“Before you—” I began.
“Just what in the blue hell are—” he angry-whispered.
We both stopped, eyes narrowing.
“Ladies first,” Graham bit out.
I wanted to tell him where he could shove the patronizing bullshit, but perhaps this wasn’t the time. Hauling in a deep breath, I tried for a smile. Not at all sure I pulled it off, I plunged ahead anyway. “I’m just trying to help, Graham.”
“With what? We don’t need the Rangers to tell us a girl jumped off the dam, Faith. We might not be elite”—he squiggled his long fingers in the air on the last word, throwing in a derisive tone and an eye roll in case I missed the sarcasm—“but we can still manage a simple suicide case.”
Not that I needed the scorn to know he was pissed at me. His total radio silence for the two years since I’d left the sheriff’s office was a pretty solid clue. I got it, but I didn’t deserve it. And I didn’t have time for it. Not today.
I checked my watch. “Got it all figured out in two hours, huh? That’s convenient. The captain looks good for the cameras, and folks don’t get nervous about going to the lake right before the busy summer season.”
“That theory might fly further if there was any lake left for people to go to. The back of her head is bashed in. Evidence indicates she was at the top of the dam carrying a very expensive bag that wasn’t stolen. Now she’s at the bottom. But we appreciate your loyalty.” He didn’t bother to whisper that time.
I pulled in a deep breath. Recenter. Time was, I’d have been plenty pissed at the Rangers stepping on my case, too. “This isn’t about loyalty, it’s about a young woman who’s on her way to the morgue when she shouldn’t be, and a family that will never be the same. I’m not trying to steal your glory, Graham. I couldn’t give a shit if anyone with an audience ever knows I put a toe in this. I just want to get these people an answer. Same as always.”
“We have an answer. She jumped.”
“What if she didn’t?”
“What if potbellied pigs fly out of Skye Morrow’s ass on live TV at ten o’clock?” His eyes flashed, the words razor-sharp.
“It would probably raise her ratings and make her day.” I folded my arms across my chest. “This girl had college plans, Graham. Big ones. Signing day is next week. Nothing matches the suicide profile, at least not yet. Why would she want to die?”
“Same reason the other two kids did last year. Damn cell phones let bullies at them around the clock. Depressed teenagers can’t see past the end of next week. They think it’s never going to get better.”
“Bullies? You saw her, right?”
“Come on, Faith. You went to high school. Jealous teenage girls are meaner than hungry rattlers.”
I shook my head. It didn’t feel right. “She was a high-profile VIP around here. Even if the parents wouldn’t notice something off, the school staff would’ve. Or her friends. I can’t just take the easy answer as the right one. We owe her more than that.”
Graham’s turn for the deep breath. “You can’t make every dead girl a personal crusade.”
Says who? I wanted to snap, but I squished the words under my tongue before they could annoy him any more. I didn’t care what Graham thought about me. I cared about Tenley. But Graham could shut me out of the case with a quick phone call if I didn’t play this just right. Not that I wanted him to know that.
“You know I’m a good cop. And that girl’s mother is on the other side of this wall”—I laid a hand on the cool beige plaster to my left—“trying like hell to hold what’s left of her shit together long enough to get out of this building. I just wrecked that woman’s whole life with a forty-five-second conversation, Graham. I cannot leave her without an answer. Without the right answer.”
“I guess you might know a thing or two about that.” His voice lost its edge.
“I wish I didn’t.” I blinked hard. Damned if I’d have him think I was resorting to tears to get my way.
He met my eyes, his softening. “Me too. I mean that.”
“I know you do. And I know you know I cannot walk away until I’ve done right by these people. While you try to prove she jumped, whoever killed her could vanish. Leads cool quickly.” Just ask Archie. “We don’t have time to prove there’s a killer to look for before we start looking.”
“We?” Graham raised one eyebrow, his low tone dangerous. “Are the Rangers taking over this case?”
Oops. Back it up a bit.
I shook my head. “Of course not.” I smiled. “But I’m not buried at the moment.” To say the least. “I’d like to help.”
He tapped two fingers on his lips, telling me he was thinking. “You do have that creepy memory thing,” he said finally.
Score. “It comes in handy occasionally. Like, say, for identifying victims.”
“Aha.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking up on the balls of his feet so he towered over me. I stood up straighter. “I wondered,” he continued. “We don’t even have the print run back. How’d you find her mother?”
I tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my left ear. Taking that locket wasn’t terribly legal. But Graham knew I thought rules were stupid when they got in the way of justice, and I was stepping on his case—well, someone’s case. The sheriff’s office holds jurisdiction over every waterway in the county, but Tenley wasn’t in the water because of the drought. Not that the captain would let a technicality stop him once he knew who she was.
“I asked the principal to call her?” I let my voice tick up at the end like he should’ve known that.
“But where’d you get an ID? I’m waiting on prints. We didn’t find a wallet.”
My eyebrows pinched together. “If you don’t have her name, why are you here?”
“We found a bag full of gifts at the scene. Two of them addressed to students here and one to the track coach. Looking to see if they can shed some light on anything.” He crooked his index finger. “How about you go ahead and flip that switch for me?”
“I found a locket.”
Graham stuck his hand out.
“I didn’t bring it with me. It’s at the hotel.”
“What did it tell you?”
“Tenley Andre. Senior track phenom. Class president. Girl with no visible reason to leap off the dam. What was in the packages?”
Graham rolled his eyes. “We can’t open them until the lab screens them for prints and fluids.” He’d grown up enough to leave off the “duh, McClellan” at least.
“Thought you said she jumped?” I softened the jibe with a smile.
“You’re not the only one who likes to check all the boxes.” The corners of his lips tipped up. “But two and two is usually four.”
“Until it’s six.” Or 230. “Didn’t you look at her? How could she have jumped and landed so straight? It looked like she lay down, not like she fell. Remember that jumper we had at Pennybacker Bridge? Her hips were twisted around like she needed an exorcist.”
Graham offered a slow nod. “That is weird. Not impossible, but weird.”
“Worth having its own box to check. Especially when you have a ready volunteer helper.”
He scuffed the toe of his boot on the worn green linoleum, tracing the edge of one whole square before he spoke. “The most pigheaded volunteer who ever raised a hand.”
I grinned. “Think of me as your new assistant. Pinkie swear.”
His big laugh filled the tiny room. “The day you willingly sign on as anyone’s assistant anything, I’ll turn in my shield.”
Never mind that that was pretty much exactly what my so-called dream job had turned me into. I stretched my face into the smile that used to be reserved for my mother’s cocktail parties. Back when I’d still been invited.
“I hear you’re the new apple of the brass’s collective eye, future commander Hardin.” I raised one hand when his cocoa cheeks went peachy pink as he shook his head. “Look around you, Graham. Do twelve seconds of research on Tenley And
re and her friends. This could be big. The kind of big that makes careers. I’m offering you every bit of credit if I’m right and none of the hassle if I’m not.”
He folded thick arms across his broad chest. “You’re taking care of the family?”
And there was my way in. Graham hated that part more than anyone else did—he tried to look tough, but a soft heart lurked under all the muscles and bravado. Both were reasons we’d always made a good team. “Got it covered. See? I’m helping already.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned, butterflies flapping in my middle at the flash of bright-white teeth against his dark skin. My hand went to my stomach, my eyebrows puckering. I’d seen Graham smile too many times to count, with nary a noticeable twinge. Then again, last time I saw Graham, he was my partner. Noticing my partner’s smile in a butterflies-inducing sort of way was the short road to getting myself fired. Maybe him, too.
“I’ll let you do your thing, then,” he said. “All I needed to walk out of here with was an ID. Get me contact information for the parents when you’re done here, and if you can’t manage to fly under Jameson’s radar, I didn’t see you today.”
I shook his hand and promised to call him later, then watched him all the way out of the building before I turned back to the office door.
With more time, I could get Graham on board—provided I was right.
My gut was good, sure. Even so, the best instincts can be jammed by lesser interference: the day, the lake, the pretty teenage girl. Bad memories never stay buried forever, no matter how deep you dig or how far you run.
But chasing a ghost beats the hell out of missing a murderer.
Continue Reading FEAR NO TRUTH
(Faith McClellan #1):
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Also by LynDee Walker
The Nichelle Clarke series:
Front Page Fatality
Buried Leads
Small Town Spin
Devil in the Deadline
Cover Shot
Lethal Lifestyles
Deadly Politics
The Faith McClellan series:
Fear No Truth
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Acknowledgments
It was such fun to be back in the newsroom with Nichelle, and with such an exciting story to work as a bonus. I am endlessly thankful to the fabulous readers who have sent me kind notes and messages for the past two and a half years asking about more Nichelle stories, and I hope this is your favorite yet. Also grateful to my fantastic agent, John Talbot, who had faith in me when I didn’t, and to Andrew Watts, Jason Kasper, Amber Hudock, and the rest of the amazing team at Severn River Publishing for helping Nichelle reach readers and being such fun to work with. Special thanks this time to my favorite (former) US Secret Service Agent, JJ Hensley, for answering all my questions about presidential security. My thanks also to the book advocates and bloggers who help readers find my books, and to all of you who read them so faithfully. My wonderful husband, Justin, and my littles, who never complain when socks don’t match or we’re ordering pizza again because I got too wrapped up in my imaginary friends—I love you right up to the moon, and back. As always, any mistakes are mine alone.
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