by Lisa Harris
“True, but the two cases are still close enough in my mind that I can’t overlook the connection at this point. Between the location, race, and age of the victims—and especially the tattoo—there are simply too many similarities.”
She looked up at him, her fingers wrapped tightly around her drink, expression somber. “What if I don’t catch this one and justice isn’t carried out? What if this happens again to another girl?”
“Sometimes finding out the truth takes time, but you’ll find it.”
“I’m sorry.” She leaned back against the bench and rattled the ice in her cup. “I’m really not usually like this. We’re not even twelve hours into things, and I’m treating it like a cold case with no leads in sight. But I just can’t stop playing out worst-case scenarios. I need more than justice. I need this man stopped, so another mother doesn’t have to suffer the heartache of losing a child.”
Jackson watched her expression darken and all the pieces snapped into place. Four months ago, Avery’s brother, Michael, had been killed in the line of duty, leaving Avery to watch firsthand how the loss of a child had changed her mother.
“We might not be able to save them all, Avery, but we can do everything in our power to find whoever did this and stop him from ever hurting anyone again.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Or we could always think about starting our own fast-food chain and start flipping burgers together. No dead bodies, no elusive killers . . .”
As corny as his idea was, it worked. Avery laughed and leaned toward him, smelling like a bouquet of fresh flowers—a far cry from his autopsy room.
“I think I might like that.”
Jackson looked out across the manicured lawns and began to relax for the first time all day. Atlanta might not be Houston, but he loved how the city seemed to rise out of the forest, its neighborhoods dotted with small parks and green landscape. On days like today, he needed the diversion of God’s handiwork to settle his spirit. Adding Avery to the picture made things even better.
She was worth making time for, but finding that time to spend together the past few weeks had become far more complicated than he’d wished. Between their jobs, Tess, his grandfather, and her family, there always seemed to be something urgent pressing. And he was pretty sure she felt the same tugs on her time.
She pulled on a loose strand of her hair, a habit of hers he’d noticed. He wished he could read her mind, because his heart was pretty much already taken. All he could do at this point was hope she felt the same way.
He glanced at his watch, immediately regretting the gesture. “I’m sorry. I was hoping to prolong things, not cut it short, but I guess I should catch you up with what I found and get back to work.”
“I’d like that better too, but you’re right. And I’ve still got a mountain of work to do before heading off to Tess’s swim tryouts.” He caught the flicker of regret in her eyes. “Initial findings? You said you had something for me.”
“Hopefully the lab will come up with something more solid, because overall I don’t have much for you yet. You know the drill, it will take a few days minimum to get the results back on all of the tests we’re running.” No matter what his personal feelings were for her, there was only so much he could do to rush the results. “There were signs of sexual relations, though I don’t think she was raped. There was no bruising.”
“And the DNA.”
“We’ll get a match as soon as we can.”
Avery shook her head. “So she has consensual relations, then the guy hits her over the head and kills her?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Maybe not, but we’re missing something. If it’s not a serial killer, what are we looking at? Sex trade, prostitution, jealous lover, robbery . . .”
“I do have something else. I’m not sure how it will help at this point, but it is the most promising.”
“What is it?”
Jackson reached into the front pocket on his lab jacket and pulled out the black-and-white photo he’d slipped in an evidence bag and handed it to her. “It’s one and a half by two inches, and looks like it was cut from a photo booth strip, like the one you’d find at a mall.”
“You found this on her person? We checked all of her pockets.”
“We found a small, concealed pocket sewn into the lining of her clothes. It would have been easy for your people to miss at the crime scene. They’re running the fingerprints we found on it right now, but it might only lead us back to her.”
Avery fingered the photo. Two Asian girls smiled shyly at the camera, both wearing white traditional Vietnamese dresses. The one on the left was their Jane Doe. The second girl’s face was half hidden behind a cone-shaped hat. Smiling. Happy. “Why conceal the photo? Why not just carry it in a purse?”
“That is a question I can’t answer.”
“Was there anything else in the pocket?”
“No, but there could have been.”
“What do you mean?”
“The stitching around the edges had been ripped, as if someone had taken something out.”
“During the attack?”
“Or maybe after she was dead. I don’t know.”
Avery stood, her mind clearly sorting through the information she’d just been given.
“You’ll need to sign for the photo. I’ll make sure that your team receives the rest of the evidence once we are finished processing it.”
She started back beside him, toward the offices. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. By the way, are we still on for tonight? I know this was supposed to be your day off, but if you’d rather go out another time . . .”
He waited for her answer, hoping she was still up for it. He looked forward to seeing her again outside of work when they could talk about something besides murder investigations and autopsy reports.
“No, tonight should still be fine. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good. Me too.” His phone buzzed. “Hang on.” He quickly read through the text message. “It’s from the lab. There were two sets of fingerprints on the photo.”
Avery turned to face him. “Whose?”
“Our Jane Doe’s and James Philips’s—a man convicted for assault eighteen months ago.”
5
As long as Mason Taylor could remember, blending in had been as easy as breathing. By the age of twelve, he’d been fluent in English, Spanish, and Portuguese, thanks to his Brazilian mother who died from an overdose when he was fourteen. By the time he turned eighteen, he and his three brothers had lived in Los Angeles, Phoenix, St. Louis, and a dozen other crime-ridden inner cities across the US—thanks to his deadbeat dad.
Suburban homes with their picket fences, Little League baseball, soccer teams, and private schools had never been an option for the Taylors. They’d moved from one flea-infested hole to the next, skipping out when there wasn’t enough money to pay the rent and changing schools more often than his father changed the oil on their 1972 Ford pickup.
In the process, Mason had become the perfect chameleon, learning to avoid the bullies at school and the gangs on the streets. No one remembered Mason Taylor from the class of ’02.
Until the night that changed everything.
Mason wiped the beads of perspiration from his neck and leaned back into the shade partially covering the wooden bench where he sat. Suburban Atlanta had been the last place he’d imagined living . . . and the first place he’d run to after his brother Sam’s death. Piedmont Park was one of those places where he’d found the anonymity he’d craved. No one had noticed or cared about his late-night runs or early-morning study breaks. And that was how he wanted it.
Burying Sam that foggy November became not only his wake-up call but his way out. He’d stolen three hundred bucks from his father’s wallet, and with his two younger brothers, disappeared to Atlanta, where he’d begged his mother’s older sister to take them in.
She agreed, as long as they followed her rules. Church three t
imes a week, no swearing or drinking, and piano lessons. He’d managed to avoid the altar calls and music recitals, but not his aunt’s unconditional love and bottomless pans of peach cobbler.
She’d been gone four years now. It was days like today when he missed her most.
A woman jogged by, late twenties, short shorts, and a smile just for him. He studied her perfect figure as she passed before reining in his thoughts and forcing himself to look away as Finn approached Mason wearing his signature baggy pants, rumpled T-shirt, and a Braves cap. He dropped his cell phone into his back pocket and slid into the empty space beside Mason.
Mason shoved any lingering memories from the past aside and let his fingers drum against his thigh. Playing the part of user had become all too natural. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna show up.”
“Didn’t know you were in such a hurry to be somewhere.”
Mason shifted his weight on the bench, shrugging off the urge to finger the pistol missing from his hip. Trust wasn’t something he could afford, just like he couldn’t forget who Finn really was. He shoved his hand into his pocket, making sure the marked bills were still there.
He leaned forward, then back again, completely into his role. “Did you bring what I asked for?”
Finn set the package on the bench between them and took the money Mason offered. The exchange took less than five seconds.
Finn stood to leave.
“Wait,” Mason began. “There’s something else.”
Finn raised his brow but didn’t respond.
“I’m lookin’ to make some extra cash.”
“Selling?” Finn’s voice lowered, even though the nearest jogger was a hundred yards away.
“No. Heard your boss wants drivers to transport goods.” Mason added a hint of desperation into his voice. “I need this, Finn. I’ve . . . I’ve run into some serious financial trouble. I was told you’re the one to talk to.”
“By who?”
“One of the guys at the dock.” Mason studied Finn’s face. So far, Finn had no idea that Mason saving his life had been nothing more than an elaborate setup. Or that their relationship was based on lies.
“Think I owe you that much?”
Mason measured his words, knowing he had to push hard enough to motivate Finn, but not too hard that he started asking the wrong questions. “You’d be looking at ten to twenty if it weren’t for me, and you know it.”
Finn didn’t look convinced.
Mason pushed harder. “I didn’t think I’d need to remind you how I took out that cop so you could—”
“You not trying to blackmail me, are you?” Finn took a step toward the bench.
“Never.” Mason weighed his options. Even at three inches shorter and ten pounds lighter, he was certain he could take Finn down if it came to that, but a fight wasn’t what he was after. They were supposed to be on the same side.
Mason searched for another angle, his fingers tapping faster against his leg. “I grew up—”
“Forget the tough-boy sob story.” Finn shook his head. “My connection isn’t looking for some hungover druggie.”
“My habit won’t affect my work.”
“You’d be transporting certain goods across state lines that would require avoiding both the local cops and the Feds.”
Bingo.
Mason tempered his desire to smile. This was the break he’d been waiting for. “I need the extra work, so illegal or not, I really don’t care.”
“If you get caught, you’ll be on your own.” Finn grabbed a pen from his front pocket, then scribbled on a scrap of paper. “Show up at work tomorrow as usual and talk to Owen.”
“You won’t regret this.”
“I know.” Finn handed Mason the note and started to walk away. “’Cause we’re even now.”
6
Avery pulled into the driveway of her house and parked in front of the garage. Jackson sat on the front step of the veranda, forearms resting against his knees, while he read something on his phone. She’d called to tell him she was running behind, but she hadn’t planned to be this late.
Tess jutted her chin toward the house before opening the passenger door. “Guess I’m not the only one you disappointed today.”
Avery bit her tongue. Arriving late to the tryouts had cost her the chance to watch her daughter swim. “I’m sorry, Tess. You know more than anyone that I can’t always be everywhere I want to.”
“These were tryouts. They’re important.”
“I know how important they are to you.”
She might have missed her daughter’s advancement to the next level of competition, but apologizing again wouldn’t make a difference at this point. Because she couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again. Couldn’t promise that the next time she headed off to a swim meet or school activity that she wouldn’t get called into work. Not being able to always be there for her daughter was the hardest part of what she did.
“Emily should be here any minute.” She handed the house keys to Tess, who was already gathering up her school bag, swim paraphernalia, and the deluxe pepperoni, sausage, onion, and extra cheese pizza they’d just picked up. “She’s bringing a couple movies and stuff to make root beer floats.”
Avery grabbed her own bag and phone and started toward the house behind Tess. At least her sister Emily was never late and always willing to help pick up the slack. But even that knowledge did little to alleviate the guilt.
Tess greeted Jackson as she climbed the front steps, then slipped into the house. Avery shot up a short prayer of thanks that Tess hadn’t taken out her frustration on him.
She stopped at the bottom of the steps and shot Jackson a sheepish grin. “I’m even later than I told you I’d be.”
“I was late too if that helps any.”
Years of police work might have taught her to be meticulous in her cases, but when it came to her personal life, she always seemed to fall short. She caught his forgiving gaze and realized for a moment how much she missed coming home to someone. Someone who helped keep her grounded and balanced.
She sat down beside him on the porch and dropped her bag beside her. “I ended up having to stay longer at the precinct, which meant I missed Tess’s swim tryouts, and then there was the issue of picking up the pizza, which took twice as long as it should have . . .”
She grasped for something else. Legitimate or not, her excuses sounded more like a cop-out. “Bottom line is that sometimes I fall short in meeting everyone’s expectations.”
“I’m not here to make you feel guilty. I came, knowing you’d been out working the case on your day off, and how on top of everything else this one hit close to home.”
Way too close.
He shot her a concerned look. “You look tired.”
“I am, but I’ll be okay.” Her body was used to the long hours and constant lack of sleep. It was the emotional issues that tended to take their toll on her.
“What about James Philips?” he continued. “Any luck tracking him down?”
Thanks to Jackson, she’d been able to add a mug shot of Philips to their crime board this afternoon. Unfortunately, finding his fingerprints on the hidden photo was about as far as they’d gotten.
“From the looks of his mug shot, he was clean cut. Six foot one. Two hundred pounds. He’d worked for a local community college as a history professor since 2005. Married to Laurie Philips, an elementary school teacher for seven years, now deceased. No children. Arrested eighteen months ago for assaulting the man he claimed to be responsible for his wife’s death.”
“A man with a record. That easily ups the odds he could have been involved in this.”
“Yes, but that is where the trail ends. Philips served his time in prison, but there is no record of employment since that time, no credit cards, not even government aid. It’s like the guy dropped off the face of the earth after getting out of prison. We put out a BOLO so local authorities would be on the lookout for him, but until we find him, we’re stuck w
ith more questions than answers.”
“And the leads from the canvassing?”
“For the most part no one saw anything. No suspects, no witnesses other than a possible homeless man we’re trying to find. Even the parked car in the alley turned out to be a dead end. Turns out Paul Adams works at the bar. When his shift ended, his car wouldn’t start so he got a ride home with a co-worker.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “You know how it goes. We’ll be sifting through possible evidence over the next week or two that may or may not be related to the case. What about you? Anything more from the lab work?”
“Just a few inconsistencies. She had an enlarged spleen, for one. I’m running tests, but as you said, it will take time.”
“Any preliminary ideas?”
“Give me another day or two, and I’ll be able to tell you more.”
Avery nudged him with her shoulder. “You didn’t come over here to talk about Philips, lab reports, or for that matter, listen to my assortment of excuses for being perpetually late.”
He smiled down at her. “No, I didn’t.”
Avery started to get up, then noticed the white box with the familiar Krispy Kreme logo sitting next to him. Her stomach growled. “You brought me donuts.”
“Someone told me you love chocolate and cream filled.” Jackson pried open the lid of the box while Avery tried not to drool. “This is supposed to be your dessert. After you’ve eaten a substantial dinner.”
“You actually think I have the willpower to wait until then?”
“I’m not getting into that argument, but you do have to share. I thought Tess might like one too.”
“You’re a smart man.” She picked one up and took a bite. “Bribery just might work in her case.”
Jackson laughed. “That was my plan.”
His smile tugged at her heart, but also brought with it the uncertainties she wanted to ignore. Being single and dating was one thing. Being single and dating and dealing with a twelve-year-old daughter had thrust her into an entirely different ball game that she knew nothing about. Ensuring Tess was comfortable with the idea and liked the man she dated was essential. She took another bite, then ran her finger across the icing on top. Gooey . . . chocolaty . . . sticky . . . chocolaty . . . Oh yeah. A few bribes here and there certainly didn’t hurt her either.
