Investigate With Me: A With Me In Seattle Universe Novel

by Jen Talty

Her sister’s murder.

  And Jagar Bowie.

  It was the latter that always pissed off Kara to the point that their friendship had become strained over the last few months. That was, in part, why she hadn’t known Ivy well.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not my thing, and honestly, it’s more of a writing thing as in Edgar Allen Poe.”

  “Ah. That makes sense,” Callie said. Ivy dabbled in writing short mystery fiction, but she hadn’t had anything published yet.

  “Would you like me to have her take a look at them and see if the pendants mean anything to her?”

  “Yes, but please don’t tell her why. This is an active investigation considering the note I got at the inn the other day.”

  “Do you want me to come to Seattle?” Kara asked.

  “No. That’s not necessary.” Callie stiffened her spine. For the last year, she’d come to rely on Kara a little too much. It was time for Callie to take care of herself. “Give Ivy my best.”

  “Talk soon and call me if you need to.”

  Callie dropped her head and rolled her neck.

  “Hey, babe,” Jag said, practically sneaking up behind her.

  She jumped, knocking over a couple of files. “Shit.”

  “Sorry.” He bent over and picked up the stack before resting his hands on her shoulders, giving them a good squeeze.

  She moaned. “You were always so good at that.”

  “Have you gotten any better?”

  “I haven’t given a massage since you,” she admitted. “What did your security cameras catch?”

  “I forwarded a link to you. I want you to watch. It’s dark, and I’m thinking it’s a woman, but I can’t tell.”

  “Okay. I’ll look now but only if you promise you’ll give me a better rubdown.”

  “Babe, really bad choice of words,” he said as he pulled up a chair, keeping one arm looped around her body. “Open up the email. It’s only about ten minutes long.”

  She pulled up her email and clicked on the link.

  A grainy video filled the screen. A dark-blue or maybe green four-door sedan rolled to a stop at the top of the hill. She could only see half of it, and she couldn’t tell if it was a Honda or maybe a Toyota. But it was definitely a foreign model. Someone wearing dark clothing slipped from the car and zigzagged through the trees in the yard.

  Whoever it was, they wore a ski mask and dark clothes with black sneakers and black gloves. She could tell they were black set against the stark white envelopes, which the person carefully tucked into the newspaper.

  “What time is your newspaper dropped off?” she asked.

  “Usually around five. But all this is time stamped, so that happened at five eighteen.”

  “Huh. I was awake,” she said.

  “Pisses me off to admit this, but so was I, though I was in the shower.”

  “I was just lying in bed, watching the news, but I was up.” She leaned in, trying to get a closer look. “Whoever that is knew where your cameras were because they made sure their face was never captured.”

  “I noticed that,” he said. “Sort of tall for a woman, short for a man.”

  “Could be either,” she said. “I remember when Stephanie started to really transition. I thought I would always see my brother Steve, but it was like one day he melted away and there was my sister Stephanie, but oddly, in the dark, other than she grew breasts and long hair, she looked the same. I told her that once, and she didn’t like it.”

  “Because you told her she looked like a man, which is the one thing she was trying to get away from.”

  Callie smiled. It had been hard for Stephanie. Most people didn’t understand, and she got bullied at lot as a teenager. Even as an adult, Stephanie struggled to fit in to society.

  Jag always made her feel like she was a beautiful woman. He even went as far as to set her up on a date with his cousin. It didn’t work out, but that’s when Callie really knew Jag had stolen her heart forever.

  “Good point,” Callie said. “I have no idea who that is.”

  “Neither do I, but I sent it to the lab. Maybe they can enhance it.”

  She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Kara warned me what coming back might do.”

  “It’s not the first time someone decided to remind me that the Trinket Killer is still out there. When I first took this job, someone thought it would be funny to leave twelve different trinkets on my porch with a big sign calling me a murderer.”

  “You didn’t kill those women.”

  His strong hands came down on her shoulders. He spun her around. The chair screeched on the tile floor. “That’s not what you told the world the day we broke up, or your last day reporting for Channel 5. And then you went and told everyone about your theory and how I blew you off.”

  “Well, you did.”

  “Actually, I didn’t,” he said. “Levi Crawford and I sat and discussed that theory one night for hours. The problem with it was the blood DNA.”

  “But now we know that Armstrong tampered with those samples and actually placed Adam’s at the scene,” she said.

  “But we didn’t know that until after your sister’s death. And since Armstrong is dead, we haven’t been able to figure out a motivation for why she did that,” he said, holding her gaze. “Had it not been for that evidence, I would have considered your theory that we had the profile all wrong and Adam wasn’t our killer.”

  “This is a big never-ending fucking loop that has driven me crazy for the last year. The publisher is fine with the book the way it is, but it feels unfinished.”

  “Because he’s still out there.” Jag took her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “But have you ever thought he might be done? That whatever triggered him, or whatever he wanted to accomplish, is over? I stayed in Seattle, and it’s been hard to let this all go, but part of taking this job was doing exactly that.” He leaned in and kissed her softly. “Finish the book and move on.”

  “Let me interview you. I need a chapter just about you. A personal anecdote of some kind. That’s really all I have left to do.”

  “If I agree, do you think you’ll be able to walk away from the Trinket Killer once and for all?”

  She nodded.

  “All right. I’ll do it on one more condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I get to kill anything in the chapter I don’t like.”

  “I can live with that,” she said.

  He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go to the station. I don’t like leaving you alone.”

  “I was thinking I’d go into town and work at the library while you were at work.” While she didn’t like admitting feeling that spooked, she had no desire to be looking over her shoulder. At least at the library, she’d be in the same building as Jag, and she could sit in the corner with her back to the wall and a good view of everyone that came in.

  The library was that small.

  Besides, she could look up old newspaper articles that she might have missed referring to the Trinket Killer.

  Or Jagar Bowie.

  Chapter 6

  “Thanks, Jenna.” Jag tossed his overnight bag in the back of his Jeep. Callie was going to be pissed for about five minutes. Mostly because he went into her room and snagged a few of her things for an overnight without telling her. She always hated when he did that.

  He thought he was being romantic and spontaneous.

  She said it bordered on controlling and manipulative.

  And then she settled in and had a good time.

  But if he was going to open up to her for this stupid book, it was going to be on his terms.

  Not hers.

  “Any time, Chief,” Jenna said, leaning against his SUV with her arms folded across her chest. “I checked the ferry logs, and Bailey left the island with her team an hour after she met with Callie.”

  “And you’re sure she hasn’t come back?”

  “I’m positive. She was too busy fucking her boss.�
��

  Jag arched a brow. “Which one?”

  “From the reputation that woman has, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s slept with all of them. But currently, she seems to be having quite the passionate affair with the news manager, Todd Geoff. They think they are being discreet, but you wouldn’t believe how easy it was to find that out.”

  “How can you be sure she was with him this morning?”

  “Because they were both in Succulent Sweets at about eight.” Jenna waved her index finger in the air. “Todd licked icing off her finger. Nic said it was the grossest thing she’d ever seen.”

  “I bet. How are Nic and Matt?” Jag asked. It had been a while since he’d seen Detective Matt Montgomery or his lovely bride. Ever since he moved out to the island, he’d pushed his old life away, Matt included.

  “Their good. Matt asked about you, especially how you’re holding up since Callie blew back into town.”

  “I’ll give him a call next week. Thanks again for everything. You know how to reach me.”

  Jenna tapped the hood of his Jeep. “Be safe, Chief.” She strolled toward the parking lot and her patrol car.

  He slipped behind the steering wheel and waited for Callie. It took her another ten minutes before she left the library and meandered down the walkway with her knapsack slung over her shoulder.

  She had pulled her long blond hair into a high ponytail. A few strands lined her oval face. She waved, pushing her dark sunglasses up on her nose. “Where are we going?”

  “Get in and get buckled.”

  “Oh, God,” she mumbled as she pulled the strap across her chest. “What have you done?”

  “What the hell does that mean?” He revved the engine before putting it into gear and pulling out onto the street. “Why would you think I’ve done anything?”

  She laughed, glancing over her shoulder. “Because we’re taking the Jeep, not the Harley, which means there are clothes in that bag, and I bet there’s camping equipment in the back.”

  “There’s always camping stuff in my SUV, you know that.”

  She tilted her head and glared. “I’m not going to go camping with you.”

  “If you want to interview me, then yes, you are; otherwise, I’m not doing it.” He gunned the vehicle, heading toward Fort Casey. After Callie dumped him and his captain forced him to take a leave of absence, he spent a month camping at various campgrounds.

  Fort Casey had always been his favorite.

  Of course, it had also been one of Callie’s favorite places when they’d been dating.

  She kicked off her shoes and put her feet on his dashboard.

  “Um. What are you doing?” He glanced in her direction. “You know I hate that.”

  “Payback is a bitch,” she said, snapping her jaw and giving him a wickedly sarcastic smile.

  “I guess I deserved that.” He took off his shades and set them in the center console. The sun settled behind the mountains, and the fog rolled in, hugging the roads like a ghost floating through a cemetery, stretching his fingers, reaching out into the night for something to grab hold of.

  By the time he pulled into the camping area, the night sky had completely taken over. He went about putting up his four-man roomy tent with a space heater while she set out the fried chicken meal he’d picked up at Star Market on the picnic table. He rolled out both sleeping bags. A year ago, he would have turned them into a double bed, but now he contemplated putting up a drape, creating two rooms.

  Fuck it.

  If she wanted him to, he’d do it when they went to bed.

  “So,” he started as he stepped from the tent. “What kind of angle are you taking with this chapter dedicated to me? I mean, you spent a ton of time already discussing my mistakes.”

  “The publisher wants me to cover what your thoughts on the case are now. I hadn’t planned on taking that approach, but I think it’s a good one. That is if you were willing to talk to me.”

  “And what had you considered doing?” He straddled the bench and grabbed a piece of fried chicken. “If I chose to keep my lips sealed.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Please,” he said, licking his fingers.

  “I didn’t think you’d let me interview you. So I was going to do the old talk to all your friends and family. Ask them about how you were handling what happened. And if no one really talked, then I’d go with the ex-fiancée angle and what I thought of what transpired and make assumptions.”

  “Oh, that could seriously be a low blow.” He bit into the cold chicken and closed his eyes. “Oh, my God, this is good.” When he blinked them open, she’d cocked her head and glared at him. “What?”

  “Do you really think I’d hit you below the belt?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Based on the eight pages earlier in the book, yeah.”

  “Okay. I guess I deserved that,” she said, waving a drumstick in his face. “But for the record, the publisher’s notes have me toning it down and bringing it to about four pages, so you won’t look like such a dick.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a slight laugh.

  “But you were right. I fucked up big time. I had no reason to arrest him until after the search warrant had been executed. I jumped the gun because I wanted so desperately to believe he was guilty.”

  “Wanted to believe? Are you saying you didn’t?”

  “I told you I spent a long time discussing your theory with Levi. I also discussed it with Matt Montgomery. Do you remember him?”

  “Isn’t he married to Nic, the owner of that awesome cake bakery?”

  “That’s the one,” Jag said. “Matt wondered if the FBI profile might be off, but we couldn’t come up with one that fit either, especially since we never could agree on the killer’s motivation.”

  “It would have been easier if it was sexually motivated,” she said.

  Oh boy. This was not going to go well; he could feel it. “Maybe, but we had straight, lesbian, bi, and a transgender. But, often violent crime scenes point to sexual motivation.

  “What?” She dropped her piece of chicken on the paper plate. “My sister’s was pretty brutal. But I don’t remember any of the other victims being beaten and stabbed more than three times.”

  “Renee had been beaten almost beyond recognition, and she’d been stabbed twenty-one times, much like Stephanie.”

  Callie gasped. Her chest rose up and down as she took a few harsh breaths. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

  “It took a while before we could lump Renee in with the Trinket Killer because of that discrepancy with the next couple of victims, but the Trinket Killer left me a little note letting me know Renee was his work.”

  “What kind of note?” she asked with narrowed eyes. “And when?”

  “Right after you dubbed him the Trinket Killer, he sent me envelope with a picture of Renee at the crime scene, alive. Told me to make sure he got credit for all his kills. Seemed he got off on the way you told his story.”

  She picked up her chicken and tossed it at him.

  He ducked, but it still managed to hit him on this temple. “Hey.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “I couldn’t. It was one of those things we kept from the public and the press. Technically, I shouldn’t be telling you now. So I’d rather you didn’t print it in your book.”

  “If I can’t print it, why’d you tell me?”

  He shrugged. He really didn’t know why he decided to fill her in on some of the things he hadn’t been able to in the past. Maybe it was because she wasn’t a reporter and he wasn’t working the case anymore.

  Or perhaps it was because he wanted to put the past where it belonged, and it was high time he found a way to forgive her for breaking his heart.

  “I wanted you to know.”

  “Doesn’t make me feel any better.” She took a napkin and dotted the corners of her eyes. “The detective that took over for you, in his statement after
my sister’s murder, he said he believed that she knew her attacker. Do you believe that?”

  “I believe that of both Renee and Stephanie. Their deaths were so brutal, but the killer took the time to clean them up. Whereas the rest, the killer only positioned the bodies a certain way to present the trinket. He didn’t seem to care about them. He cared about Stephanie and Renee. It’s why I don’t think we’ll be hearing from the Trinket Killer again. Your sister and Renee are like bookends. I just don’t know what the story is in between.”

  “Do you even care what that narrative is?” She bolted off the bench. “No. You don’t because you’ve done nothing to find my sister’s killer since you were forced off the case.”

  That wasn’t true. Not even close, but he wasn’t ready to show her exactly how much time and energy he’d spent searching for a ghost. He wasn’t sure if it was because his ego couldn’t handle the fact he’d found almost nothing.

  Or he was still holding on to the notion that he’d tell her when he found something.

  “That’s not true,” he said.

  “Fuck off,” she mumbled, storming off into the tent. She tossed out one of the sleeping bags and zipped up the flap. “You can sleep in the damn Jeep.”

  Callie lay on her back and stared at the ceiling of the tent. Her eyes burned, unable to release the tears that stung at the corners. Memories of Stephanie flashed through her mind. They had been close their entire lives, and she helped her sister navigate her transition and subsequent surgery into becoming the woman that had been trapped inside the male body she’d been born with.

  A few days before Stephanie had been killed, she’d called Callie, all excited about a new girlfriend, but it was new, and she wasn’t ready to share. Callie suspected it was because Stephanie hadn’t told her new friend she was a transgender woman. Even with having had the surgery, it often freaked people out, and many didn’t understand.

  Poor Stephanie had many friends who thought they were open-minded, but it turned out they weren’t even close, leaving Stephanie with a wounded heart.

  But on the night of her death, she’d left a frantic message, begging Callie to call her. However, Callie had been having a romantic evening with Jag who had popped the question. When the call came over that the Trinket Killer had struck again, they were in bed, celebrating.