Imperfect (Triple Canopy #3) - Riley Edwards Page 0,21

I picked up my cell off my desk and pulled up the one-sided text string. And tapped out a new message: you have five minutes to text me back or I’m calling one of your brothers to make sure you’re not dead.

One minute later my phone beeped with a one-word message: alive.

Stubborn.

I smiled and went back to work.

It was nearing on lunch when Ethan Lenox walked into my office. If the scowl was anything to go by he was unhappy.

“What’s up?”

“Just had a conversation with Jeb Dole. You were right.”

I didn’t reply to his comment because there was nothing to say. I’d had my own conversation with the former DA about Harper’s case before I passed the information to Ethan. I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t have confirmation my intel was good.

“He said he wouldn’t prosecute the case against the parents because he felt it was unwinnable without concrete evidence,” Ethan continued. “Detective Winshaw had only presented him with circumstantial evidence, no motive, and a weak theory. It was also an election year and the media was swarming the case looking for a conviction. Something Dole didn’t think he’d get in absence of actual, solid, indisputable proof.”

Again, I had no comment because that was indeed what Jeb Dole had relayed to me.

“Though, Dole was also candid and said there was another reason, not having to do with the oath of law but morality. He went on to tell me he’d deny it but he felt something was not right. His gut was telling him Detective Winshaw was feeling pressure from the chief, likely due to the media circus and the investigation was rushed.”

At that I had something to add, “I agree with Dole. I looked into some of Winshaw’s other cases. They were thorough, no stone unturned. The Harper case started and stopped with the parents. So unless he was getting lazy as he was coming up on retirement, I’d bet the chief was hellbent to nail the parents and advised Winshaw to do that. But that’s not to say Winshaw wasn’t systematic in his interviews. I ran the prints found in Becca’s room, still no hit. But I did get a hit on the DNA from the hair sample found on her bed. Something Winshaw didn’t have back then was the power of the at-home DNA test kits and people’s curiosity to find long-lost relatives and their ethnic background. Liam McKay is a close match. I looked into McKay and found his cousin is Jeff Shepard.”

“The contractor.”

Not a question—Ethan knew exactly who Jeff Shepard was.

“The contractor Winshaw interviewed and nailed him down on record swearing he’d never been in Becca’s room. I went over the interrogation. Winshaw asked three different ways if Shepard had been in her bedroom. All three times Shepard was adamant he’d never stepped foot in the room.”

“Could be transfer,” Ethan retorted. “Shepard was in and out of the house for weeks remodeling two bathrooms. The master, which is upstairs. Becca or her parents could’ve picked up that hair anywhere and brought it into the room.”

“Agreed. But I bet one of the prints lifted from her nightstand will be his.”

“I have no cause to compel Shepard to give a fingerprint sample and a department that’s seeing an uptick in cases.”

Shiloh had mentioned something about that, multiple call-outs for the SWAT team a day.

“Been a busy week?”

“Insane,” Ethan replied. “I don’t know if Mars or Mercury or whatever the hell people talk about—retrograde or some such shit has gone haywire or if humanity has gone to hell. But I’ve got cases landing on my desk ranging from petty to seriously jacked-up. I will get no help on a cold case right now.”

I shoved the thoughts of Shiloh out dealing with seriously jacked-up shit out of my mind and focused on Ethan.

“Lucky for you I had time to take a drive and had the opportunity to watch Shepard. The asshole’s a litterbug. Didn’t even have to dig through his trash to nab a soda bottle he chucked at a jobsite. On the grass, out in the open, even got pictures for you. Since we don’t have a backlog I sent the bottle to our lab. It’ll take a week but we’ll have something soon.”

“No shit? Shepard moved to Alabama.”

The Harpers’ contractor had moved to Montgomery after he’d finished work on their home and I’d used the five-and-a-half-hour drive and overnight stay to stop myself from going to Shiloh’s house or tracking her down. It was sad

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