Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,34

the picture back. “What about her?”

“Was she here getting a tattoo removed or—”

“Our client records are confidential.”

“I understand. But this is a homicide investigation.”

Her mouth dropped open. “She—”

“She’s the victim.”

The woman glanced at the picture again and stepped over to the computer on the counter. “What’s her name?”

“Dana Smith.”

She tapped at her keyboard, and Jacob looked around the waiting room. Two black leather chairs sat in the far corner beside a small table where another perfumed candle burned. Working in this place would give him a headache.

“Looks like she came in back in February,” the woman said.

“Just one time?”

“No, then again in April and June. She bought a package. Four sessions, and we schedule them seven to eight weeks apart to allow for healing. She has one left. Had one left.” The woman shuddered and glanced up.

“And can you tell me what she was getting removed?” Jacob asked.

“What, you mean her tattoo?”

“That’s correct.” He was hoping for Greek letters, or a name, or a maybe a significant date that would give him a lead on Dana Smith’s previous identity.

The woman watched Jacob silently. Her forehead was smooth, but her eyes seemed to frown. “Well, we take before and after photos.” She glanced over her shoulder at the curtain before pivoting the screen to face him.

“Mind?” Jacob walked around the counter to get a better look at the computer, and the woman stepped aside.

“That was taken February ninth before her first session.”

The other photo Jacob had seen of Dana’s ankle had been taken on an autopsy table, and her skin looked gray and lifeless. This picture showed Dana’s ankle against a lavender sheet on what looked like a massage table. Her skin tone was warm and healthy, and she had her toes pointed as someone snapped the shot.

The tattoo depicted was a small bird on a branch. Beneath it were three characters in black calligraphy that appeared to be Chinese.

“Does that help, Detective?”

He glanced up. “I’m going to need a screen shot.”

* * *

* * *

BAILEY KEPT HER eyes peeled for Jacob as she made the rounds at the police station. But she didn’t see him. She didn’t see his partner, either, so maybe they were out on a case together. Bailey tried to convince herself that she felt relieved as she crossed the busy lobby. If she had bumped into him, she wasn’t sure what she would have said.

I really don’t make a habit of jumping my sources, but the way you were looking at me . . .

“Bailey.”

She turned around. Jacob strode across the lobby toward her. He had his sleeves rolled up and a file in his hand, and the intent look on his face put a flutter in her stomach.

He stopped and gazed down at her.

“Hi,” she said, trying for cheerful.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just, you know, making the rounds.”

He frowned slightly, and she realized he didn’t know her routines.

“I swing by here every afternoon,” she said. “Check with sources, see what’s come in.”

He glanced down at the notepad in her hand. “Get anything interesting?”

“Nothing much. Just a purse snatching and another car theft near campus.” She watched him, searching his eyes. “How’s the Dana Smith case going?”

Something flickered across his face. Then it was gone.

“Anything new?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“So . . . is that a yes or a no?”

“Neither. Are you headed out now?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll walk you.”

He stepped over to push open the door and politely held it for her, as if that would distract her from the way he’d dodged her question.

She stepped into the heat and immediately began to sweat. He spotted her car parked along the street and started walking toward it, and she tucked her notebook into her purse.

She’d ask him again later. Maybe if she found him after hours or away from the station, she could get him to open up.

Bailey caught some curious looks from several cops she knew as she and Jacob walked to her car, which was in a reserved space.

“You’re going to get a ticket,” he said.

“I know.” She popped the locks and pulled the door open, then turned to look at him.

He was much taller than she was, and she felt the inexplicable urge to go up on tiptoes and kiss him again, just to see if he’d look as shocked as he had last night. But she resisted this time. Probably the last thing he needed was to be seen kissing a reporter in front of the police station. Just being seen talking to her could raise