Читать книгу Cold Case Murder - Shirlee McCoy - Страница 13

Jodie stepped out of the house and into the damp March air, her heart beating in time to her pounding head. She never got headaches in New Orleans, but she’d had them plenty when she’d lived in Loomis. She should have known they’d be back as soon as she set foot in the little town.

Sam was a few yards away, talking to a uniformed officer, and Jodie walked toward them, determined to forget both the headache and the past. If she kept focused, kept moving forward on the case, there’d be no chance of sinking back into what she’d been a decade ago. “Sam? We’ve got another bullet in the tunnel. No casings yet, but Cahill isn’t done collecting the evidence.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll get it and send it with the other for ballistics testing, and—”

“You’ll be wasting your time on that, Agent Pierce.” The officer cut in, and Jodie took her first good look at him, her heart sinking when she realized who he was.

Sheriff Bradford Reed. His lined face and faded eyes sparked a memory of another day. Jodie had been cutting school, and he’d found her hanging out behind the library. He’d been neither cruel nor kind, his silent disapproval making Jodie feel worse than her father’s rage had.

“Wasting my time because…?” Sam’s question pulled Jodie from the memory and she blinked, trying to free herself from the past.

“The crimes aren’t related. We’ve got no mass murderer or serial killer or whatever name y’all want to put on it. This is a peaceful town—”

“A peaceful town where several murders have taken place, Sheriff Reed. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the fact.” Sam spoke with quiet conviction, and Jodie wondered if he and the sheriff had been on opposite sides of the fence during the course of the FBI’s investigation into Leah Farley’s disappearance.

“I know what’s going on in my town. I’m just saying that what’s happening now and what happened years ago aren’t related. So there’s no reason to waste time and money checking on those bullets. They’re not going to match what we’ve already got.”

“Maybe they’re not, Sheriff, but it’s our job to find out for sure.” Jodie met the man’s eyes and refused to fidget under his intense scrutiny. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t recognize her.

Of course, she’d never been lucky.

“You’re Jodie Gilmore.”

“That’s right.”

“Been a long time.”

“Ten years.”

“Does your father know you’re back in town?”

“Not yet.”

“Guess you’ll get around to telling him eventually.” He shifted his attention back to Sam, dismissing her as he had when he’d dropped her off at her house so many years before. “Looks like we’re done here. You’ll let me know what your forensic specialist has to say about those bodies?”

“That and whether or not we get a match on the blood on Leah Farley’s shoe.”

“Good. See ya around, then.” The sheriff nodded his head in Jodie’s direction, his eyes dull and lifeless. No motivation. No real need to find answers. If the murderer in his town was going to be found, Jodie had a feeling the sheriff was more than happy to leave the finding to the FBI.

“Sheriff Reed hasn’t changed much.” She spoke as the sheriff got into his car and drove away.

“He’s always been unmotivated?”

“I’d call it indifferent, but I guess it means the same.”

“What it means is that he’d be willing to let these people go unidentified. That’s not acceptable to me.”

“What about the other murders? Is he more motivated to solve them?” Jodie asked, though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

“I think he was hoping for a cut-and-dried case, but the more answers we find, the more questions we have. I’m hoping that with you here, things will move along a little more quickly.”

“You think I can get the answers you need?” His assumption was so far off base, she almost laughed. Not only would she not be able to get people in Loomis to talk, but also they might be more closedmouthed around her. She knew them, after all. Their pasts. Their secrets. Their vulnerabilities.

Just as they knew hers.

“You grew up here, Jodie. They’re going to open up to a local in a way they won’t open up to an outsider.”

Maybe that was true, but in Loomis’s eyes, she was an outsider. She didn’t bother trying to explain. Only someone who had lived in the town could understand. “I’ll do my best to be an asset to the investigation.”

“I’m sure you will.” His tone was serious, but Jodie could see amusement in his eyes.

She’d sounded like a rookie, and she suddenly felt like one. “Just so you know, this isn’t my first case.”

“Just so you know, that’s why I called you in. You’ve got great interrogation skills. Even if this hadn’t been your hometown, I would have wanted you to step in. I’m going to get that bullet. Want to meet me at headquarters later? We can come up with a plan of action there.”

“Headquarters?” The only headquarters she knew of was back in New Orleans, and she’d be perfectly happy to meet him there.

“We’re renting a building on Main Street. It used to be a five-and-dime.”

“I know it.”

“You can go ahead and get settled in wherever you’re going to stay before you head over there. I may be here awhile.” He walked back to the house, and Jodie had no choice but to get in her car and drive away. The problem was, she didn’t have anywhere to go. She’d already called Loomis Hotel, but all the rooms were booked.

Vera Peel’s boardinghouse was creepy and old, the proprietress stingy and mean, but it might work. Then there was Dad’s. The family home. The place she should have been able to return to no questions asked. She couldn’t. Even if she could have, she wouldn’t. There was nothing for her in the colonial house she’d grown up in but unhappy memories and disappointments.

Which brought her right back to square one. Where would she stay while she was in Loomis?

Rain fell in steady rivulets as Jodie pulled down the long driveway. Twilight painted the landscape in shades of green and gold, making beauty of the bayou’s murky water. In the distance, lights beckoned Jodie toward Loomis. If she hadn’t known the truth about the town, she might have felt a tug of nostalgia as she passed old plantation homes covered with deep green ivy.

She sighed and ran a hand over her flyaway hair. Thick and straight, it was as blond now as it had been when she’d been a kid. She knew a lot of women with similar color hair. Not many of them had been born with it.

Had the woman in the underground room been?

Jodie’s mind flashed back to the tunnel—the long blond hair lying on the floor, the strands as thick and straight as hers. As thick and straight as her mother’s had been.

She shuddered, refusing to let her mind wander further down that path.

She was tired, drained and on edge. Of course she was seeing connections where none existed. A good night’s sleep, a little food, and she’d be more rational. At least she’d better be. She had a job to do, a woman to find. She couldn’t let anything stand in the way of doing that. Not fatigue. Not hunger. Not the memories that haunted her dreams.

Ten years away. She could have gone a hundred more and been happy about it.

She sighed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think being back in Loomis was her punishment for all the Sundays she’d skipped church. Of course, she did know better. God had more important people to work on than Jodie. People who loved Him, sought Him, wanted to know His will.

As for Jodie, she’d spent most of her childhood Sundays sitting in church services that had been filled with sanctimonious people. She didn’t plan to spend any more of them doing the same.

Then again, she was back in Loomis. Who was she to say church wasn’t in her future?

She almost smiled at the thought, imagining her father’s shocked expression if she walked into Loomis Christian Church on Sunday morning. She doubted he’d be happy. As far as Jodie could remember, nothing she’d done had ever met with his approval.

She pulled up in front of the old five-and-dime, parking her car on the street and eyeing the building. A 1940s brick facade with store windows covered by shades, the place had closed when Jodie was a kid and seemed a little worse for wear, the years showing in the faded sign that still hung over the door.

She got out of her car and hurried into the building, not wanting to run into anyone. She needed a cup of coffee and a few minutes alone. Then maybe she’d be ready to face Loomis.

The large space had been set up with several cubicles, each containing a desk and a computer. Jodie bypassed the work area and stepped into a back room that had once been used for storage. Now it contained a long table and a locked file cabinet. A coffee machine sat on a small desk near the wall and Jodie plugged it in, grabbing a foam cup from a stack beside it and waiting impatiently for the coffee to brew.

She sipped the bitter liquid that finally resulted and walked into one of the cubicles, dropping her purse onto the desk and slipping out of her suit jacket. She might as well get to work while she was waiting. Accessing the local PD’s computer system was dicey, but she finally managed to get the password from a woman she’d known in high school and who had heard she worked for the FBI.

A search of the open missing persons’ cases gave her several possibilities for the identities of the deceased. She printed out a list, excitement thrumming through her as she imagined closing the file on cases that had been in the system for decades. Names for the victims. Faces. Closure for their families.

The thought spurred Jodie on, and she created a spreadsheet listing name, race, age and date missing of each victim.

The door opened, and she turned, smiling, expecting Sam. Instead, she met Harrison Cahill’s cool green gaze.

“Are you done at the scene already?”

“Already? It’s been almost three hours.” His gaze dropped from her face to the sheaf of papers she was holding in her hand, his lips quirking in a sardonic half smile that made her stiffen.

“I guess I lost track of time.”

“Hard at work, huh?”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” She kept her voice even and refused to look away from his steady gaze. She’d met men like him before. Men who assumed that because she was young she couldn’t handle the job and that because she was new she was overly anxious to prove she could. They were wrong on both counts.

“Yeah, I guess it is, but in my experience, the younger the agent, the more anxious she is to show off what she can do.”

“Your bluntness is charming, Cahill. But, for the record, I’m not that new and I’m not that young. If my hard work makes you feel inadequate, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to dumb down for anyone.”

He blinked, then shook his head and chuckled, the sound as warm and rich as honey from a honeycomb. “Touché, Gilmore. And for the record, you’re not making me feel inadequate. You’re making me nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“Rookies do that to me. Lots of questions. Lots of energy. Lots of impatience. I want to focus on the job, not on walking someone through the process.”

“You won’t have to walk me through anything. I think I made that clear before.”

“I guess you did. So, now that we’ve both had our say, maybe we can start working together to find out who our victims are. What have you got?”

“Possibilities. I accessed the local PD’s missing persons’ files. Then I expanded it out to adjoining towns. This is the spreadsheet of open cases.” She handed him the printed pages.

“We can rule out more than half of them.” He scanned the list, his brow furrowed.

“You know that already?”

“Both victims were Caucasian. Late twenties to early thirties. Hand me a pen, will you?”

Jodie opened the desk drawer, found a pen and handed it to Harrison, her fingers brushing his, warmth shooting up her arm at the contact.

Surprised, she pulled back, watching as he crossed out name after name. “Those two were the correct race and age.”

“But not the correct time frame. Our victims were murdered more than two decades ago.” He glanced up as he spoke, his eyes the deep green of the bayou and as filled with secrets. “You’ve got a color printer here, right?”

“I—”

“Yep, you do. Good. You shared with me. Now I’ll share with you.” He set the marked pages on the desk and slipped a flash drive from his jacket pocket. “These are from my digital camera, downloaded to my laptop. Take a look.” He worked quickly, efficiently, with no hesitation. The exact opposite of the careful, meticulous efforts he’d taken at the scene.

Seconds later, photos appeared on the screen. “Here we go. A good pictorial record of what was found. Now I’ll print them and give you a copy for your files.”

“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.