Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,26
of wineglasses in Dana Smith’s apartment. Would the FBI’s forensics team bag them up and test them? Jacob didn’t know, and even if they did, he’d probably never see the results. As of two this afternoon, Richard Mullins was taking over his case, exactly as Morgan had predicted.
Jacob stifled a sigh and downed another sip of beer. He’d had a shitty afternoon, and the argument with his lieutenant hadn’t helped. He’d flat-out rejected Jacob’s request to be in on the task force and wouldn’t even run the idea up the chain. His department was more than happy to be rid of a complicated case that could bring negative publicity. They’d handed it over without even putting up a fight.
But Jacob wasn’t done trying yet. Not by a long shot.
“You look frustrated,” Bailey said.
“Long day.”
“Care to share? I’m a good listener.”
His gaze locked on hers, and he felt tempted to tell her. He couldn’t, obviously, because she was a reporter. But it would have been nice to vent, even though she was the last person he should open up with about any of this.
The waitress reappeared, this time with a pizza.
“Veggie supreme, extra jalapeños?”
“Thanks.”
She set down the pizza, along with a pair of plates and a stack of napkins. Bailey slid one of the plates in front of Jacob.
He shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“Oh, come on. I can’t eat this by myself.” She picked up a slice, dropping mushrooms and peppers as she stretched the cheese. She took a small bite, and he watched her mouth as she chewed.
“So, Bailey.”
“Uh-oh.” She dabbed her lip with a napkin. “That’s your cop voice. Let me get out my notepad.”
“This is off the record. I want to talk about the case.”
She leaned back against the booth. “Here we go.”
“What?”
“The old bait-and-switch. Ask me to meet you, and then tell me I can’t use anything you say.”
“You can use it,” he said. “Just don’t quote me. This is on background.”
“Okay.” She leaned her elbows on the table, and her gray eyes turned serious. “What’s up?”
“You got the ID.”
“We did,” she said.
“I assume you’re running it in a story tomorrow?”
“Given that the local networks have been running it since five o’clock, you assumed right. We also confirmed it was a stabbing.”
“Where’d you confirm that?”
She smiled. “You’re not asking me to reveal my sources, are you?”
He sighed. “What else do you have?”
“Some stuff about park safety. I heard your investigators are going over surveillance footage from the parking lots near the trail.”
“You have a source in the department?”
She sipped her wine but didn’t comment. Jacob wanted to know, and not just because he was curious about where she was getting her information. He wanted to find out if she’d heard about the FBI’s involvement. Only a few people knew about it, but if the public became aware, it would be much harder to keep control of the story.
She dropped the crust on her plate and dusted her hands. “You know those aren’t the only cameras, right?”
“Which ones?” he asked.
“The parking lot cams. There are also some at the nature center and the boathouse.”
Jacob lifted an eyebrow.
“You didn’t know?”
“I knew about the nature center. The boathouse is news.”
“They installed one several months ago after some kayaks got stolen. It faces the boat racks, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it captures footage of the trail as well.”
“I’ll look into it. Thanks.”
She shot him a look. “No problem.”
“Anything else coming out tomorrow?”
“That’s more or less it,” she said. “It’s pretty thin, to be honest with you. I’m working on more for Wednesday.”
“What happens Wednesday?”
“My editor wants a profile of the victim.”
He frowned. “He wants you to profile Dana Smith?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I wasn’t aware.”
“Well, what did you expect? A young woman was stabbed to death at the city’s most popular park. People are riveted by this thing.”
“What do you have on her?”
“Not a lot.” She took another bite of pizza and chewed thoughtfully. “She’s not registered at any of the colleges, but I haven’t been able to track down much. What do you know about her?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“Is it looking like a random act of violence or—”
“We don’t know yet.”
It came out sharper than intended, and she gave him a suspicious look.
“Why do I get the impression there’s something big you’re not telling me?”
“I can’t give details of an ongoing investigation. That’s standard.” He picked up the slice of pizza and chomped into it, and his mouth was instantly on fire from the jalapeños. He gulped his beer as Bailey watched