behind the glass enclosure. “How did Mitch identify the belongings he wanted? Did he give you a description of Sean? I mean, how did he know what belongings to ask for?”
Brett froze.
Now that was a very good question. Maybe Sarah wasn’t as out of it as he’d assumed.
The woman’s eyes rounded. “No…” She hesitated, an uncomfortable look crossing her face. “I mean, he did give me your brother’s name, and he showed me a picture of him…. but he had the case number too.”
The case number.
Brett wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. He’d known the bastard could get his hands on some substantial cash. And cash could smooth a lot of people’s consciences. He shouldn’t be surprised that Mitch had managed to weasel the case number out of someone from inside the department. With the receptionist refusing to hand Sean’s stuff over, the bastard would probably be reaching back out to that contact of his for help.
It was a damn good thing he and Sarah had showed up when they had, before Mitch’s inside man lifted Sean’s belongings.
Tag froze and scowled—assuming the theft hadn’t already taken place.
Her face confused, Sarah turned to Brett and shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense though. What does he want with Sean’s stuff? And why now? According to that detective, Sean died two months ago. Why wait two months before making a grab for whatever Sean had on him when he died? Why not just strip it from Sean’s body the day he killed him? Or why not show up weeks ago, lie about the identity of the body, claim both it and its belongings then?” She shook her head, her gaze turning blind and inward. “None of this makes any sense.
Hours later, Tag stood with his back to the window of their motel room and watched Sarah carefully remove the contents of the paper bag they’d picked up at the morgue. This was the first chance she’d had to go through Sean’s personal effects. After the morgue, they’d taken the stuff back to the motel and had the manager lock it in the safe. Tag left explicit instructions that no one except Sarah was allowed to retrieve the contents.
They’d been lucky the morgue attendant had even located Sean’s things. Tag had been half-convinced the kid’s stuff would be a no show. It was still a tossup whether Mitch was just fucking with them, or whether he actually wanted Sean’s belongings. But with the bag locked in the motel safe, it didn’t matter what the bastard was thinking. He wasn’t getting near those clothes.
After dropping the bag off, they’d returned to the police station, where Sarah had spent hours going through mug shots. She didn’t find any of the men in the video Mitch had showed her. A disappointment, sure—but hell, it had been a long shot anyway. Then had come the paperwork to exhume her brother’s body, followed by phone calls to San Diego funeral parlors to find someone willing to accept the remains.
It was midafternoon before they broke for a very late lunch. He’d taken her to an Indian restaurant that Evans had recommended. But she’d barely picked at the chicken masala she ordered. Sarah loved Indian food. It was hands down her favorite, although Chinese was up there too. To watch her just sitting there, barely touching one of her favorite meals, had broken something inside of him.
He hated seeing her so drawn and lost and sad. Hated not being able to comfort her, not being able to make things better, or at least less painful. He hated being on the outside, watching her suffer.
These past few hours were the most helpless he’d ever felt, just sitting across from her, unable to do a damn thing to ease her pain.
After an hour of watching her locked in her grieving and apathy, he’d asked the waitress for some plastic utensils and cartons and boxed up their leftovers—which was virtually their entire meal. Their room had a microwave and fridge. At least there’d be something appetizing on hand if her appetite returned.
Before heading up to their room, they’d swung by the motel’s front desk and retrieved Sean’s belongings.
The receptacle for the personal effects still struck him as odd every time he looked at it. The incongruity of that brown paper bag just felt…pitiful? A brown paper bag? Really? The kind you got in a grocery store? Christ, someone could have gone to a little more trouble for the poor kid, rather than