Hidden - Laura Griffin Page 0,83
of the square, maybe on Dumaine or somewhere near there, and she has an evening job on Bourbon Street or St. Peter—one of those streets with all the bars.”
“Maybe we’ve got it backward. She could live on the other side of the square and have a daytime job in a residential area. Maybe she found a nanny gig like Robin did.”
“Could be.”
“Take a right up here at the light.”
Bailey followed his instructions until they reached the intersection they were looking for. She circled the block twice and spotted a car pulling out of a space. She hit the gas and put her blinker on to claim it.
“You realize what a long shot this is, right?”
She checked her mirrors before zipping backward into the space. “What’s your point?”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
She shoved the car into park and glanced at him. He seemed genuinely concerned about her, and that faint spark of hope was back again.
“It can’t be a total long shot, or you wouldn’t have come,” she said.
“You need to be realistic, Bailey. We’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Why don’t you just say what you’re really worried about? That she might already be dead.”
“There’s a definite possibility.”
Bailey studied his face, and his dark eyes looked grim.
“You asked about un-IDed victims, too, didn’t you? Just now at the police station?”
He nodded.
“And?”
“They’ve got a middle-aged female on Burgundy Street who died with a needle in her arm.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“Is it possible—”
“Full sleeve of tattoos and a C-section scar. Don’t think it’s a fit.”
Bailey looked through the windshield, skimming her gaze over the people milling at the edge of Jackson Square. There were food vendors, street musicians, and tourists having their portraits drawn. A bride and her flush-cheeked groom stood beside a park bench, talking to a photographer as they looked around the square, probably searching for a backdrop they could use before the bride’s makeup melted off. It was hot here. And humid. Bailey figured that if Tabitha was still living in New Orleans, she’d have sense enough to be inside somewhere, not walking around in the scorching heat.
“You know, there’s a bus stop at St. Ann and Decatur.”
She looked at Jacob.
“It stops at 3:35,” he added.
“You checked the schedule?”
“Yeah.”
The timing fit with the surveillance images. It was unlikely Tabitha had a car, but Bailey hadn’t considered public transportation.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted.
“You’re tired.” Jacob studied the map on his phone. “Not to mention hungry. I can hear your stomach growling.” He tucked his phone in the pocket of his leather jacket and looked at her. “Why’s this story so important to you?”
The question surprised her.
She took out a packet of cherry Life Savers and pried one off. She offered it to Jacob, but he shook his head, and she popped it into her mouth.
“Why’s it so important to you?” she countered.
“To me it’s a case, not a story. And it’s directly related to a murder that happened in my jurisdiction.”
“So you can’t just toss it to the feds and forget about it.”
“No, I can’t.”
Bailey gazed out the window and sighed. People milled around the square, and she scanned their faces with a growing sense of hopelessness. If Tabitha Walker was here, she wouldn’t be milling. She’d be walking briskly, with purpose, and probably with a lot more situational awareness than the tourists bumping about like cattle.
Bailey swallowed the candy, but it only made her stomach feel emptier.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
She looked at Jacob. “Because I’m angry.”
“Why?”
“This woman tried to do the right thing and she got killed for it. What does that say about our justice system?”
“Whatever McKinney was doing, she was probably mixed up in it somehow,” Jacob said. “Otherwise, the feds wouldn’t have had much leverage to get her to testify.”
“Still, whatever it was, McKinney’s the mastermind. She was working as a temp, for God’s sake, and she got involved with the wrong man, and she ended up dead. And not only that—” She turned to face him, getting steamed up now in the hot little car. “He didn’t just kill her. No. He killed her to send a message.”
“You really think he had her murdered from behind bars?” Jacob asked.
“Either him or his family. Same thing. And it’s the same message, too. Don’t fuck with us. You fuck with the McKinneys, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, until you end up dead. This whole thing is a deterrent, Jacob. A protective maneuver. It’s