Sergeant Marquez came into the office two days later, looking grim. He motioned to Gwen, indicated a chair and closed the door.
She remembered her trip to Cash Grier’s office, and wondered if Grier had had time to talk to her superior officer’s mother and the information had tricked down.
“The cold case squad has a job for us,” he said as he sat down, too.
“What sort of job?”
“They dug up an old murder. It was committed back in 2002 and a man went to prison on evidence largely given by one person. Now it seems the person who gave evidence has been arrested and convicted for a similar crime. They want to know if we can find a connection.”
“Well, by chance, that was the case I just spoke to Chief Grier about down in Jacobsville,” she told him, happy that she could make a legitimate connection to her impromptu trip out of town. “He has an officer who knew the prisoner’s family and could place the man at a party during the murder.”
“Did he give evidence?” he asked.
She shook her head. “He was never called to testify,” she said. “Nobody knows why.”
“Isn’t that interesting.”
“Very. So the cold case squad wants us to wear out some shoe leather on their behalf?”
He grimaced. “They have plenty of manpower, but they’ve got two people out sick, one just transferred to the white collar crime unit and their sergeant said they don’t want to let this case get buried. Especially not when a similar crime was just committed here. Your case. The college woman who was murdered. It needs investigation, and they don’t have enough people.” He smiled. “Besides, there’s the issue of not stepping on the toes of another unit’s investigation.”
“I can understand that.”
“So, we’ll see if we can make a connection, based on available evidence. I’m assigning you as lead detective on this case, as well as on the college freshman murder. Find a connection. Catch the perp. Make me proud.”
She grinned at him. “Actually, that might be possible. I just got some new information from running a check on the photo of that odd man in the murder victim’s camera. The one I mentioned to you?”
“Yes, I recall that.”
She pulled up a file on her phone. “This is him. I used face recognition software to pick him out.” She showed him the mug shot on her phone. “The perp. His name is Mickey Dunagan. He has a rap sheet. It’s a long one. He’s been prosecuted in two aggravated assault cases, never convicted. Here’s the clincher. He has a thing for young college girls. He was arrested for attempted assault a few months ago, on a girl who went to the same college as our victim. I have a detective from our unit en route to question her today, and we’re interviewing people at the apartment complex about the man in the photograph. If his DNA is on file, and I’m betting it is since he’s served time during his trials, and there’s enough DNA from the crime scene to type and match …”
“Good work!” he said fervently.
She grinned. “Thanks, sir.”
“I wish we could get ironclad evidence that he killed the victim.” He grimaced. “Not that ironclad evidence ever got a conviction when some silver-tongued gung-ho public defender got the bit between his teeth.”
“Impressive mixing of metaphors, sir,” she murmured dryly.
He actually made a face at her. “Correct my grammar, get stakeout duty for the next two months.”
“I would never do that!” she protested with wicked, twinkling eyes.
He smiled back. She was very pretty when she smiled. Her mouth was full and lush and sensuous …
He sat back in his chair and forced himself not to notice that. “Get busy.”
“I’ll get on it right now.”
“Just out of curiosity, who was the officer who could place the convicted murderer at a party when the other murder was committed?”
“Officer Dan Travis,” she said. “He’s at the Jacobsville Police Department. I’m going to drive down and talk to him tomorrow.” She checked the notes on her phone. “Dunagan was arrested for assault by a patrolman in South Division named Dave Harris. I’m going to talk to him afterward. He might remember something that would be helpful.”
“Good. Keep me in the loop.”
“I will.” She got up and started for the door.
“Cassaway.”
She turned at the door. “Sir?”
His dark eyes narrowed. He seemed deep in thought. He was. He had a strange sense that she knew something important that she was hiding from him. He read body language very well after his long years in law enforcement. He’d once tripped a bank robber up when he noticed the man’s behavior and deliberately engaged him in conversation. During the conversation, he’d gotten close enough to see the gun the man was holding under his long coat. Rick had quickly subdued him, cuffed him, and taken him in for questioning. The impromptu encounter had solved a whole string of unsolved bank robberies for the cold case unit, and their sergeant, Dave Murphy, had taken Rick out to lunch in appreciation for the help.
“Sir?” Gwen prompted when he didn’t reply.
He sat up straight. His eyes narrowed further as he stared at her. She was almost twitching. “What do you know,” he said softly, “that you aren’t telling me?”
Her face flushed. “No … nothing. I mean, there’s … nothing,” she faltered, and could have bitten her tongue for making things worse.
“You need to think about your priorities,” he said curtly.
She drew in a long breath. “Believe me, I am.”
He grimaced and waved his hand in her direction. “Get to work.”
“Yes, sir.”
She almost ran out of the office. She was flushed and unsettled. Lieutenant Hollister met her in the hall, and frowned.
“What’s up?” he asked gently.
She bit her lip. “Nothing, sir,” she said. She drew in a long breath. She wanted, so badly, to tell somebody what was going on.
Hollister’s black eyes narrowed. “Come into my office for a minute.”
He led her back the way she’d come, past a startled Marquez, who watched the couple go into the lieutenant’s office with an expression that was hard to classify.
“Sit down,” Hollister said. He went behind his desk and swung up his long, powerful legs, propping immaculate black boots on the desk. He crossed his arms and leaned back precariously in his chair. “Talk.”
She shifted restlessly. “I know something about Sergeant Marquez that I’m not supposed to discuss with anybody.”
He lifted a thick blond eyebrow. He even smiled. “I know what it is.”
Her green eyes widened.
“The suits who came to see me earlier in the week were feds,” he said. “I know who you really are, and what’s going on.” He sighed. “I want to tell Marquez, too, but my hands are tied.”
“I went to see Cash Grier,” she said. “He’s out of the loop. He can’t do anything directly, but he might be able to let something slip at Barbara’s Café in Jacobsville. That would at least prepare Sergeant Marquez for what’s about to go down.”
“Nothing can prepare a man for that sort of revelation, believe me.” His eyes narrowed even more. “They want Marquez as a liaison, don’t they?”
She nodded. “He’d be the best