Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,4
what happened?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows arched. “No?”
“We have no official comment at this time.”
“What about unofficial?”
“No.”
She huffed out a breath and glanced behind him, and Jacob was relieved to see that the witness he’d been interviewing had disappeared into his shop. He’d cautioned the man about talking to the media, but Jacob didn’t want to take any chances, so he moved away from the door and led the reporter around the side of the building, where he stepped under another overhang.
The woman looked up at him, clearly annoyed. Her skin was wet, and her makeup was smudged. She had dark corkscrew curls, and her eyes were the same pale gray color as the T-shirt under her jacket.
“Detective . . . ?”
“Merritt.”
“Could you brief me on what happened, Detective Merritt?”
“You can talk to our public information officer.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Can’t you give me a break here? We’ll find out anyway. If you could just sketch out the basics.”
“Sorry.”
Jacob wasn’t ready to tell a reporter what was going on. He didn’t even know himself. It was an odd crime scene, which made him antsy. And more guarded than usual.
The reporter blew out a sigh. “Look, Detective . . .” She trailed off and checked her watch. “I’m on deadline here, and I’ve got to get something to my editor in the next half hour.”
“That’s not my problem.”
She gave him a strained smile. “You’re right, it’s not. But could you help me, anyway? Please?”
It was the please that did it. And the pleading look in those cool gray eyes. He got the feeling she didn’t usually plead for things. He glanced at her feet again, noting her blue nail polish and silver toe ring.
Jacob shifted his attention across the parking lot to the line of trees. The scene had already been cordoned off, and now they were just waiting for the ME’s team. And she was right. News would get out. He wasn’t sure how she’d gotten wind of this, but it was only a matter of time before the rest of the media picked up the scent.
“Was it a shooting?” she persisted.
“No.”
She looked surprised by his answer and took out a pen.
“About five fifty, one of our units responded to a call about an unresponsive female near the hike-and-bike trail,” Jacob said. “The officers—”
“Wait, ‘unresponsive’?” She glanced up from her pad.
“The officers confirmed that the woman was dead.”
“Does it look like she was shot, or—”
“That’s all I have at this time.”
“Okay.” She kept scribbling. “And when did you get the call?”
“About six twenty.” Thunder rumbled overhead, and Jacob looked up. “You know, we’re losing daylight and the sky’s about to unleash again.”
“Just one more question. Does it appear to be a homicide?”
“You need to direct your queries to our public information officer.”
Jacob sounded like a prick, and he knew it, but he really didn’t want to get into it with a reporter right now—especially one with a reputation for being sneaky and pushy as hell.
A white van pulled into the parking lot and slid into a space beside Jacob’s unmarked unit. A pair of ME’s assistants got out, and Bailey glanced over her shoulder to watch.
“I need to get to work,” he said.
“But—”
“Contact our press office.”
“Wait. Here.” She flipped over her notebook and tugged a business card from a stack she had clipped there. “Call me if there’s anything else you can share tonight.”
Jacob took the card, even though he knew he wouldn’t use it.
“I’ll be up,” she said. “Even if it’s late.”
CHAPTER
THREE
BAILEY RAN THE yellow light and slowed down as she neared the police station.
“Did you get it?” she asked Max.
“Yeah, and it reads thin.”
A man on a scooter sailed into the intersection, and Bailey slammed on the brakes.
“There’s a lot missing here,” Max complained.
“They barely released anything. The whole press conference lasted maybe fifteen minutes. Including questions.”
Bailey waited as another scooter buzzed through the intersection, probably on the way to Sixth Street, Austin’s hub for nightlife. A hatchback pulled out of a metered parking space ahead, and Bailey put on her blinker to claim the spot.
“Max?” she asked, passing the space and then zipping backward into it.
“Yeah, I’m still reading. I mean, I get that it’s early in the investigation, et cetera, et cetera, but they hardly told us anything. What about her ID?”
“Caucasian female, that’s it.”
Bailey flipped down the mirror. Her makeup was practically gone now, and her hair was all over the place. She twisted it into a bun and tucked her curls behind her ears.
“What