“Where are you?” The deep southern drawl leaked over the line. He was tall, a mountain of a man who smiled little and was terrible at small talk. But he was one of the best investigators in the mid-Atlantic.

“I’m in Ashland.”

“I spoke to Barrett,” Sharp said. “Virginia State Police is now officially assisting the sheriff’s office with the investigation.”

“Good.” To the media, the sheriff’s office would take center stage, but behind the scenes, state police would actually handle the bulk of the investigation.

“I’ve spoken to Martin. He says you think Jax Carter is connected to the killing.”

“His initials are tattooed on her body.”

“He has an alibi for last night,” Sharp said.

“Carter has a girlfriend, Darla Johnson. I’m not sure where she was last night, but you should talk to her.”

A pause. “Okay. I’ll run her name and see what pops. I’m on my way to the hospital to talk to Carter. Care to join me?”

“You bet I would.”

“Thought you might like to see this case through. That big arrest in the woods earned you the right.”

“I’d like that.”

“The medical examiner has our Jane Doe on deck for tomorrow morning at ten. You can observe if you have time.”

“I have time off. That works well.”

“Good. I’m headed to the hospital. See you soon.”

“Will do.” She rang off and checked her watch. There was still time to drop Cooper off at home.

She swung by her house, a small one-level brick rancher, which she’d painted white last year. She did a good job of keeping the yard cut and edged. However, the flower garden Hanna had wanted to plant before the social services visit had died within weeks because both forgot to water it.

She’d bought the house six years ago, scraping together the financing by working extra patrol shifts and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The place barely took up fifteen hundred square feet, and it still needed work on the bathrooms and kitchen. Before Hanna, there’d been some money for extra projects. Now the best she could afford was a rewire of a secondhand lamp. The rest would have to wait until, well, until the kid was out of college.

After a quick walk with the dog, she opened the front door and let Cooper pass. Inside, a bedroom on the right and one on the left flanked a large family room furnished with pieces she’d found at flea markets and hand-me-downs from Duke. Not high design but clean and functional.

Cooper padded across the hardwood floor into the kitchen, and she opened his crate. He drank water from his bowl, then settled on his blankets with his chew toys.

The kitchen was retro with a black-and-white-checkered floor, white appliances, and a Formica countertop. The cabinets were original to the house, though she’d updated them with a coat of white paint and new hinges and pulls. The kitchen was in need of a redo, but like everything else that was serviceable, it would have to wait.

“I’ll be back soon, Cooper.”

The dog closed his eyes.

She texted Hanna, asking her to walk him when she arrived home, and headed south to Richmond and the state university hospital located in the city center. She parked and found her way to the lockdown floor where the prisoners were housed. Nurses checked her badge and credentials, and she was escorted through a set of locked doors to wait outside a room.

She heard the blare of a television broadcasting a game show coming from inside. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she turned to see Agent Sharp approaching. Hair cropped short, he wore a simple black suit, white shirt, red tie, and his badge clipped to a belt that circled a fit waist. He carried a black vinyl notepad holder in his right hand, and with each long stride, his jacket billowed enough to offer glimpses of his sidearm.

“Trooper. Thanks for meeting me.”

“Thanks for the invite.”

Not bothering to knock on the hospital door, he entered the room. She followed.

Carter lay in a large bed, his right hand cuffed to the metal railing. He wore a hospital gown, and in front of him was a lunch tray consisting of what looked like meatloaf, mashed potatoes, bread, and cake.

He was about to shove a spoonful of potatoes in his mouth when he saw them. “If it isn’t Trooper Tatum. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Agent Sharp with the Virginia State Police, Mr. Carter.”

Sharp’s gaze wandered from the food to the television. “It looks like they’re treating you well.”

Carter dropped the spoon back on his plate. “Not my idea of fun, but it beats hugging a tree all night.”

So he was sticking with his story about his night on the mountain.

“I hear you have a court date in a couple of days,” Sharp said.

Carter grinned, a gold tooth winking in the fluorescent light. “So they tell me.” He leaned back, staring at Riley. “Did you miss me, Trooper Tatum?”

Sharp nodded toward her, giving her the go-ahead to ask the questions.

“I ran across one of your girls,” she said. “Pretty. Dark hair.”

He arched a brow. “Girls? I don’t know what you mean.”

“One of the girls you and Darla pimp along I-95. She worked out of that camper you drive around.”

His smile was wide, the proverbial Cheshire cat. “Don’t know about that.”

“This isn’t the girl you put in the hospital. But another one.”

He shifted, pushing his tray away. His smug smile faded. “What’s she saying about me?”

“What do you think she’s saying about you?” Riley asked.

“How the fuck would I know?” His agitation suggested he really was worried about what the girl would say. He believed at least one of his girls was still alive.

“Turns out, she’s not said much,” Sharp said, watching him closely. “She’s dead.”

Carter sat forward quickly, and a grimace proved the movement irritated his leg. “Who’s dead?”

“The young girl I saw get into your motor home about a month ago,” Riley said.

“We’re running her prints,” Sharp said. “Shouldn’t be more than a few hours before we have her name. You can save us some time and give us a name.”

Carter folded his arms over his chest, revealing a large snake tattoo that coiled around his forearm. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“You don’t know?” Sharp asked.

“Lots of girls on the streets like what they see when they see Jax Carter. Got all kinds of dates coming and going.”

Riley showed him the picture on her phone. “Look familiar?”

Barely glancing at the photo, he shook his head. “Nope.”

“If you don’t remember, the girl you beat up will,” Riley said. “Is this girl the reason you beat Jo-Jo so badly? Was Jo-Jo asking too many questions about her?”

Carter was silent, but frowned at the mention of Jo-Jo’s name.

“Jo-Jo’s healing nicely by the way,” Riley said, playing along as if she had more information than she really did.

“She’s next on our list of people to talk to,” Sharp added. “She’ll tell us the girl’s name.”

Carter tapped a finger on the small bed table. “There’s always girls hanging around at the truck stop near Fredericksburg. They was always asking for money or a cigarette, but I don’t know no names.”

She’d bet money he not only knew the girl well but also kept very close tabs on her whereabouts. Many of the working girls on the streets received a text every thirty minutes from their pimp, who expected an immediate response. Tardiness led to consequences. When cops had found Carter’s car at the rest stop, there were several phones on the floor. Those records might help.

“You don’t remember?” Riley asked. “I could swear I saw her getting into your motor home a month ago.”

A half smile pulled at the edge of his lips. “Nope.”

“All right. Maybe Jo-Jo will remember when y

ou saw this girl last.”

He shifted, again tugging at the wound in his leg. He cursed and settled back, muttering, “Jo-Jo don’t remember shit because she don’t know nothing. I can promise you that.”

“You sound pretty sure of yourself,” Sharp said.

“I’m sure.”

Images of the girl lying dead in the field and the video of Jo-Jo’s beating stoked anger, but she kept it in check. “Jo-Jo’s not under your control right now, Jax. She’s getting rest and good meals and healing. Drugs are leaving her system. No telling what a girl will say given a little encouragement from someone who actually cares about her.”

“You’re bluffing, bitch.”

“Am I?” She moved forward a step, leaning against his leg. He hissed in a breath. “You think she won’t talk? She’s already started.”

He shifted in the bed, turning a shade paler when he pulled his leg away from her. “Fuck you.”

Tags: Mary Burton The Forgotten Files Thriller
Source: readsnovelonline.net