came out of nowhere, where split-second decisions had to be made and carried out, then defended in months upon months of follow-up investigation. Some investigations lasted years. Cases and cops’ decisions, especially bad ones, were discussed for decades.
When decisions that had been made under tremendous pressure were later deemed “bad,” everyone chose a side. Those times, it always felt like it was the women against them—the brass, the captains, those who occupied the chief’s attention, the men. Because of those experiences, cops—male and female—learned that it was easier to divide into groups and sort each other out, trust only who you had to, speak freely only in that company, because you really never knew who would be called to speak against you until it happened.
When things went sour, cops were frequently called to testify against their own partners—the very people to whom they’d entrusted their lives. When it happened, neither officer had any choice in
the matter.
For Hailey, the Rookie Club had always been the obvious group from which to choose the most trustworthy candidates. Part of that was a game of odds. The chances were always good that, because there were so few women and so many men, those who were called against her would be male. Therefore, the ones to confide in should be female.
The only exception was her partner. Hal Harris was the most trustworthy person Hailey had ever known.
Men like that were rare.
Hailey now knew that better than ever.
Two more weeks and Hal would be back at work. Thank God.
Tonight, she had a break from the rest of the men in her life. And she needed it.
The Rookie Club had been in existence for several years before Hailey joined the force. When she first heard about it, she was surprised that it was still around. Things like that had a tendency to lose steam after a while. But not this. Somehow the word about a woman band of law enforcement officers kept a steady stream of new members.
Her first Rookie Club dinner, Hailey had come with Shelby Tate, now an assistant medical examiner. Hailey had been a rookie with her first DB, a hell of a floater case. At the time, Shelby was brand-new in the medical examiner’s office. Neither had fared all that well that day. When the autopsy was over, they’d agreed to shower twice and get a drink. They’d ended up at the Rookie Club dinner.
Back then, Jamie was new in Sex Crimes. She took a call from one of the victims at that dinner, offered to come over. They were all surprised to hear Jamie say that. Cops weren’t supposed to get too close to the cases.
But that wasn’t how Jamie worked.
Hailey remembered how inspired she was by Jamie’s passion, the way she talked about protecting her victims.
Whatever had changed in Jamie over the past decade, that piece hadn’t.
Jamie put one hundred and ten percent into the job.
Hailey parked a block from the restaurant, half in the red, and put the visor down. On the drive over, Hailey had asked about Emily Osbourne. She was certain Jamie was thinking about her. Emily would survive, Jamie had said. The word she’d used was “survive.”
The Rookie Club Thriller series Box Set Page 13