Forbidden With Me - Leigh Lennon Page 0,68

He puts on his reading glasses, looking at the addresses. “Yeah, I tend to remember this part of the business. It’s my livelihood, and I love doing what I do.” He looks further. “Let’s see, this house,” he points at the Mastiille home, “had a sunroom, if I remember right, and they wanted the eat-in kitchen bumped out. They also took some square feet from the master bedroom downstairs to make a larger living room. They told me they loved to host parties. And upstairs, they wanted two bedrooms, but a big open loft, for a hangout area for their kids. The original owners, I believe their names were the Mast…something or others.”

His memory is good, and he describes the house from top to bottom.

He directs his attention to the next picture. “And this house, the couple fought about what they wanted through the whole process. I would be surprised if they were still married. The Halston’s.” This is the last name of the male victim from last night. “They didn’t change the plan. They left it pretty basic, but he didn’t want a sunroom, which saved him money.”

With his memory, I hoped he would know the crew. “How about the men you have? Can you tell me who worked on these houses?”

“Ah, hell, that part, I’m afraid, I’m too old to remember,” the old man gives me a weak smile, “but my wife, the backbone of my business, kept meticulous records. See, I didn’t have one crew per house, I had a crew that rotated, doing the same thing, like foundation, beginning, middle, and end. It’s what my missus called them because she wasn’t technical but ran a tight ship. She didn’t put up with tardies or goofing off. She took care of that side for me, so all I had to do was make sure my houses were our customers' dream homes. Now, with her passing and all last year, my son-in-law manages it. But he’s out on sites all day.”

Just get him chatting about his business, and this man is very helpful. “I’m so sorry to hear about your loss.” He gives me an appreciative nod. “Could we get those records? I mean, I can get a court order, if that’s what you would like.”

“Ah, no reason for that, and sorry for busting your balls earlier. I’m old and cantankerous.”

This makes us both laugh, and he leaves after shaking my hand.

“I’m going to follow him to his office in West Seattle to pick up those files personally,” Stewart says. I can’t get a read on my partner, but I trust his instincts.

I think I can almost take a breather. I return to my desk, only to see the forensic reports from Annie’s journal and Mr. Halston’s murder sitting on top of my calendar.

Picking it up, I see it verifies his death had been twenty-four hours earlier, and the sick fucker had used Mr. Halston’s blood to write the message for me. Opening the file with Annie’s journal, forensics verify the writing is Annie’s from evidence collected after the murder. Comparing it to some samples they kept proves this journal was her thoughts, and what makes my skin crawl, it was her last thoughts.

I haven’t had a chance to read through her journal completely. My past twenty-four hours have been busy, walking two crime scenes, being Mal’s escort, and finally admitting I love this girl I saved, and it has stopped me from getting caught up on everything.

I hear laughter floating from Vanessa’s office and recognize it as Malia’s. Twisting my entire body around, I wasn’t sure where she had gone when I left her to interview our cantankerous old man.

Hearing her laughter causes my heart to swell with pride, pride to be able to call her mine.

I let her be for a couple of minutes, reading over the report, for any flags, anything that could give us a lead. In the summary of the journal, it shows that she never refers to her boyfriend by his name, only him, but the person of interest all these years, Smith Turner, had been listed separately.

I continue to comb through the data, and any information Don Halston’s case can show. It’s starting to jumble all together in my mind when I push from my feet to take a breather.

I make my way to Vanessa’s office where the laughter has died, and Mal sits on the couch away from Vanessa’s desk, reading a book, while Vanessa is on her computer. “What’s