Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,15
serious brown eyes.
“Thanks, Bailey.”
“Sure.”
“I owe you one.”
She opened her car door and tossed her bag inside. “Don’t think I won’t remind you.”
* * *
* * *
JACOB SLID BEHIND the wheel and watched in his rearview mirror as Bailey’s white Toyota pulled out of the parking lot.
Guilt needled him. It was shitty to ignore her all day and then hit her up for a favor, but he couldn’t worry about that now. His top priority was identifying his victim so the case could move forward.
Jacob started up his truck and pulled into traffic. After finding that keycard, he and Kendra had had it fingerprinted and then spent the better part of the day combing parking garages and apartment buildings near the lake, hoping to get a hit. The keycard didn’t have a logo on it, so Jacob doubted it came from a hotel. But after striking out all afternoon with every apartment building and garage within half a mile of the hike-and-bike trail, he’d decided they were wrong to rule out hotels.
It was also possible the victim didn’t live near the lake at all. Maybe she’d taken an Uber to the trail or had a friend drop her off, and the keycard went to some building on the other side of town.
Jacob cruised through traffic, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. He was hungry, tired, and more than a little frustrated after spending his day chasing down dead-end leads. Releasing a photo to the press was pretty much a Hail Mary, but he’d managed to convince his lieutenant that a tip from the public was their best chance of getting an ID sooner rather than later. Most female homicide victims were killed by someone they knew, often a domestic partner, so ID was critical. And even if this was a case where the victim didn’t know her attacker, Jacob needed to notify next of kin and learn everything he could about the victim’s routine so he could piece together what happened to her. The case was growing colder by the hour, and he didn’t even have a name.
Jacob’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he pulled up to a stoplight. He recognized the number for the tech lab.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m working on that cell phone,” Luis said.
Jacob heard music in the background and pictured Luis alone in the lab, surrounded by all his gadgets and listening to a concert on YouTube.
“You get it to work?” Jacob asked.
“Not yet. It’s a cheap-as-shit phone. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“No contract on this thing. It’s prepaid, so even if I get it working, which I probably can, you may not be able to get much off it. It doesn’t get email or anything.”
“Okay.”
“But here’s the good news. We lifted a print.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me and Marisa. I took the phone to her right after you brought it in here, and she dusted it and came up with a thumbprint.”
“I’m surprised.”
“I know, right? I mean, with the water and all, I thought printing it was a formality, but Marisa got this off the inside.”
“The inside?”
“Yeah, the battery. And get this, the print matches your DOA. We just confirmed it with the ME’s office.”
“So, you’re saying—”
“Your victim’s print is on this phone. That’s what I’m saying. Looks like she lost it right before she died.”
* * *
* * *
TABITHA DARTED ACROSS the busy street, ignoring an angry shout from a cabdriver. She stepped onto the sidewalk and passed another pub, sidestepping a pair of weaving tourists who’d just stumbled out. One of them called after her, but she pretended not to hear as she moved briskly toward the intersection. She hung a left at the corner and walked two more blocks, then checked over her shoulder for anyone following before ducking between two buildings. The dim alley smelled of urine. It was a gross shortcut, but she used it anyway because it spit her out near the bed-and-breakfast.
She passed under a streetlamp. The rest of the road was dark, with giant oak trees blocking out the moonlight. She passed the tall white Victorian, where a porchlight illuminated hanging ferns and an empty swing. She passed three small bungalows—pink, yellow, blue—lined up like Easter eggs, with matching flower boxes and glowing lights above the doors. Another glance over her shoulder before she turned up the driveway and breathed a sigh of relief. No lights on in the windows, so Frank wasn’t home.
Tabitha approached the carriage house, passing a messy old oak tree dripping with