Midnight Exposure Page 5

  Hugh pressed on. The cop’s voice was neutral, but anger simmered just under the calm facade. “I know you’ve got your reasons for leaving the Atlanta PD. All I’m asking is for an hour or two of your time.”

  Reed weighed guilt against responsibility. On one hand he’d promised his son he was done with police work. But dead young men were a damned heavy load. For Scott’s sake he should get up and walk away, yet he didn’t protest when Hugh opened the file on his blotter.

  “The medical examiner listed the preliminary cause of death as accidental.” Hugh dealt photos out onto his desk, the grim reaper’s version of solitaire. Reed considered closing his eyes against the visual onslaught. The quiet years had softened him. Full-color glossies of gory crime scenes used to be part of a day’s work. For Hugh, Reed buried his disgust and scanned the gruesome images.

  “Those hikers went missing in October. Remains are in bad shape. We had some unusually warm temps around Thanksgiving. Animals and insects have been at the corpse for six solid weeks.” Hugh pointed a gnarled finger at a close-up of mangled, decomposing flesh. “There wasn’t much to work with. Quite a few pieces were missing.”

  Like the guy’s head. Reed’s throat soured.

  “Decapitation likely occurred postmortem.” Hugh chose another picture. “But due to scavenger activity, the ME won’t commit to how that happened.”

  Reed’s translation: animals and insects had chewed on the stump. Six weeks in an area teeming with wildlife had taken its toll.

  The chief fished for and found an X-ray report with an accompanying sketch. “But he did note, just below the decapitation, a suspicious nick on the anterior of the vertebrae.”

  Reed let out a deep breath, pulling his eyes off the grisly photo and concentrating on the more clinical X-ray report. The mark on the bone looked like it had been made by a knife rather than teeth. “You think his throat was cut.”

  The chief flipped through pictures and selected one. “This was under the body.”

  Reed turned the photo for optimal light. A coin of some sort. Looked old. As in ancient, something-you’d-see-in-a-museum old.

  “The coin is a bronze Celtic slater, circa 50 BC,” Hugh said.

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.” Hugh leaned back. “Now if we found an arrowhead under the remains, or if this body turned up in a peat bog in Britain, I could proceed under the assumption that it might be a coincidence. But how the hell did an ancient Celtic coin end up under a corpse in Maine?”

  “How hard is it to get one of these?”

  “I made some calls. It’s not that hard. If this were a really rare coin, we’d be in luck. Unfortunately, this is the one of the most common types. It’s only worth about thirty bucks.”

  “Anything else?” Reed asked.

  “Nope.” Hugh tossed another paper on the desk, frustration deepening the lines around his mouth. “The remains are on their way to a forensic anthropologist. I won’t get any definite answers for a while. If this kid was murdered, the killer’s had six weeks to cover his ass. Now that the body’s been discovered, I don’t want to give him more time to destroy every scrap of evidence. The trail’s cold enough already. ”

  Reed couldn’t argue with that. Forensic anthropologists were always backed up. So much crime. So little time. “What about the second kid?”

  “Officially, John Mallory is still missing, but we both know the chance he’s still alive is razor-thin.”

  Authorities had assumed both guys were dead when the initial, full-out search had been called off in mid-November due to a storm that left a foot of snow in its wake. The only reason this body’d been found was a freak warm spell right after Thanksgiving. Otherwise the remains would’ve been buried until the spring thaw.

  “Well, what do you think?” Hugh asked.

  Unfortunately, Reed’s cop instincts agreed with Hugh’s. “I’d say it’s a strong possibility. But you need the ME to declare the death a homicide to justify an investigation. The town council will not want to deal with a murder if they don’t have to.”

  “I know, but I can’t let it go.” Hugh’s mouth went tight. He pulled a starched white handkerchief from his pocket, removed his glasses, and rubbed the lenses harder than necessary. “I just wanted a second opinion before I stuck my head in the noose. I’m getting close to retirement. Let’em fire my ass.” Hugh slid the photos back into the file and closed the manila cover, but Reed knew damned well the case was wide open.

  But he wasn’t going to bite.

  “I’d really appreciate some unofficial help on this, Reed. No one has to know if that’s the way you want it.” Hugh reached into his desk drawer and slid out a fat legal-size mailing envelope. “Copies.”

  Reed crossed an ankle over his knee and contemplated the zigzag pattern in his boot treads. His conscience amplified guilt like a bullhorn. His gut didn’t need corroboration. It was screaming that the chief was right. This teenager had been murdered. It all added up to a no-win situation. If Reed agreed to help, he risked exposure. If he didn’t, a killer could evade justice, maybe even go after someone else—like Scott.

  “You know what I went through, Hugh. I can’t afford any publicity.”

  “I give you my word. This is just between you and me,” Hugh assured him. “Please. I’ve got some theories, but I don’t have your experience or the extra manpower for this. I can’t ask the state for help until the investigation is officially declared a homicide.”

  “What about Doug Lang?”

  “My lieutenant is vying for my job. He’s too busy kissing Nathan’s ass to run an investigation. Besides, I’d like to keep this quiet for now. Doug can’t keep his mouth shut.” Hugh reached across the desk and inched the envelope closer to Reed. “Just take the file home and give it a look-through. Any ideas come to you, call me. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Reed kept his eyes off the envelope. He’d moved his son fourteen hundred miles to get away from violence, death, and the media attention associated with both of those things. “Sorry, Hugh. I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Reed didn’t answer. His phone vibrated. Probably a text from Scott. Reed stood and turned away. He and Scott were going to cut their Christmas tree that afternoon.

  Hugh’s gaze leveled him. “How old’s your boy?”

  “Seventeen.”

  Hugh reopened his file and tossed another color photo onto the desk. “That’s just one year younger than Zack Miller.”

  Reed knew it was a mistake, but his eyes sought the image anyway. The gangly kid in the senior yearbook picture didn’t even look like he needed to shave. A familiar pang of anger and loss poked at Reed as the young face, full of promise and bursting with life, smiled up at him. Zack Miller wasn’t going to see another Christmas. How would his parents bear the upcoming holiday?

  Reed moved toward the door. His boots felt heavier than they had on the way in. But Scott had to come first. Hadn’t his son already given up enough in the name of justice? Across the reception area, Doug Lang exited his office. Jealous anger gathered in his eyes as he spotted Reed coming out of Hugh’s office.

  If Doug didn’t despise Reed for his friendship with the chief already, Reed had just skyrocketed to the top of the lieutenant’s shit list. Reed had managed to piss off both cops in a matter of minutes.

  It had been that kind of day. It had been that kind of decade.

  A quick look over his shoulder showed the chief stuffing the yearbook photo inside the envelope. The lines in his face looked deeper, his hair grayer, as if years had passed rather than minutes. Hugh’s disappointment in him was palpable in the stale air of the tiny office. “I’m sorry, Hugh. It’s complicated.”

  Reed stepped over the threshold. The vise in his gut tightened as the chief’s voice followed him. “You know what’s complicated, Reed? Telling a couple of parents their son was murdered.”

  With those words ringing in his ears, Reed made his escape. Outside on the sidewal
k, he inhaled fresh air, but it didn’t help. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and read Scott’s text. Ready at 4.

  Great. He had a half hour to kill. All he wanted to do was return to his house and hibernate for the rest of the winter. If it weren’t for Scott, he’d go total hermit. Scott would be going away in the fall. Socializing would no longer be necessary. So why did the thought make Reed feel worse? It was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

  An ache nested behind his eyes.

  His truck was parked across the street, but Reed headed for the small drugstore half a block away. Dark had descended while he’d been talking to Hugh. Streetlights glowed along the quaint sidewalk. He pushed into the shop. Aisles were narrow. Displays crowded customers and each other to maximize limited space. Ibuprofen was in the first aisle. Reed picked up the smallest bottle and turned toward the register.

  The back of a tall redhead brought him up short. Jayne stood at the counter. In three steps he was behind her. He didn’t remember telling his feet to move. He was the Enterprise stuck in her tractor beam.

  A fruity smell teased his nose. He moved a step closer. Strawberries. The scent triggered a sharp pang of hunger that shocked him. It wasn’t an empty-belly kind of craving. It was instinct. Pure primal instinct. The kind that drove salmon upstream and made tomcats howl in alleys.

  The kind that made him want to find out what part of Jayne smelled like strawberries.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Her full mouth was curved with a hint of humor. “Stalk much?”

  “Honest.” Reed held up the bottle of pain reliever. “Didn’t know you were in here.”

  She nodded, but something flashed in her eyes before she turned back to her transaction. Disappointment?

  “That’ll be three dollars and twelve cents.” The clerk shoved a pack of gum and a strawberry-flavored lip balm into a small plastic bag. Reed’s gaze lingered on her lips. Would they taste as good as they smelled?

  Jayne counted out three crumpled bills and exact change from a frayed leather wallet. She opened her purse and tossed the wallet in, along with the small bag. Reed’s gaze fixed on a folded newspaper tucked in an exterior pocket. New York Times. Arts & Leisure section. His vision tunneled down to the picture, and the store went from cozy to claustrophobic in the time it took to read the caption.

  R. S. Morgan’s latest sculpture: Despair.

  Jayne moved aside so Reed could place his item on the counter. He paid with a twenty.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Strong muscles in his throat tightened as he swallowed. There was a sharp look in his gorgeous green eyes. Discomfort and…desire? The flutter in her belly sent Jayne’s eyes skittering away.

  She zipped her purse as she considered his offer. If they stayed in a public place, what was the harm? She hadn’t felt this much giddy anticipation since tight end Bobby Day asked her to the prom. Her day had been pretty stressful. Spending some time with a man who made her pulse skip wasn’t going to make it worse. “The diner?”

  Reed tilted his head toward the door. Jayne followed him out into the cold. Now that was a tight end.

  He looked up and down the sidewalk, which was empty. “No. There’s a bookstore a block down that serves good coffee and other stuff.”

  This afternoon’s diner brew had left an acidy aftertaste in Jayne’s mouth. Though coffee didn’t sound appealing, Reed’s company did. The thought surprised her more than the physical attraction that simmered between them. She hadn’t even dated since…Well, since.

  Had she imagined the gleam in his eyes? Only one way to find out. “OK.”

  “Walk or drive?” he asked.

  “Walk.”

  He snorted. “Still don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t trust anybody.” Jayne’s words came out more bitter than she intended.

  He fell silent. Clear eyes went flat as he studied the scar on her cheek for a few seconds. “Good habit.”

  Without apologizing, he started down the street at a brisk walk. Jayne kept pace. They didn’t speak again until they were inside the bookstore. The coffee shop on the second floor was larger and more modern than she’d expected. Jayne ordered a large hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup. As she added a giant chocolate chip cookie to her order, she glanced sideways at Reed. “It’s been a really shitty day.”

  His face softened as their eyes met. “I hear you.” He turned to the barista. “Coffee, black.”

  They took their order to a secluded corner table. Jayne sat down, purse in her lap, and eyed the tray of sugar, sugar, and more sugar. “I’m going to be sick.”

  He took the seat across from her, removing his coat and draping it over the chair back. His shoulders, encased in a gray sweater, dwarfed the chair. “Probably.”

  She wrapped her hands around the Styrofoam mug and took a sip. Whipped cream and rich chocolate blended on her tongue. “Worth it.”

  For the first time, he smiled. The expression catapulted him from handsome to Wow! Tension unfurled in Jayne’s belly. Warmth spread through her from the inside out. Must be the hot cocoa. As if. She concentrated on her cookie for a few seconds.

  “Are you an art lover?” he asked.

  Jayne looked up. He was nodding at the newspaper article sticking out of her purse. “Oh, yes. I’m a photographer.”

  “What do you photograph?”

  “Most of my paid work is travel brochures.” No lie. She’d actually only sold a half-dozen tabloid photos. No need to mention those. Or the obscene amount of money she’d been paid for them. Or how much she depended on that dirty, dirty money. “Someday I’d like to go back and finish my fine art degree.”

  He sipped his coffee and set it aside. “Why don’t you?”

  She crumbled a piece of cookie between her fingers and turned her face to the window. Daylight was fading, the sky darkening to a threatening, gunmetal gray. When she turned back, his gaze found her scar again. Knowledge lurked in his eyes—and realization sparked in Jayne. Duh. He’d heard her talking to the police chief. He already knew about the attack.

  “His name is Ty Jennings. He was in my art history class. We’d gone out for coffee a couple of times after class. He was friendly, attractive, and seemed nice enough. One night, he offered to walk me to my car. I’d parked in a garage a half-dozen blocks away from school. He asked me if I wanted to go back to his place. When I said no, he got really angry. He grabbed me by the hair and started dragging me toward his car. I screamed, and he hit me in the face. I kept screaming, even when he was yelling at me to stop. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and dug it into my face.” She closed her mouth abruptly. She couldn’t believe she’d told him all that, but she’d recited the story so many times and in much greater detail, for the police, for the prosecutor, for her therapist. The words were rote. Jennings’s release gave her old terror new life, and somehow, telling Reed felt more personal, like he would see things inside her the others had missed. “If this guy hadn’t come out of the elevator…”

  A weight on her hand stopped her from mutilating her cookie. Reed’s fingers were curled around hers, warm and solid and grounding. And the connection that sparked between them ran much deeper than skin on skin. From the expression in his eyes, both the gesture and their responses were just as much of a surprise to him. “I found out later he wasn’t even enrolled in that class. He was trolling. The police suspected he was responsible for two other abductions. The other girls were raped, murdered, and dumped in Fairmont Park. The prosecutor promised if I testified, he’d go away for a long time.”

  “How long did he get?”

  Jayne focused on his hand, strong and callused from hard work. Tiny scars crisscrossed his fingers. “It turned out that the police didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with the other crimes. He got six years.”

  “That’s not a long time.”

  “No. It isn’t. He got out last week, more than two years early. Money talks, you know. Jennings was an Ivy League frat boy.”
Jayne remembered the prosecutor’s face as he’d told her, after she’d testified, that the other charges hadn’t stuck. No guilt whatsoever. Just another day at the office—for him.

  She pushed the anger and helplessness back and drank more chocolate. Calories be damned. “He has no way to find me. Chief Bailey promised to keep an eye out for him. So, no dwelling allowed.” Enough about her. So far, he’d skillfully kept the conversation off himself. Time to turn things around. “What do you do, besides handyman work?”

  He pulled his hand away to lift his cup. Jayne’s empty hand fisted on the table. The break in contact left her uncomfortably bereft.

  “Furniture repair, general carpentry, that sort of thing.” His phone buzzed. He glanced at the display. His face went stern again. “I’m sorry. The time got away from me. I need to go.”

  “Thanks for the chocolate.” Jayne covered her disappointment with a smile. Once again, all the information had flowed in the wrong direction, from her to him.

  Reed looked like he was going to say something and changed his mind. “You’re welcome. I’d like to walk you back to the inn, but I totally understand if you decline.”

  “Thank you, but I’m going to browse for a book to spend the evening with. Even if I had wheels, it’s too cold to go anywhere tonight.”

  His tall frame unfolded. He draped his coat over a strong forearm. “OK, then. Enjoy your stay.”

  He tossed the remains of his coffee in the trash on the way out.

  Unable to sit still, Jayne headed for the bookstore below. She brought her nearly full cocoa with her. She felt raw and exposed after telling him about the attack. Why had she? It wasn’t like her to open up to strangers. Normally, she didn’t talk to anyone she hadn’t known since birth. Once again, he’d asked all the questions. She, who was supposed to be doing the investigating, hadn’t learned one thing about him. The way he locked down his emotions and personal information told her there was something painful in his past. She was sure of it. No one was that guarded without a reason.