Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Nester shifted to another monitor. “The ballistics haven’t come in from the state yet on the weapon used to shoot Dr. Caine. I have to be even more careful there because we really don’t have jurisdiction, but Huck’s office is keeping me informed as much as possible.”
She’d figured as much. Huck would keep her updated whether it was technically under her jurisdiction or not. “Our focus has to be on whoever fired at Walter and me. That’s an FBI case, but again, it’s not ours. So I appreciate everything you’re doing.”
“No problem.” He took another drink of his coffee. “I’m also in contact with the Elk Hollow City Police, and so far, they seem open to our help finding Tyler Griggs. Not much going on there, though.”
Laurel frowned. Where was Walter’s brother? “I’m sure Walter appreciates it.”
Nester tossed his empty Staggers cup into the garbage. “Also, DC sent several files for you to review and render opinions on. They’re in your inbox. One deals with a possible serial killer out of North Carolina, and there are two suspicious bombings in Michigan they want you to take a look at.”
“All right.” Laurel shifted her stance, already mentally sorting through her day. “I’ll get to work.” She turned away and moved farther down the hallway. Walter’s office sat to the left of the small kitchen and hers to the right. She poked her head into Walter’s office. “How are you feeling?”
He looked up, dark circles etched under his eyes, his face pale. “Like my SUV rolled over onto me. How about you?”
She smiled, though her own muscles protested at the movement. “About the same. It’ll take a few weeks until we both feel better, statistically.”
“Statistics matter.” Walter’s fingers drummed against his desk, his computer screen lighting up his tired face. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to keep tracking my brother’s disappearance. I still haven’t found anything.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “Right now, I’m working on a couple of outside cases that don’t involve legwork here. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
“Thanks, boss.” He turned back to his screen.
She paused in the doorway, aware she should say something comforting but finding herself empty of platitudes. She didn’t believe in them. Or in lying just to make someone feel better.
Walter glanced up again and managed a grin. “I got you. I appreciate the support.”
She relaxed a little. “Oh, good. Thank you.” Turning away, she walked down the hall to her office and paused at seeing the old door stretched across blocks that she used as a desk. She could requisition a new one, but she’d become accustomed to this one.
Once inside, she shrugged out of her raincoat and draped it over the back of a chair. She figured she’d be at the office all day, so she’d worn jeans and a light green sweater, something comfortable and practical. She moved behind her desk, her computer already awake with notifications blinking across the screen. Her phone buzzed from the desk. “Agent Snow,” she answered.
“Hi. It’s Rachel Raprenzi, and I’d like to interview you about the shooting of your sister on the courthouse steps.”
“No comment.” Laurel ended the call. She took a breath, settled into her chair, and logged into her account to begin working through the morning’s emails. The room remained quiet, save for the soft hum of her computer and the patter of rain on her window.
She responded to the easy inquiries first, clearing out messages that required nothing more than polite acknowledgments or brief updates. The rhythm of work was comforting, anchoring her thoughts and keeping her from spiraling into frustration over their lack of progress on the shootings.
Once she’d thinned the clutter, she put in a call to the Seattle Police Department, spoke to several people, and finally found a Detective Laticia Trodd.
“Yeah, I pulled the Larry Scott case,” Detective Trodd said. “Clear suicide. The guy slit his wrists in his bathtub.”
Laurel tapped her pen on her desk. “Was there any other evidence?”
“Sure. His girlfriend had broken up with him a week before, he’d gone off his depression meds, and he had given a bunch of his stuff away.” Papers rustled over the phone. “We cleared the guy, and his family came out here and had him cremated, before taking his ashes back to Michigan.” More papers. “Oh, no. I meant, Missouri. Close enough.”
Laurel sighed. “His family came out here? Did he live alone?”
“Yep.”
Laurel turned to look out her window at the mountains still tipped with snow. “Was he in high school?”
“Nope. He was twenty-five.”
Laurel paused. “I see.” How in the world had Viv known him? “What was his place of employment?”
“Let’s see.” Detective Trodd coughed. “Sorry. Allergies.” She was silent for a moment. “He worked at Oakridge Solutions as a lab technician. I interviewed his boss, a Sally Shermington, who confirmed that his work had slipped and that he had seemed really down lately. His family also noted that he was depressed.”