The Little Grave (Detective Amanda Steele)
Page 83
“Don’t know, but I’m not telling her.” Trent winked at her.
The guy was starting to grow on her, and she was starting to witness firsthand that loyalty he claimed to have. He might not be as bad as she thought, but she still didn’t need a partner.
“They do know we’re on our way though,” he added. “I called while you were in with your parents.” He glanced over at her and she was quite sure she read the unspoken question in his eyes: How was the reunion? At least he was smart enough not to ask.
“So where was the Caprice found?” Her jaw ached from talking and her body longed for bed, but it would have to hang in there.
“Hikers found it in the parking lot for Prince William Forest Park. They saw it on Monday morning, then again about two this afternoon.”
She nodded. She used to take long walks with Kevin at that park when they were dating and before Li
ndsey came along. After Lindsey, the walks became shorter. She used to love getting out in the woods during the winter months. There was something invigorating about the brisk air nipping her nose and ears while she burrowed against Kevin’s side. She was stuck on why the hikers would call though.
“Just because the Caprice was there two days in a row wouldn’t have deemed it suspicious; why did they think something was up with the car?”
“No good reason to be honest, just their instinct. And lucky for us it was right. They’ve been cleared.” He looked over at her. “I was debating whether to rope you into this. The sarge said you were pretty upset, and I mean, you left your badge and gun behind.”
When she’d done that, she’d almost felt like she was watching herself from out of her body but also like she was doing exactly what she should have done a long time ago.
“You can understand why I hesitated?” Trent prompted.
“Yep.” That’s what she said, but she wasn’t sure she did understand. Though he was risking his career by keeping her up to date on the case. She looked out the passenger window as Trent passed a slower-moving vehicle.
“It’s completely intact too. The Caprice,” Trent said. “No one’s taken a joyride with it.”
“What about any stolen goods in the trunk?”
“Nope. Nothing that obvious, but Blair and Donnelly will be tearing the entire thing apart and we’ll be there to watch.”
“So let me get this straight: all day while I was, you know, otherwise occupied, what were you doing besides questioning some hikers?”
Trent smirked at her. “I also obtained the warrant for the Happy Time surveillance footage, picked it up, and watched it.”
“Did it capture a good image of what happened to Palmer? The gunman?”
“Yep. Well, useful anyway. No direct facial shots, but we now have the height, structure and gait of his assailant. Black hoodie, black jeans.”
“George told me about the hoodie.”
“I have a still in my phone…” He reached into his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Just in my gallery.”
She took the phone and woke the screen. “Pin?”
“One, two, three, four.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re a cop; you should know better.”
He laughed. “It’s just easy to remember.”
“Ah, rookie.” She unlocked the phone and found the icon for the photo-gallery app.
“It should be the last ones. I have a couple there.”
She studied them both; they were quite similar. The attacker’s face was in shadow, but they appeared trim. “What was his height estimated to be?”
“Somewhere between five ten and six one.”
“Quite a spread.”