Her Last Word
Silence settles between us. Then he mutters a curse. “What do you want?”
“I’m making a podcast. I’m trying to find Gina.”
A chair squeaks in the background.
“She vanished fourteen years ago.”
“But no one has found her. I’m hoping a podcast will draw attention back to her case.”
He laughs, but the sound is bitter, not joyous. “That’s kinda rich, don’t you think?”
“Why?”
“You hated her.”
Gina was everything I wasn’t in high school. And admiration and resentment are a razor’s edge apart. “I’m trying to make it right.”
He swears again. “You can’t make it right.”
“I can try to find her.”
“The time to fix this was fourteen years ago, before you abandoned Gina.”
The line goes dead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Monday, March 19, 2018; 7:00 p.m.
Adler returned to his desk, a large fresh coffee in hand, to find a stack of surveillance footage of the Jennifer Ralston residence. On the top was a note from Quinn. For your viewing pleasure. Footage supplied by two homeowners near Ralston residence. I’ve been summoned to the forensic department on another case. Q.
He loosened his tie and sat. Leaning back in his chair, he sipped his coffee and selected the first disc. He hit “Play,” and a rear view of Ralston’s residence appeared. Judging by the angle, the camera was mounted on the house across the alley.
The footage covered the nine days before Jennifer’s murder. He fast-forwarded to Thursday, March 15, the day of the murder. He chose seven a.m. as a starting point.
Several cars passed down the alley, and then Jennifer Ralston appeared at 7:30 a.m. walking out her back door with a bag of trash. She was dressed in a dark skirt, a white shirt, and the pumps that still sat in her entryway. A purse dangled from her arm. Jennifer hesitated on her doorstep, glancing left and then right, before she locked her door and made her way through the yard to the alley. She tossed her trash into the dumpster and then entered her garage. A minute later the garage door opened, and she backed out. The garage door closed.
He scanned the footage covering the hours after she left for work, searching for the moment her killer arrived. At the 3:02 p.m. mark, he saw a man dressed in coveralls and a hat open her back gate. The logo on his back read COMMONWEALTH PLUMBERS, and he was carrying an oversize toolbox. He moved quickly as if he knew where he was going and disappeared inside the gate, out of camera view for several seconds. Then he stood at her back door, opened it with a key, and entered the security code before closing the door.
Adler started viewing the video frame by frame. At 3:07, a shadow passed in front of the second-floor bedroom window and then vanished.
Energy surged through him. He fast-forwarded the tape to 6:00 p.m., the approximate time of Jennifer’s death. The lights in the house clicked on minutes after six, and the camera caught Jennifer through the kitchen window standing at the sink with a glass. She refilled it and then left the kitchen.
At 6:30 p.m., the back door opened. The man who had entered at 3:02 was now exiting with the same clothes and gear. He was in no rush. The killer had been in the residence for just over three hours waiting for Jennifer. He was a pro.
“I am coming back for you. You deserve to be punished.” Kaitlin’s clouded vision caught the glint of the knife’s blade rising as her alarm blared.
Kaitlin’s eyes popped open as an alarm went off in the hospital somewhere. She tried to sit. Pain tugged at her, but she expected it this time and gritting her teeth, pushed up into a sitting position. The blaring noise in the hallway stopped. Sweat dampened her hairline and between her shoulders and breasts. Her heart beat fast.
She eased back against the pillows. She slowly closed her eyes and breathed in and out while trying to slow her heart rate. But she couldn’t stop replaying his words. “I am coming back for you. You deserve to be punished.” Recollection danced just out of reach like a forgotten tune refusing to be remembered.
A knock on her door just after eight pulled her away from her laptop. “Come in.”
It was Detective Adler. His tie was loose, and thick stubble now darkened his chin. She was glad to see him. She shouldn’t have been, but there was no denying that having him close calmed her.
“What was that noise?” she asked.
“Fire alarm went off. It was a false alarm.” He studied her face.
She drew in a breath. She was annoyed she’d been rocked with fear. “You look about as bad as I feel,” she said.
“No rest for the wicked.” He held up a bag, tossing her a boyish grin. “Brought sorbet.”
Despite inner warnings to stay clear of him, she asked, “What kind?”
“Strawberry and chocolate.”
She straightened. She was relieved her body didn’t protest. “The nurses believe I’ll heal faster if they tempt me with Jell-O and beef broth.”
“Sorbet will do the trick.”
She watched with unwanted excitement as he pulled up a chair and dug out the containers. She chose chocolate, and he handed it to her along with a lime-green plastic spoon.
“You’re allowed to eat this, right?” he asked.
She pried off the top, savored the sight of the creamy swirls. “The doctors said soft foods. I think this qualifies.”
He peeled off his container top. “How’re you feeling?”
She took her first spoonful. The cool, rich chocolate was the best she’d ever eaten. “Better now.”
“You’re lucky.”
She ate a second bite, the rich taste making her feel optimistic. “I suppose I am.”
He cocked a brow. “You’re listening to your doctors?”
“Generally speaking. I freaked out a nurse when I tried to walk down the hallway this morning. She wasn’t happy. Made me promise to stay in bed.”
He chuckled and took several bites of sorbet. He raised his gaze to her as if he were seeing her in a different light. “I didn’t realize your hair was so curly.”
She resisted the urge to touch a curl. She saw something in his eyes that sent nervous energy running through her body. “I call it my ‘mountain woman’ look. Detective, if you haven’t noticed, I’m in a lockdown ward. No beauty contests here.”
“I like the curls. And your natural color. Why did you dye your hair blond?”
“Other than blondes have more fun? Hiding, I think. When I returned to Texas I decided I needed to look different. Didn’t want to see Gina when I looked in the mirror.”
He was silent. “Keep the brown. It’s you.”
“Might as well. If I thought the hair color was helping me hide, I was wrong.”
But she was vain enough to enjoy his compliment. She also wished she weren’t dressed in a shapeless hospital gown when he looked so sharp and commanding.
Her belly tightened, so she shifted positions. Without hesitating, Adler set down his sorbet and grabbed her elbow. She felt the rough skin of his scarred palm as he steadied her while he resettled
the pillow behind her. “In a week I’ll be running track and jumping hurdles.”
“You ever run track before?” He pulled the blanket up.
“No, but I could if I wanted to. And I just might take up running.”
“That I’d like to see.”
She considered telling Adler about her dream. The detective had quiet strength that calmed her anxious nerves. And right now he felt like a man she could trust.
“Forensic came back with some preliminary information,” Adler said. “They did find your thumbprint on the Crowleys’ front door latch. You let yourself into the house.”
“Have you found Erika?”
“No. And her phone is not emitting a signal.”
His blunt assessment didn’t bode well for Erika. “What about her husband?”
“Brad Crowley came by the station. He says he’s also searching for his wife. And he’s hired a lawyer.”
“Are you following him?” she asked.
“I have no cause.”
“He knows more than he’s saying.”
“He’s on my radar,” Adler said. “But I don’t think he knows where Erika is.”
“How could he not?”
“I honestly don’t think he’s smart enough to have pulled it off.”
She took another bite of sorbet, but suddenly found the flavor too sweet. “You went to see Susan.”
His spoon hovered above his carton. “I did. I’m trying to figure you out.”
“I’m very simple. I’m trying to find Gina.”
“So am I.”
She was doing her job. He was doing his. And as long as their priorities aligned, they’d be fine. “You know my life story, so I think you could throw me a detail or two about yours.”
He dropped his gaze to his sorbet and dug out a full spoon. “Forty-one, divorced, no kids.”
“Married to the job?”
“It was supposed to be a stepping stone into politics, but I discovered I liked it and am good at it. My ex had a different vision for my future.”
“She wanted you to go into politics.”
“She has her sights set high.”
“It must have been painful when you two split.”
“Not as bad as it should have been.”