Forbidden With Me - Leigh Lennon Page 0,44
see if the rookie detective catches it. He’s not lived and breathed this case, as I have all this time.
“Yeah, it’s the first thing I noticed.” He compares a picture of Annie Strickland and Sarah Mastille, side by side. “Down to the length of hair. This person is a sick fuck.” He adds because it’s the truth.
“Did we ever get the arrest warrant they used to get Smith Turner?” I ask. Vanessa has been hush-hush about it, but with Turner about to walk, we’ve been read in.
He hands me the file, wearing a large grin on his face. “It was a partial hair, no root. And the judge never would issue a search warrant. Vanessa used strings to get this processed. But Turner admitted he’d had lunch with Annie that day. They’d stayed friends.”
The pinch on my face is felt throughout my body. The aches, the stress, the out-and-out uncertainty of this case has me experiencing physical pain.
“Don’t you find it odd that the judge didn’t at least clear him?”
He purses his lips together, lacing his fingers behind his head, rocking back in the chair. “Smith Turner is Theodore Turner’s son.”
The name is not lost on me. “Senator Theodore Turner?” I ask.
“Yep, the one and only, and with this new evidence, it’s taken Turner’s lawyers less than twenty-four hours to have the charges dropped for now.”
How’d I miss the prominence of the one person of interest on the case? However, I’d never had a gut feeling about him, and neither had the first detective assigned to the murders. “And why did Vanessa push for this hair to finally be considered?” Which is odd, I know nothing about this piece of evidence, as many times as I’ve combed the file.
The man smirks at me, adding a bemused grin. “Really, you of all people are going to ask this?”
He’s right, and his point is validated. Vanessa is a climber and it doesn’t matter who she steps over to get higher and higher on the ladder of her success.
“Yeah, good point, kid.” A chin jut tells me he’s about to challenge me, but I shoot him down. “Oh, don’t fucking start with me, just be glad I like you enough to even bestow a nickname or two on you.” It reminds me, the ways his eyes follow every move Malia makes. “Oh, and by the way, Malia Strickland is off-limits to you. Do you understand me, Higgie?”
His sideway glance along with the way his brows furrow, he’s ignoring me. “So, back to Turner? You think there’s a chance he’s involved?” Higgie asks.
“I understand he’s a great person of interest, especially with how personal Annie Strickland’s death was.” I lower my voice, and his eyes watch my lips, trying to hear me better. “But, no, it seemed more heated, more passionate. The level of intimacy was something far greater than an old boyfriend, and everything he’d shared, early on, along with the countless interviews, there wasn’t one person who spilled anything that would lead me to think it was Smith Turner.”
His eyes focus to the pictures again, this time comparing Gracie Strickland with that of the mannequin. “Hey, look at this.” He slides the pictures over and continues, “The mannequin has on almost matching clothes to that of Gracie Strickland. It can’t be a coincidence.”
He’s heard my theory of coincidences time over time. I think I’ve swayed him to agree with me. “No, kid, it certainly isn’t.” I pat him on the back because I’ve not even seen this similarity yet.
“Do we have the lab results, any DNA at the scene found, not belonging to any of the victims?” I inquire.
“Not yet, but as soon as they do, we’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay, you continue with this. I want to check on Malia, but be sure to keep the door shut and locked. There’s no way I want her to see these graphic photos.”
“Yeah, copy that, Wells,” he says, and my hand is on the handle, ready to find Malia. And if I’m being honest, it’s not just to check on her. Sure, there’s that, but somehow, some way, her presence in my house calls for me to be near her. And I’m not going to not listen to it. No, when it comes to Malia, I’m putty in her hands.
Popping my head in her room, I see it’s empty except for her suitcase. She’s not unpacked and there is a pile of makeup on the bed. So, she’s not neat. It’s not