Chapter Ten

Emmet pulled up to the police station as Adam walked out with a cardboard coffee cup in his hand.

“Hi,” Adam said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Hey.”

“You want some coffee?”

Emmet had been up since five and was already two cups in. “I’m good.”

“So.” Adam slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses as they exited the parking lot. “What’s the plan this morning?”

Emmet had called him to see if he wanted to work together today. Adam was set to take his exam in a couple weeks, and Emmet had been trying to spend some extra time with him before then to build his confidence.

“We’re following up on the surveillance video,” Emmet said.

“You mean from the victim’s apartment? I thought Brady sent it to his contact in San Antonio.”

“He did.”

They hadn’t heard anything back yet, and Emmet wasn’t keen on waiting. No doubt the FBI had great resources when it came to enhancing video footage. But the man behind the wheel of Aubrey Lambert’s car had been wearing a hoodie and sunglasses when he drove out of her apartment complex. So Emmet figured the chances of the feds being able to enhance the video enough to use facial recognition software or any of their other tools were slim. They were going to have to do some old-fashioned detective work.

Emmet wove through downtown toward Angler’s Landing. He turned onto Eighth Street, a block away from the apartment’s main entrance with the still-broken gate. Emmet pulled over beside a grassy utility easement directly behind the apartment complex.

Adam turned in his seat, looking out the back window. “Isn’t that her building?”

“Yeah, and I was here earlier. I want you to see something.”

“What?”

“Just watch.”

Emmet adjusted the rearview mirror. Meanwhile, Adam sipped his coffee and checked the side mirror, probably wondering what they were waiting for.

He glanced at Emmet. “So, you took your exam what, four years ago?”

“Five.”

Adam nodded. “You think it was hard?”

“It was okay.” Emmet looked at him. “You nervous?”

He shrugged. “Written tests have never been my thing.”

“Me either.” Written exams had been the bane of his existence in high school and college, but he’d muddled through. “You been studying?”

“Yeah, and Nicole’s been giving me some tips. She seems pretty squared away.”

“She is.”

Emmet hadn’t known Nicole was helping him, but he wasn’t surprised. She was generous like that, always offering to help train new people. Even without her help, he figured Adam would do fine on the test. As a former Marine, he was thorough and detail-oriented, plus he had a good memory.

Of course, there was more to the job than passing a test. People skills were critical—more so than Emmet ever would have imagined when he’d set his sights on being a cop.

So, maybe you’re not the best at hand-holding. So what?

Nicole’s words had been echoing through his head since last night. You never let up until you get answers. You’re amazing at what you do.

The “amazing” part was her trying to cheer him up because he’d had a shit day. But she was right about his determination to get answers. It was burning a hole in his gut right now.

Emmet thought of Aubrey’s parents again—her mother weeping and her father looking ready to punch something. Both had seemed broken, but in different ways, and Emmet couldn’t shake the guilt that Brady had tapped him to lead this thing, and their team still had almost nothing to share with the victim’s parents.

Movement in the mirror caught his eye. “Here we go.”

Adam looked in the side mirror as a woman stepped through a wrought iron gate at the back of the property. She wore a gray sweatshirt and striped pajama pants, and she had a little white dog on the end of a leash.

“What are we—”

“Watch,” Emmet said.

The woman turned and picked up something off the ground.

“What is that?” Adam asked.

“A brick.”

“Is she propping open the gate?”

“Yeah.”

She walked down the street to the utility easement behind them and stood there scrolling through her phone as her dog sniffed around.

“Think that’s how the guy got in?” Adam asked.

“Yep.” Emmet glanced back at the gate. “I was here early this morning, and it was propped open then, too. Some people don’t even bother closing it when they come in and out.”

“So, you’re thinking he entered the complex on foot, not through the front gate.”

“He was probably aware of the cameras. He wore the hoodie and sunglasses, remember?”

Adam nodded.

“So, looks to me like he came on foot, then exited in her vehicle.”

Emmet put the car into gear and drove down Eighth Street. Two blocks later, he turned into the parking lot of a gas station. They were busy with morning customers, and Emmet pulled into a space beside the car wash.

They got out and approached the convenience store, and Emmet held the door for a young woman in workout clothes before stepping into the warm shop. It smelled of hot dogs already, and he got in line behind a pair of teen boys buying powdered-sugar doughnuts and Yoo-hoo for breakfast.

Emmet stepped up to the counter, where a young clerk with bushy red hair stood behind the register. Emmet flashed his badge, and the clerk’s eyes widened.

“Morning,” Emmet said. “You’ve got two security cameras outside. I need to review the footage.”

The clerk stared at him wordlessly. Then he swallowed.

“I’ll need to talk to my manager?”

“Sure.”

“One sec.”

He walked out from behind the counter and went to the back.

Adam stepped out of the store and gazed at the security camera mounted on the corner of the building.

“Looks pretty new,” Adam said.

Emmet hoped so. Some of the businesses around here had cameras that barely worked and were mainly for show, as though some cheap-ass camera was going to deter an addict who was desperate for money.

A balding guy with glasses came out from the back, trailed by the clerk.

“May I help you?”

Emmet pulled out his badge again. “Detective Davis, LBPD. I’d like to see your security camera footage for the afternoon of February fourteenth.”

The manager frowned for a moment, clearly not excited about getting involved in a police investigation.

“Which camera? There are two.”

Emmet tucked his badge away. “The one facing Eighth Street.”

“This past Saturday?”

“That’s right.”

The man heaved a sigh. “Come on back.”

The bullpen was strangely empty when Nicole walked in at lunchtime.

“Where is everyone?” she asked Denise.

“We just had a call,” Brady said from his office.

Nicole stopped at the chief’s door. Brady had his laptop computer open and a Tupperware container of salad in front of him. Nicole was pretty sure she’d never seen him eat anything green before, but she didn’t comment.

“What happened?” she asked him.

“Injury accident downtown. Someone hit a utility pole.”

“You want me to go?”

He shook his head. “I sent Emmet and Adam. I need you here with Owen. Our phone dump just came in, and we need to analyze it ASAP.”

“I’m on it.”

Nicole strode through the sea of empty cubicles. Their newest patrol officer sat at a desk, talking on the phone, but other than that the bullpen was empty. She found Owen in the conference room with his back to the murder board and papers spread out in front of him.

Nicole’s gaze snagged on one of the grisly autopsy photos as she sat down.

“When did this come in?” she asked.

“Ten minutes ago,” Owen said, not looking up. “I just printed it out. I haven’t even had a chance to cross-reference anything yet.” He slid a stack of pages toward her. “Here, look through those. That’s November and December.”

“How far back did we get?”

“Four months. Well, not even.” Owen ran his hand through his hair. “November first through yesterday, so three and a half months.”

Nicole wanted the more recent records, but Owen had first dibs, so she took the pages he’d given her and began combing through, starting with December. She immediately noticed a lot of 281 and 713 area codes.

“I’ve got a lot of Houston stuff,” she said. “I assume that’s her family?”

“Her parents, yeah. Here are their numbers.” He slid a notepad toward her with some phone numbers written down.

“Then there are calls to O’Toole’s, where she worked,” he said.

Nicole spotted a phone number that looked familiar. Was it Cassandra’s? She tore off a sheet of scratch paper and jotted it down. Then she noticed a different number that appeared six times in one day. The date was December 31.

“What’s this 512 number on New Year’s Eve?” she asked.

“You’ve got it, too?”

“Yeah, there’s quite a few of these.” She glanced up. “That’s an Austin area code.” She flipped through the papers. “A lot of these 512 calls are late at night.”

“Same with mine.” Owen pivoted to the laptop computer beside him. He tapped at his keyboard and looked over at her, making eye contact for the first time. “Thanks for helping.”

“Sure.”

“Anything new from Miranda today?”

She shook her head. “I was going to ask you.”

Miranda was Owen’s sister-in-law, but evidently he hadn’t bugged her for an update on the lab work today.

“I haven’t talked to her,” he said.

“I’ll send her a text, see what she’s got.”

“Thanks.”

Nicole typed up a message to Miranda as Owen ran the 512 number through the database.

Miranda responded immediately. Nothing yet but I put a rush on that DNA analysis.

Nicole’s pulse picked up. If the DNA came through, it would be a game changer.

What’s your best guess on timing?Nicole asked.

IDK. Maybe by Friday?

Owen pounded his fist on the table, and Nicole jumped.

“Jesus. What is it?”

“This number traces back to Samuel Pacheco.” His eyes sparked with excitement. “Sounds like Sam, the boyfriend.”

Alex Breda’s office looked dark and quiet. Cassandra checked her watch. She’d thought she might swing by for an update before her four o’clock Bikram class, but there was no Porsche out front, and it didn’t look like anyone was there. Maybe Alex had gone home early for the day. Or maybe he’d never come in at all.

She eyed Alex’s new sign as she crossed the intersection. So, was he a one-man show, no assistant? She might have made a mistake hiring an attorney whose practice was barely up and running.

Something about Alex Breda appealed to her, though, and it wasn’t just his looks.

It was his eyes. They seemed trustworthy. And when he’d mentioned that he had a cousin with special needs, Cassandra was hooked. There was something about that, as though maybe fate had put this man in her path.

Cassandra reached the end of the block and rounded the corner. As she neared the strip center for the Banyan Tree, she spied the blue-and-white awning in front of Dee’s Donuts. Just the sight of it made her stomach grumble. Her lunch today had been a kale smoothie, and a cream-filled doughnut sounded like heaven right about now. But she had to resist. One of her biggest struggles since taking this job was looking the part. People expected yoga instructors to be slender and lithe—like Reese—so cream-filled doughnuts weren’t part of the plan. Cassandra’s natural body type was voluptuous, not thin, and she had to watch her diet, especially now.

The strangeness of it all wasn’t lost on her. Growing up in western Colorado, Cassandra never would have dreamed she’d one day teach yoga classes in a Texas beach town. She’d always wanted to move to a big city—maybe Denver or even Los Angeles. But then her mother had died, and she’d ended up working in the spa at a luxury ski resort, where she’d met her future husband. She would never forget that buzzy, totally-in-lust feeling. He had been so attentive and charming that in just one weekend, he had turned her life upside down.

And now, four years later, he was still doing it.

As Cassandra race-walked past Dee’s, she noticed the people milling in front of the martial arts academy. Several moms stood near the door, along with half a dozen kids in their white tae kwon do uniforms.

A woman looked up from her phone and waved. “Excuse me. Reese, is it?”

Cassandra stopped in front of her. “I’m Cassie.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She removed her sunglasses and rested them on top of her head. “Do you know where Paula is? Our class was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.”

“I don’t, sorry.” Cassandra eyed the Closed sign hanging in the door. “Did you try calling or—”

“No answer. Just voicemail. Can you check and see what the deal is? If she canceled class, I would have appreciated a text alert. We drove all the way here.”

“Let me see what I can find out.” Cassandra walked around the crowd and tried the door to the yoga studio. It was locked, so she took out her key.

Cassandra let herself in and glanced around the dim lobby. The place should have been open by now. Danielle was very particular about having aromatherapy candles lit and the gift shop open for business as people arrived. Reese had a stretch class starting in half an hour, and Cassandra’s Bikram class began soon after that.

Cassandra glanced down the hallway and spied a light on in the office.

“Reese?” she called.

No answer.

Cassandra switched on the light by the reception desk and made her way down the hallway. Had someone come in through the back? The office door was ajar, and Cassandra looked inside.

Reese’s purple backpack sat on Danielle’s desk.

Cassandra frowned. Where was everyone?

She headed down the hallway and pushed open the door to the restroom.

“Oh!” Reese jumped back.

“Sorry. I didn’t—” She halted as she saw Reese’s tear-streaked face. “What’s wrong?”

“Cassie.” Reese threw her arms around her neck.

“What is it?”

She pulled away. Her eyes swam with tears and her cheeks were splotchy. “You didn’t hear?”

Dread filled her stomach. “Hear what?”

“Paula just called. Danielle was in an accident.”

Cassandra’s blood turned cold. “Oh my God. Is she all right?”

“No, Cassie. She’s dead.”