Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,61
of Dana Smith’s autopsy report, which he’d finally gotten his hands on, despite Mullins hijacking the case.
“I’ve been in and out,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Want to give me a lift to my yoga class? I can fill you in on the way.”
“Sure, hop in.”
She slid into the truck and stashed the computer bag at her feet. “It’s five blocks west, right by the post office.”
Jacob pulled into traffic.
“I went through every minute of video from the trail Saturday, everything we have,” she said. “No sign of a dark-haired man in golf gloves. Or any gloves, for that matter—which isn’t surprising since it was ninety degrees out.”
“He could have removed the gloves. I’m sure there were plenty of dark-haired men.”
“Yeah, but not jogging on that particular stretch of trail when Dana Smith was there. I got a couple women with dogs, a blond cyclist, a stroller mom. And then your witness, Christopher Reynolds. But no sign of this mystery man with the gloves.”
Jacob pulled up to a stoplight and looked at her. “You check the boathouse footage?”
“Yes.”
“The nature center?”
“Yes.”
“All three cameras?”
“Yes. I told you, I checked everything.” She dragged her computer bag into her lap and unzipped it. “He’s not in the parking lots and not on the trail with her—not the section that’s picked up by security cameras. At least not the cameras we’re aware of. There could be more.”
“There aren’t. I’ve been down there three times now looking.”
She opened her computer and powered it up. “I have a theory about that.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’ll show you.”
She tapped open a file as Jacob neared the yoga studio. It was a narrow storefront, and he didn’t see anywhere to park, so he turned into an alley.
“Check this out.” She placed the laptop on his console, the same console that Bailey had sat on the other night when she kissed the hell out of him.
“This is a map of the trail, and I’ve got all the camera locations marked in blue. The green areas show the view they cover.”
“Okay.”
“There’s no way to run any significant stretch of this trail and avoid all these areas.”
“Unless he scoped it out ahead of time.”
“Yeah, that’s my theory. I think your guy did some serious recon before the crime. He knew where the cameras were, where the tree cover was. He knew how to get in and out of that stretch of trail without being seen.”
Recon. Another military word. According to an expert with the ME’s office, Dana Smith’s stab wounds had likely been made with a seven-inch tactical knife that had a serrated blade on one side. A combat knife.
“You see what I’m getting at?” Gabby looked at him. “He had to know all about this area ahead of the attack.”
Jacob studied the screen. “He knew her timing, too.”
“Well, maybe. If you assume she was the target. He could have just been waiting there, looking for a target of opportunity, some woman running alone that maybe fit the type he wanted. She could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it could have been random.”
It wasn’t, but Jacob didn’t share that information with Gabby.
“Send me that map, would you?”
“No problem.” She snapped the computer shut. “I’ll do it after my class. Thanks for the ride.”
“If you come up with anything else, let me know. Call me anytime, day or night.”
She got out, and he watched her walk to the end of the alley. He backed up and made sure she got into the studio okay before he checked his mirrors and pulled into traffic. His phone buzzed, and he dug it from his pocket. Bailey.
“Hi.”
“Where are you?” she asked. “I just went by your office.”
“I’ve got to drive up to Round Rock to interview a suspect’s girlfriend.”
“A suspect? You mean—”
“Different case.”
“Oh.”
He heard the disappointment in her voice.
“I can meet later,” he said. “Want to have dinner?”
“I’ve got this damn gala thing I have to go to.”
“Why?”
“One of our feature writers is sick today, so they tossed it to me. It’s for the lifestyle section. What about afterward? I have to file a story but it can be short.”
He battled the urge to invite her to his house. He wanted to pick up right where they’d left off the other night, but he’d told himself he wasn’t going to go there. At least not while she was still writing about his case. Bailey was a determined reporter in pursuit of a story, and he still didn’t totally trust her motives.
“How about we meet at