Now You See Her - Michael Ledwidge [46]
“Wow, they gave me a bank robber,” I said. “Lucky me. This is going to be fun.”
“I got a drug dealer who killed his family!” Jane Joyce cried out. “In Texas!”
“You think yours sucks?” Mary Ann said, gaping at her case. “I got a loser they caught on a cold homicide case in South Florida!”
As always, my stomach tightened at the mention of Florida.
“A fricking serial killer, no less,” Mary Ann said. “Check this out.”
I almost bit through my latte cup. A burning line of coffee sprayed from my nose onto my chin.
In Mary Ann’s hand was a photocopied Miami Herald article. She gave it to me.
It had a three-word headline: “Jump Killer Caught?”
Chapter 57
May 17, 2001
JUMP KILLER CAUGHT?
Palm Beach County cold-case detectives placed a state corrections officer into custody for the 1993 murder of a Boca Raton woman Monday night. Police sources confirm that a DNA match led to the arrest of Florida City resident Justin Harris.
Murder victim Tara Foster was still in college in June of 1993 when she was reported missing after volunteering as an office worker at the Homestead Correctional Institution in Florida City. Her remains were found wrapped in plastic in Everglades National Park a year later.
With DNA evidence originally retrieved from Foster’s body, cold-case detectives restarted the investigation this month with an effort to obtain DNA from likely suspects. Because she’d been tied with paracord, the same ligature linked to the infamous Jump Killer disappearances in the early 1990s, cold-case officers cross-referenced original witnesses in the Foster case with former paratroopers.
Justin Harris, a veteran of the 101st Airborne and a guard at the Homestead prison, provided DNA that matched samples found on Foster’s clothing.
He is currently being held without bail.
My pulse hammered in my throat, against my temples. The photocopied article in my lap wavered in my vision like something seen through old glass.
As I sat there with Mary Ann and Jane, the traffic beeping outside on Third, the shouted coffee orders, the jet engine whoosh of the milk frother, all began to fade. In their place came a rush of images and sensations I’d thought I’d successfully blocked from my memory.
The Jump Killer’s strange dark eyes, the pungent smell of cologne in his car, the ache in my arms as I hung on for dear life as he crashed through the surf behind me.
“Hey, Nina,” Mary Ann said, looking at me with worry. “You OK? You look almost as pale as me.”
“Fine,” I heard myself saying. I braced myself and thumbed to the next page. I found another newspaper article that listed all the women whose deaths the Jump Killer was believed to be responsible for. I scanned the faces until I got to the second one from the bottom.
Above the caption “Victim 20” was a vaguely familiar face. I guess it should have been, since it was my high school yearbook picture.
Sitting there, I felt like you do in that dream where you’re back at school, and you have to take that one last test you never studied for. That sour, pit-of-your-stomach, panic-attack realization that the jig is up. The worst thing of all has happened. You’ve been found out.
“Earth to Nina,” Mary Ann said. “Hey, if you’re so interested, why don’t we switch? Connecticut’s what? Two hours away at the most. How am I going to arrange everything with my kids if I have to go to Florida? Besides, I’ve got red hair. Fluorescent bulbs give me blisters. Do ol’ Mary Ann a favor. This is a media case as well. Think of the publicity for your firm. You’ll make partner.”
A media case? It was worse than I thought. Why the hell hadn’t I heard about it?
“A media case? Really?” I said.
“Justin Harris? That’s right. I heard about it on Channel Four,” Jane said. “Get out of here. You got the Jump Killer case?”
“Yes,” Mary Ann said, annoyed. “Do you want to switch?”
“Spend some personal time