Cole wondered if she heard the catch in her own voice. He grabbed a lightweight sweatshirt off the back of one of her chairs and tossed it to her. “Put that on, will you? Your goose bumps have goose bumps. I’ll check with Mona in a few hours. She was hoping the fingers might thaw enough by today to try to run their prints.”
“I don’t suppose I could get a look at evidence files from the case?”
“I’ll talk to Jack about getting them together for us.”
“There has to be a connection between them.” She flipped on the portable space heater. “How does he find them?” Using her cell, she snapped pictures of the notes she’d scribbled on the boards before she wiped them clean. “And why them? What do they have in common?”
“Working with three victims didn’t give us much data.” He grabbed the chair she wasn’t using and sat down. “Now we have eight more.”
“Not my favorite way to increase the data flow.” She drew two thick lines and divided the board into three sections, assigning a victim to each one. Filling out their names, occupations, addresses, relatives... The soft squeak of dry-erase markers against the board became background noise as he sat at the desk and started with her initial post, uploaded just over eighteen months ago.
She hadn’t started focusing on the Iceman until well after the third victim had been identified. She’d treated each posting as if it were one of her articles for the Tribune, citing her sources. He assumed “officials close to the investigation” referred to himself, but she’d saved those mentions for important details, like the fact that a witness had come forward saying she’d seen Denise Pageant, the third victim, leave a local farmers’ market a few blocks from the parking lot where her car had been found on the day they suspected she’d been abducted.
Eden’s earliest posts tugged at his heart. She was so good at talking about the victims, bringing them back to life in a way that anyone who read couldn’t help but understand the loss the families felt. If there was one thing Eden excelled at it was tapping into the empathy that most human beings possessed.
Those that didn’t possess it were the ones they had to worry about.
“How closely do you read the comments?” Cole asked.
“Closely enough. Mostly, I skim.” He thought that was what she’d say. Hard to tell given she had two pens sticking out of her mouth and a fistful of documents. He stood up and went to the bank of computer screens, clicking on the archives.
“Do you get a lot of return readers?”
“Yes. I even set up a subscription service. Anytime I post a new blog they get an email.”
“We’ll want a list of those subscribers.”
“Sure.” She abandoned her task and joined him, leaning over to tap in her access information. Cole sat back and watched her face scrunch into that familiar expression of concentration. A thick strand of hair dropped loose from on top of her head and brushed down over her arm. He reached out, tucked it behind her ear and felt her freeze under his touch. His finger tingled where it had stroked her skin, but he didn’t say a word and returned his gaze to the screen in front of them.
“You can access both the comments and the mailing list from this portal.” She backed away, clearing her throat as she returned to her whiteboard. Nice to know he could distract her as handily as she did him.
“Makes cross-checking screen names and email addresses easier,” he said as he printed out the pages.
“Do you have credit-card information for the victims in the files?” Eden jotted down the rest of the first three victims’ employment information. “Records of their purchases and where they’d been?”
“Going back six months before their deaths, I think. We can request more if we need them.”
“Six is a good place to start. Especially once we can get ahold of the last eight’s records, as well. Should help us fill out the timelines for their last days.”
“We went over the backgrounds of the original victims with a fine-tooth comb,” Cole reminded her. The process had gone more smoothly than expected given the potential logistical nightmare of the bodies being found in various areas of the valley. Other departments had been willing to lend a hand on the grunt work, but more than happy to let Cole and his team take the lead.
“I don’t suppose you inventoried their homes after they were identified?” Eden asked.
“No.” He looked up. “But we did take pictures. I’ll add the photos to the list of things for Jack to track down. With this much evidence to go through, it’ll take more than the two of us to make any kind of dent in it.”
“We can organize what we have for now.”
And so went their day, Eden staring at her newly tidied whiteboard and Cole digging through the umpteen comments on her increasingly popular blog.
When Eden’s doorbell rang, they both jumped.
“Who would that be?” Eden reached for her coffee, which she frowned at. “Empty. What time is it?”
“It’s after one.” Cole stretched his arms over his head and stood up. “I’ll go and hunt up lunch while I’m at it.”
“Lunch. Awesome.” She ducked back into her work like a turtle pulling into her shell. “You know what? If they want to run my articles in the Tribune, I’m thinking I might let them.”
“Really?”
“Why not?” She nibbled on her thumbnail. “More readers might get us more information. Besides, maybe I can work out a deal so I can afford to quit. Go on, go on.” She waved him upstairs. “I have a call to make.”
It took him a full count to twenty before he realized an unemployed Eden meant she’d throw herself completely into this case, not to mention any others that might come down the line. “One day at a time,” he muttered to himself as he headed upstairs. He left their mugs on the counter and answered the door. “Hey, Jack. You running a delivery service now?”
Jack grunted at him and hefted a file box into his arms. “Thanks, partner. Come on in.”
Jack picked up another box and followed him inside. “LT rallied the troops and got you everything you asked for on the first three vics. Speaking of asking for, Mona should be able to run prints this afternoon. Results will be in around five.”
“Great. Let me see if I can bring Eden up from the depths of—”
“Hey, Jack.” Eden stepped into the kitchen just as they set the boxes on the counter.
“Eden. Nice place. Cozy.” He glanced around the room.
“Jack thinks any place without high beamed ceilings is cozy,” Cole joked.
“Said the man who lives on a ship in a bottle.” Eden rolled her eyes.
“Ship in a bottle?” Jack sputtered and shot Cole a surprised look. “Hasn’t she seen the...?”
“You want lunch?” Cole cut him off. No, she hadn’t seen his boat since he’d finished restoring it. “We’ve got leftovers from last night.”
“Well, isn’t that nice.” Jack slapped a hand on his shoulder. “You almost sound domesticated. Uh-uh, Eden, not yet.” He pushed her hands away as she pried open one of the box corners. “Give your brain a rest. Cole said you’ve been at this since before dawn.”
“The curse of the gnome windmill,” Cole joked. “Hey, that can be the title for your first murder mystery, Eden. Now that you’ll have all that spare time.”
She glowered at him.
“You writing a book?” Jack asked.
“If I did it wouldn’t feature killer gnomes.” She pulled out a stack of paper plates from the cabinet. “I’ve got coffee, beer and water, Jack.”
“Water’s fine, thanks.” Jack set the boxes on the floor and took a seat at the counter. “You guys come up with anything new yet?”
“Big fat nothing,” Eden replied.
“I’ve got a couple of names I want to run checks on.” Cole’s statement earned a raised
eyebrow from Eden. “You were right. I didn’t find anything in your posts. The comments were another story.”
“Nothing raised any bells for me.”
“The more you focused on the Iceman, the more frequently a few of your more enthusiastic subscribers commented.”
“That would be the purpose of a blog, Cole. They want a forum to be heard. I don’t engage them. Not directly, anyway,” Eden countered. “A few of them have had some good ideas, ideas I’ve looked into, but none of them produced anything. Other than proof our educational system is sorely lacking these days. Why? What did you find?”
“Aside from some pretty vehement opinions on why the Iceman is killing?”
“Oh, you’re talking about 221BB, aren’t you?” Eden waved away the comment as Cole set containers in front of Jack, before snagging one of the veggie spring rolls for himself. “I visited his website. He’s a conspiracy nut. Hangs out on a lot of crime message boards. He’s harmless, Cole.”
“Forgive me, but you’re not one to judge harmless. Remind me, again—who was it who tried to adopt a stray raccoon?”
“When was this?” Jack chuckled as he served himself.
“I was seven,” Eden reminded Cole in that “shut up before I shut you up” tone. “And the poor little guy had been attacked by Mr. Johansen and his shovel-wielding wife.”
“Probably because he was a raccoon. Angry little creature.”
“You survived,” Eden said.
“Barely. Logan almost lost an arm.”
“Oh, please. It was a scratch and I don’t care what you say. Ricky was adorable.”
“Ricky Raccoon?” Jack grabbed two spring rolls. “That’s...unique. What happened to him?”
“I was told they released him out by the American River,” Eden replied, and when Cole opened his mouth to tell her the truth—that her adorable little guy had gotten away from them and was run over by a car—she held up her hand. “And I’m going to continue to believe that until my dying day. If you want to follow up on any of my subscribers, feel free, but I’m telling you it won’t get us anywhere.”
“As a conspiracy nut is pretty far removed from a raccoon, I appreciate your permission.” Cole brushed his fingers over the back of her hand as they reached for the spoons at the same time. She jerked, her gaze flying to his. “Sorry.”
Jack pinned Cole with a silent, curious look before he plowed into his lunch.
“Okay, Jack.” Eden stood across from Cole’s partner and twirled her fork into the rice noodles. “You wanted my mind off this case for a while. How have you been? And how’s the dating game going?”
Jack choked. Cole grinned. Now, this was going to be entertaining.
Chapter 9
“Knock, knock!” A familiar lilting voice chimed down the basement stairs. “Anyone home?”
“Allie?” Eden capped her pen and raced to the foot of the steps. “What are you doing here? Who let you in?” She peered up as Allie’s all-knowing gaze absorbed Eden’s office in one fell swoop. A flash of white behind Allie had Eden frowning. “Simone?”
“Cole let us in on his way out.” Simone stooped down, took one look at the basement and wrinkled her nose. “I’m not coming down there. Pizza and wine. Upstairs. Now.” She spun on her four-inch heels and stomped away.
“I don’t know what surprises me more. That you two showed up unannounced or that she brought something as simple as pizza for supper.” Eden attempted to push Allie up the stairs ahead of her, but Allie put a hand on Eden’s arm, gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and stepped into Eden’s space. “I know what you’re thinking.” Instead of joining her, Eden sat on a step, waiting for the barrage of observations to begin.
“Do you?” Allie’s cheery pink capri pants and matching tank top cast a stark contrast to the darkness that, despite the lighting, blanketed the basement. “Would you like to talk about what I’m thinking?”
“Not particularly, no.” Eden flinched. “I never wanted you to see this place.”
“I can’t imagine why not.” Allie’s tone was as even-keeled as ever. She strode around the room, skimming her eyes over Eden’s scribbled notes, her blinking computer screens and the tidy piles of photos and files she and Cole had spent the rest of the afternoon reexamining. “It’s so...you.”
“That would be why.”
“You’re profiling the victims.” Allie gestured to the whiteboard before circling around to the sofa. “Find anything interesting?”
“Not yet. We’re hoping the new victims might give us more data to work with.” Eden leaned over and gripped the banister above her, then poked her head down as Allie brushed a reverent hand over their childhood photo.
“Hard to believe we were ever this young...or innocent.” Allie’s sad expression chipped at the wall Eden had built around her heart. While the four of them had been inseparable, Allie and Chloe had been two peas in a pod. So much so Allie had even dyed her hair that last summer to match their friend’s color. The Wonder Twins, Simone had teasingly dubbed them.
For what felt like the millionth time, Eden wanted to tell Allie the truth about that night, but the words remained lodged in her chest. After so many years, would it make a difference? Or would it do damage she could never repair?
Allie shot Eden one of her trademark patient-and-understanding smiles as her friend flicked the tiny tea light off. “I think maybe you’ve had enough for today.”
“It always amazes me how your suggestions end up sounding like commands.”
“They teach us that in therapist school.” Allie stopped in front of her and held out her hands. “Let it go for tonight, Eden.”
Eden opened her mouth to argue, but realized she didn’t have the strength to. Not with Allie and certainly not with Simone, who was probably working up a good lecture even as she poured the cabernet.
She got to her feet, smiling a little at the comforting if not pushy hands of her friend on her back. Allie turned off the light and closed the door as Eden accepted a filled wineglass from Simone, who was waiting for them.
“Now this.” Simone dangled the padlock on her index finger. “Lock it away.” The mingled expression of concern and determination silencing any protest Eden might have made. “Until tomorrow.”
Eden slapped the latch closed and clicked the padlock in place. If only turning off her mind would be as easy. “Cole put you up to this, didn’t he?”
“Funny enough, we didn’t need him to. We know you, Eden,” Allie called over her shoulder as she headed into the living room. “But he did call Simone to let her know he needed to go to the station for a while.”
“He thought you’d appreciate our smiling faces rather than a pair of patrolmen sitting on your front porch.” Simone guided Eden out of the kitchen. “He did ask us to leave him some pizza.”
“Fat chance of that.” Allie kicked off her ballet-slipper flats and curled her feet under her in the corner of Eden’s sofa. “I brought him his own.”
“So you ordered, Allie?” Eden couldn’t hide the relief in her voice.
“You think I’d leave pizza ordering to birdseed girl?” Allie looked horrified. “Please.” She reached over and flipped open the box. The aroma of baked dough, roasted tomatoes and fennel-laced sausage wafted into the air.
“Chia seeds, not birdseed.” Simone darted into the kitchen and returned with plates and napkins—and a second bottle of wine. “And you could both do with some.”
“Please, no more lectures,” Eden said as she sat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table and sipped her wine. “I’ve suffered enough the last couple of days. And enough with the white, Simone. Do you always have to look as if you’ve just walked off Mount Olympus?” Eden would probably keel over in shock if Simone ever wore any other color.
“I like overs
eeing you mere mortals. You, on the other hand, look like crap,” Simone said as she popped off her heels, discarded the shimmery white sweater and took a seat next to Allie. “Good crap, but still.”
“Clearly this visit wasn’t meant to be an ego boost.” Eden flopped a slice of pizza onto a plate and picked off the mushrooms. “How long have you known me and you still put fungus on my pie?”
“Gives you something to do in place of obsessing about a killer,” Allie said.
“I thought we had locked that away for the night?” Simone sighed as she dislodged a handful of sausage chunks from her own piece. “Can we please just maybe not discuss serial killers, politics, news or court cases for one evening?”
“I doubt it, especially not with those reporters parked outside.” Eden sank her teeth into her pizza. Her taste buds exploded with the promise of more.
“What reporters?” Simone leaned over to look out the window. “I didn’t see anyone other than your neighbors.”
“Maybe Cole scared them away.” Allie grinned. “He has that effect on people where Eden’s concerned.”
It also didn’t hurt that he hated reporters with a passion. At times, herself included. “Whatever. Did he say when he was coming back?”
“Cole?” Simone’s eyebrows shot up, but Eden didn’t miss the knowing look she sent Allie. “He wasn’t sure. He did say the prints came in and he wanted to help notify the families.”
Eden nodded. Cole might be stubborn, opinionated and positively infuriating, but no one had a bigger heart when it came to victims and their loved ones. Cole took that responsibility very seriously.
A gleam off a passing car’s window had Eden jumping to her feet to close the too-thin curtains. “Did he say anything else?”
“No,” Simone replied. “Why? Should he have?”
“No, of course not. Not to you, anyway. I was just—” Eden’s mind was ping-ponging back and forth. “Well, since this isn’t serial-killer stuff, here goes.” She sank down on the floor again and took a deep breath. “He kissed me.”
“Cole?” Simone smiled widely. “Interesting.”
More Than a Lawman Page 8
