“I appreciate it, but this isn’t really an FBI case.”
“So Sam told me. The problem is, he’s not sure the sheriff is going to investigate the way he should.” He lifted the printed photos and handed them to Jodie.
She scanned the photos, the muddy muted colors more a product of the dirt and the dust at the scene than of the quality of printer or camera. Two skulls. Both with visible fractures. Tufts of short dark hair. Longer, blond hair. A gold watch lying near a skeletal outstretched hand. A bracelet. Silver, with several charms attached.
Angel charms?
Her heart skipped a beat, and she squinted at the photo, trying to see more clearly. “Are those angels?”
“Looked that way at the scene. It’s not real clear in the picture, though, is it?” He leaned over her shoulder, looking at the photo, not touching Jodie, though she could feel his warmth through her cotton shirt.
She wanted to move away, put some distance between them. More than that, she wanted to know exactly what was on the charm bracelet. “Was there another charm on it? A mother holding a child? I can’t tell from the photo.”
“There might have been, but I didn’t examine it very closely. Sam brought the evidence to the sheriff. I’ll get a better look at it tomorrow and do a more detailed catalog then. Why do you ask?” He stepped away from her shoulder and leaned his hip against the desk, his gaze steady and searching as if he could read the truth in her eyes. See the fear that she didn’t dare speak out loud.
“It looks like something I’ve seen before.”
“Yeah? When?”
“I’m not sure.” But she was. She’d seen something like it in a picture of her mother that she’d found in a box when she was ten or eleven. The bracelet had been clearly visible, three angels and a mother-and-child charm.
“Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“What does a person who’s seen a ghost look like?” She tried to keep her voice light, but her heart was racing, her gaze drawn again and again to the photo.
“Pale. Shaken. Terrified.”
“I’m not terrified. And I’m naturally fair.”
“Which still leaves shaken.” He searched her eyes, and Jodie’s cheeks heated.
“Cahill, I’m not some inexperienced kid who needs to be looked out for. I’m fine.”
“No offense, but I’m not worried about your well-being. I’m worried about whether you’re withholding information that pertains to my investigation.”
“I asked you a question about the bracelet. How does that equate to withholding information?”
“Would you rather have me think that you’re too young and inexperienced to handle looking at crime-scene photos.” He was baiting her, trying to get her to slip and tell him what was bothering her.
There was no way she would fall into his plan.
Living with her father had taught Jodie plenty about keeping her thoughts to herself. Giving people too much information about how you felt and what you wanted was like giving them the gun and the ammunition they needed to destroy you. Only a fool would do that. And Jodie wasn’t a fool. “I’ve seen a lot worse than those crime scenes when I worked for the Baltimore police.” And what I’d rather you do is stick to worrying about identifying your victims.”
Harrison looked like he planned to keep pushing for answers, but the door opened and Sam walked in, putting an end to the conversation. “Looks like you two are getting acquainted.”
“We were going over crime-scene photos I printed for you. Take a look at this one.” He pulled a photo from Jodie’s hand and handed it to Sam. “Both skulls had similar wounds to the head. I know for sure one of the victims was shot. I’m pretty confident the other one was, too.”
“You’re sure?” Sam glanced at the photo, his eyes flashing with interest.
“See the slice in the vertebra there? You take a look, too, Gilmore.” He grabbed her hand, pulling her over to look at the photo Sam held. “There’s a deep gauge in it.”
“I see it.” And next to the vertebra more of that white-blond hair. Jodie shuddered and looked away, hoping neither of the men noticed.
“I feel pretty confident that the bullet hit there, cut through the spinal cord and probably lodged somewhere in the diaphragm. I couldn’t find evidence of a bullet wound on the other victim, but I’m going to the coroner’s office tomorrow to go over the bones in brighter light.”
“The MO matches our more recent murders.” Sam ran a hand over his cropped hair and frowned. “We should get the results of the DNA test on the blood on Leah Farley’s shoe soon. If it’s her husband’s blood, we’ll be looking for a fugitive. If it’s hers…”
“You’ll be looking for a body.” Harrison didn’t seem to have any trouble saying what Sam hadn’t.
“Right. For now, we’ll assume she’s alive and that her husband’s death isn’t related to crimes that happened decades ago.”
“I’d say our victims were killed somewhere around twenty-five years ago.”
Jodie went cold at Harrison’s words but didn’t ask what she wanted to. Why twenty-five and not twenty-eight, thirty, twenty-one?
“I’ve already done a search of missing persons’ cases from Loomis and the surrounding area.” Jodie managed to get the words out past her tight throat, but her hands trembled as she lifted the pages of information and handed them to Sam.
“Any possible matches?”
“A few.” Harrison pointed out the names, but his eyes were on Jodie, his gaze direct and assessing. He’d noticed her reaction to the date he’d given. Just as he’d noticed her reaction to the photo of the bracelet.
She could tell him what she was afraid to voice, but she didn’t.
The woman could be anyone.
Or it could be someone she’d known.
Someone she’d loved. Someone she was sure had turned away and never looked back.
Until she had more evidence, she didn’t plan to admit that the skeleton could be her mother.
THREE
Jodie paced the room as the men discussed the female victim. She needed to get out of the office. Get away from the photos they’d spread out on the desk. Away from the words she didn’t want to hear. The victim was a young woman. Early thirties. Small-boned. Five foot five or six. Probably 115 pounds.
Jodie’s height. Jodie’s weight. Jodie’s bone structure. Jodie’s long blond hair.
Could it be a coincidence?
“It’s getting late. Let’s call it a night and pick this up again tomorrow.” Sam sounded as weary as Jodie felt. She couldn’t blame him. He’d been in Loomis for two months and barely had any evidence to show for it.
“Sounds good to me.” Harrison gathered the photos and handed them to Sam. “You wanted these.”
“Right. I’ll just file them in my office. See you both tomorrow.” He walked to a closed door, unlocked it and disappeared inside.
Jodie didn’t wait for a second invitation to end the day. She grabbed her purse and opened the front door, stepping out into the cool night. The rain had stopped, but moisture hung in the air, clogging her lungs.
“Jodie! Hold up a minute.” Harrison called out, and Jodie considered ignoring him. The last thing she wanted was to have another conversation with him.
She