Investigate With Me: A With Me In Seattle Universe Novel

by Jen Talty

  Ding.

  She smiled, lifting her cell.

  Jag: Unusually busy today. Lost dog. Bicycling accident. House fire. And a lego stuck in a teenager’s nose. Don’t ask.

  She laughed.

  Callie: Where are you?

  Jag: Headed up to Beverly Beach.

  Callie: Why?

  Jag: About to get in patrol car. Got to go. I’ll text when I’m on my way home.

  Fucker. He used to love doing that to her, knowing she’d never keep texting once she knew he was in a moving vehicle. Usually, whatever call he was heading out on wasn’t anything for her to worry about, so she set her phone down. Her computer screen daunted her. She’d written five thousand words, which was close to half the chapter dedicated to Jag. It was easier to write than she thought in the sense that so much of the anger she’d been hanging on to for the last year had evaporated, unlike the constant fog that Seattle lived under. That allowed her to look at Jag a little more objectively.

  But it was also harder because a different set of raw emotions bubbled to the surface. Deep down, she’d always known she still had feelings for Jag, but she’d buried them in a dark corner of her mind, never allowing her heart to acknowledge her one true love.

  Jag.

  She reached out and lifted her computer, clicking on a folder labeled: Stephanie. Tears burned the corners of Callie’s eyes.

  Her childhood had been picture-perfect. She and Stephanie grew up in the suburbs of Seattle with loving parents. Her father was a heart surgeon, and her mother was a nurse in the emergency room. They were the perfect power couple, and when Stephanie, at a very young age, started transitioning, her folks were right there with her every step of the way. They never judged, even though it was obvious they struggled at first.

  They had to grieve the loss of their son, in a way, but always knew they loved their child, no matter if she called herself Steven or Stephanie.

  She clicked on the last family portrait that had been taken just three weeks before her parents were killed in a helicopter crash while transporting a high-risk, high-profile heart patient.

  Everyone on board died.

  Callie reached out and touched her father’s face. And then her mother’s. Tears now scorched her cheeks. They had died two years before Stephanie was murdered. “I miss you all,” Callie whispered.

  While Jag didn’t fill a void in her heart, he certainly helped her out of a dark place after she’d lost her parents.

  Her phone rang.

  FaceTime from Kara.

  She smiled and clicked the accept tab on her computer, setting it up on the table as she slouched in the chair. “Hey, Kara. How are you?”

  “I’m doing good. How’s my Callie girl?”

  Callie wondered if Kara heard about the murder on the island. It hadn’t made national news, because the cops had successfully suppressed any potential connection it might have to the Trinket Killer. Hell, it barely made the local news, except for Bailey, who enjoyed reporting that it was unsolved and that Jag was the chief of police, as if it was expected he would solve the murder within minutes of it happening.

  “I’m hanging tough.” Callie tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she pulled her fleece tighter around her chest. “Where are you?”

  “We’re still in Oregon. It’s beautiful here.”

  “I bet. Are you in a hotel?” Callie leaned forward, trying to get a better look, but it was hard to make out the details on the tiny screen.

  “We’re staying in an Airbnb.”

  “Where’s Ivy?”

  “She’s in the shower. We went for a fifteen-mile walk today. I’m so sore.” Kara lay on a bed on her stomach with her face propped up by her hand. She was a good ten years older than Callie and often acted slightly maternal, and that tended to annoy Callie, but it was nice to have someone care that much.

  “I’m going to end up finishing the book early,” Callie said. “Jag’s been great.”

  “I have to admit I’m shocked by that,” Kara said. “I know he’s not a bad man, nor is he a bad cop. It’s just that he said some things to you that you just can’t take back.”

  “I said some things too,” Callie said. “But at the end of the day, I still love him.”

  “But is he good for you?” Kara moved to a sitting position, leaning against a headboard. “And is Seattle good for you?”

  “Seattle, not so much. But I like island life.”

  Kara laughed. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Oh, Callie girl.” Kara shook her head. “I was worried that would happen if you stayed out on that island. I’m concerned about you.”

  “I know and I’m fine. Really. I am. Things are good. I’ve made it clear that I’m leaving in a couple of weeks. He understands that. This is just a nice way for us to get the closure we never had before.”

  “What does he say?”

  It was rare that Callie lied to Kara, and she was going to do it twice in one phone call. Once by omission, since she wasn’t going to tell her anything about the murder.

  And once right now.

  “He agrees with me.”

  Kara cocked her head, and her lips parted. “Are you serious?”

  Callie nodded, making sure she kept her smile steady and her gazed locked on the screen. “Being in close quarters, sleeping together was inevitable. I mean, the sex was always fucking mind-blowing, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man.”

  “Maybe you should try a woman,” Kara said with a tongue-in-cheek tone.

  “Now you sound like my sister.”

  A sobering silence settled between them. They stared at each other for a few moments. Kara hadn’t known her sister that well, but she’d been Callie’s rock.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Kara said. “Ivy thought of something when it comes to the ravens.”

  “Yeah. What’s that?”

  “A spirit animal. Interestingly enough, when I gave her some information about you, she thought the raven was your spirit animal.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “That’s what I thought, but she’s putting together an entire thing on it. When she’s done, I’ll send it to you.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Callie’s pulse kicked up. Perhaps the killer thought the dolphin and now the raven was her spirit animal. Or represented whoever the killer was murdering over and over again, if that was indeed the motive. She quickly opened her research folder and made a note to research that concept more thoroughly.

  A Langley police car turned the bend in front of Jag’s house.

  “Kara. I’ve got to go. Say hello to Ivy for me.”

  “Will do. Love you, Callie girl.” Kara blew a kiss before the screen turned dark.

  Callie set the computer to the side and stood, watching Jenna step from the driver’s seat.

  “Hi, Callie, how are you?”

  “I’m okay,” she called from the second-story deck. “Did Jag send you to check on me?”

  Jenna shook her head. “He sent me to tell you he’s going to be late.”

  “Why?”

  “A body was found over at Beverly Beach. It was brutal. The sheriff’s office was the first on the scene. When they called Jag for help, they didn’t give him all the details.”

  Callie clutched her chest. It hurt to breathe. “What did Jag find when he got there?”

  “He thinks it’s the first kill for this cycle,” Jenna said.

  The city of Langley was more like a small town. It didn’t cover a lot of space on Whidbey Island, and his jurisdiction was generally limited, but the sheriff’s office often relied on Jag’s support.

  And he never said no.

  But a second dead body on the island within a couple of days of each other?

  That never happened.

  “What exactly did DeSantis say?” Jag rested his elbow on the open window. The chilly spring air filled the patrol
car, cooling his nerves.

  Jenna punched the gas, turning down Beach Drive. “A body was found in an Airbnb this afternoon after a neighbor complained about the smell. The rental had been secured for the entire month, so no one was checking on it.”

  “Who actually found the body?” Jag asked.

  “The landlord used his key when no one came to the door. The body was presented on the bed.”

  “I don’t like how you used that word.”

  Jenna adjusted her shades, which was funny because the sun wasn’t very strong this afternoon. “I’m only repeating what DeSantis said.”

  “What do you think?”

  Jenna glanced in his direction. “That your girlfriend stirred up some shit, and the killer isn’t happy she’s back.”

  “This isn’t her fault,” Jag said with a tight jaw.

  “No shit, Chief,” Jenna said. “I was saying that maybe she’s a trigger for a killer that she spent the majority of her career covering, but mostly I wanted to hear you admit she’s your girlfriend.”

  “Five years, to be exact.” He chose to ignore the girlfriend comment. He could only hope that were the case. “But we also have to consider that it’s more likely we have a copycat.”

  “Agreed,” Jenna said as she parked the police vehicle behind the sheriff’s car.

  Jag stretched before he made his way up the walkway toward where DeSantis and two other uniformed officers stood.

  “Jesus,” Jenna muttered, covering her mouth and nose.

  Jag did the same.

  “Thanks for coming,” Officer Carlos DeSantis said with an outstretched hand.

  “Happy to help,” Jag said. “How long do we think the body has been in there?”

  “It was rented on the eighth of the month,” DeSantis said.

  “That was the day before Levi’s going away party,” Jag said.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Jenna asked.

  “Probably nothing.” Jag planted his hands on his hips and scanned the immediate area, trying to get a feel for the neighborhood. Of course, he’d been in this general area many times. It was a quiet seaside town, just like every little place on Whidbey. “Just grounding myself.” He turned his head and took a deep breath of fresh air. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Follow me,” DeSantis said. “I’ve called in the medical examiner and CSI. They are en route. I thought I’d wait to call Seattle PD until I talked to you since you were the lead on most of the Trinket Killer cases.”

  He’d come out to the island to get away from all the insanity that the Trinket Killer had brought to his life, and he’d thought he found a nice quiet little life for himself.

  So much for carefully laid plans.

  Of course, he thought he’d be married by now with maybe a baby on the way.

  Wishful thinking.

  He pulled his dark shirt up over his mouth. There were no words to describe a corpse. People tried, using words like rotten eggs. Or urine-soaked clothes left out in the sun for days.

  The stench was ten times worse than both of those combined, and it filled your lungs, clinging to the sides, taking hours to expel.

  Jenna held the department camera and snapped a few pictures as they made their way to the back bedroom.

  “The body was laid out on the bed. Left arm stretched out and right arm resting over the midsection. Head is turned slightly to the left. The victim’s long blond hair has been brushed and styled,” DeSantis said.

  Jag could have done without constant commentary. He stepped into the bedroom and did his best not to breathe. He stepped to the left side of the bed and leaned over.

  Sure enough, there was a rose gold raven trinket in the left hand, and the victim was wearing a mood ring.

  And the victim’s face was bashed in, so he couldn’t even get an image to run through a recognition program.

  All the other women had been twisted to their right, not left. Their bodies weren’t shaped exactly the same way.

  Except for Renee and Stephanie, who also had impeccable hair.

  But the one thing he noticed about Stephanie’s was that it wasn’t in a style she wouldn’t normally wear. Kara had said Renee’s hair was the way she wore it all the time.

  He was going to have to compare hair styles of the living.

  A memory tickled the back of his brain. He recalled Callie mentioning something about the hairstyles during one of their fights.

  But did she mention it in the book?

  Come to think of it, he didn’t think she had.

  Why not?

  A wave of nausea gripped his gut. He turned and took long strides toward the front door, Jenna and DeSantis riding on his heels. A million things raced through his mind, but he couldn’t make sense of them.

  All he knew was that somehow the hair was connected, and it all led back to Renee somehow.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Matt had rolled his vehicle to a stop in front of the house, just behind the CSI unit.

  “Jenna, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “What’s that, Chief?”

  “Go to my place and tell Callie to pull up headshots of all our victims, even the ones from the mood ring cases. She’ll know what those are. Have her compare hair styles both while alive and then the crime scenes.” He scratched at the center of his chest.

  “You don’t believe that this is a copycat at all, do you?” Jenna asked.

  “Nope,” he admitted. “And I think you were dead on in the car on the way over here. Only, I don’t think Callie was a trigger. I think our killer has been waiting patiently for her return.”

  “Do you think she’s on his list to be murdered?”

  He swallowed.

  Hard.

  If the theory he was forming in his brain was correct, Callie could easily be one of the victims just based on her looks, but something told him that she was more connected to these girls than even she knew.

  Than even he suspected.

  But what the fuck was the connection?

  Chapter 13

  Callie hated taking over Jag’s office, but she needed to compare her information with as much of the police files as he was willing to give her.

  “I didn’t want to be right about the hair,” she mumbled as she pinned another image on the corkboard he’d bought her on the way home from the crime scene.

  Jag leaned his ass against the desk, curling his fingers around the sides. “For the record, I believed you when you said it after Stephanie died, but you never let me tell you that.”

  “I thought the hair on the other women, while not styled, was manipulated a little to look a certain way.” She joined him on the desk. “Did you have any luck finding cases like the mood ring ones?”

  “Matt did.” Jag held up his finger and twisted his body while he found his tablet on a desk filled with files. “He sent me nine possible. I ruled out all but two, with a third being iffy, however feel free to take a look at all of them.”

  She glanced at him with an arched brow. “Are we questioning our instincts?”

  “No. I’ve just learned not to question yours.”

  She bit back a smile as she scrolled through the information. Every murder that Matt had sent was a white female under the age of twenty-one who had been found in a park or campsite and had something in her left hand.

  Two of them had what were known as mood stones. The rest were necklaces or pictures or other objects, except one.

  She zoomed in on one image that had no trinket at the scene, but met every other criteria, as well as the girl having gone to the same college as the first three victims of the mood ring killer, only the body had been found in her dorm, and it hadn’t been staged.

  Her face had also been beaten.

  Callie flipped back to the other two cases.

  Both girls attended the same college.

  Jag glanced over her shoulder. “I was looking at the same three.” He tapped at the screen. “This one. Vic
toria Patterson is the victim’s name. I obviously haven’t had time to read everything, but doesn’t it feel like the killer was interrupted?”

  “It does. And since the face was beaten, the hair should have been done, but it wasn’t.”

  “And the evidence points to her being killed in the dorm. Other than your sister and Renee, the other victims were moved.”

  “Not the first mood ring killer,” Callie said. “Can you print those out so I can pin them?”

  “Of course.”

  “Six is the sign of the devil.” Callie handed him the tablet and stared at the wall of victims. “Ravens usually mean a bad omen or death. But I don’t get dolphins or mood rings.”

  “Maybe we’re attacking that from the wrong angle,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think we need to look to the victims for the meaning of the trinkets.” He stepped closer to the corkboard. “Mood ring victim number one was a lesbian. As was dolphin trinket with the gold and then with the silver.”

  “My sister was trans but identified as a lesbian,” Callie said, rubbing her temples. “But then that should have reset the killer’s cycle.”

  “Not necessarily. Not if the number six means something. And maybe the killer would have kept going.” Jag found one of the raven trinkets on the desk. “Maybe she just would have gone to rose gold trinkets.”

  “Okay. But why smash in my sister’s face when the Trinket Killer didn’t do that to number six?”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that the killer might have been intimate with those she became overly violent with.”

  “I could be on board with that. But why stop the killing for a year?” Callie was so tired of the same questions. No matter how much new information they uncovered, the same fundamental answers needed to solve this mystery were nowhere to be found.

  “Well, let’s look at the timeline. Renee was murdered, what, about six years ago?”

  Callie nodded.

  “The first Mood Ring Killer victim was murdered fourteen years ago. Matt nor Marlo from the cold case division could find anything in Seattle or the surrounding areas that come close. I’ve called a buddy I know in the FBI, and he’s going through their database. But we could be looking at a fourteen-year break.”