Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,13
no keys, no abandoned vehicle. No missing-person report. This thing’s been all over the news, and yet no one’s called to say maybe it’s their roommate or their girlfriend who hasn’t been home all weekend.” Kendra jabbed a button and a bottle of water thunked down. “Normally, I’d think maybe she’s a transient.”
“Evidence doesn’t back that up,” he said.
“Exactly. Expensive teeth, shoes, clothing. Hell, those designer running shorts alone cost eighty-five bucks.”
Jacob shot her a look. “Eighty-five bucks for shorts?”
“Yeah, at least. I’ve got a pair just like them. I—” She halted. “Damn, I just thought of something.”
“What?”
“I have an idea.”
CHAPTER
FIVE
THE DRYING ROOM smelled better than the morgue, but the technician working there didn’t look particularly happy with her job. Jacob didn’t blame her. She worked in a windowless space surrounded by evidence of violence. On the rack behind her was a torn pink blouse and a pair of white jeans, both streaked with blood.
“This would have come in yesterday evening,” Kendra was telling the technician, who wore a white lab coat and a rubber apron. Thick purple gloves covered her hands.
The woman tugged the paper mask from her face. “The water recovery?”
“That’s right,” Kendra said. “We need to examine the clothing.”
“We don’t usually let—”
“It’s important,” Kendra said.
The woman shifted her attention to Jacob, letting her gaze linger on his detective’s shield. “Table three.” She nodded toward the doorway. “Right in there.”
Jacob followed Kendra into the adjacent room, where a series of numbered slate tables occupied the far wall. The victim’s clothing and personal effects were spread out atop a piece of white butcher paper. Beside the shoes was the black zipper pouch that had been found with the body. Unfortunately, all the pouch had contained was a packet of orange-flavored sports gel.
“Everything’s still drying,” the woman said from the doorway. “When it’s done, it goes to the lab.”
This room smelled earthy from the leaves and dirt still clinging to the clothes. Jacob approached the table, feeling intensely frustrated as he studied the torn white shirt. In this light, the hole created by the blade was clearly visible.
“Glove up if you need to touch anything,” the technician said, handing Jacob a box.
Kendra pulled on a pair of purple gloves and carefully picked up the shorts. She moved her fingers along the waistband, and her eyes brightened.
“I knew it,” she said.
“What?”
“Inside pocket.”
Jacob eased closer, holding his breath as Kendra tugged open the zipper. She pulled out a white plastic card with a black magnetic strip on the back.
“Check it out.” She smiled and held up the card. “Our first break.”
* * *
* * *
THE NEWSROOM WAS quiet, even for a Sunday night. Bailey hitched her laptop bag onto her shoulder and meandered through the desks with the vague hope of encountering another metro reporter working late. But the only people in tonight were a couple guys from sports. Bailey followed the sound of hip-hop to the lifestyle editor’s office and leaned her head in.
“I’m out,” she said.
Sophia glanced up from her computer. “You get your story in?”
“Yep.”
“I saw the layout. It’s running above the fold.”
Bailey winced. She should have been elated to have a story running top of page one, but this one didn’t merit that placement.
“What’s wrong?” Sophia asked.
“I’m just surprised. I didn’t turn up much, and I figured they’d bury it.”
“Slow news day.” Sophia shrugged. “Just be glad for the byline.”
“I am. Don’t work too late.”
“Ha.”
Bailey passed the elevator, where a janitor’s cart blocked the door. As she stepped into the stairwell, her phone chimed, echoing off the cinder-block walls. She rummaged through her bag and cursed as she read the number.
“Rhoads,” she snapped.
“It’s Jacob Merritt.”
“I know.”
“You have time to meet up?”
She started to laugh. But then she remembered how annoyed she was with him.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Outside the building.”
Bailey stopped on the landing and peered out the window. The Herald parking lot was nearly empty—only a dozen or so cars, mostly belonging to production people.
“I’ll meet you at the bench by the newsstand,” he said.
“Fine.”
Bailey tucked her phone away. She combed a hand through her hair and dug a lipstick out of her bag. But then she changed her mind. She didn’t date cops. Even just flirting with a cop was a slippery slope.
She took her time descending the stairs and crossing the lobby, giving the security guard a wave on her way out.
She stepped into the sultry night air and spotted Jacob standing beside the bench. His gaze homed in on her, making her stomach