Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [99]
J.B.
Old Hwy
7:00 5/16
It was followed by two large question marks.
“Did Tricia know Jamie Brower?” Hollis asked.
“She never mentioned it, if she did.”
“How did she react when Jamie was murdered?”
“Shocked and horrified, just like the rest of us.” Caleb frowned. “She did take a few vacation days unexpectedly, now that I think about it.”
“Did she leave town?”
“She said she was going to. The time off was because her sister had had surgery, and Tricia needed to go to Augusta and help take care of the kids.”
Hollis pushed the note to one side and hunted through the folders stacked on the table until she found the one she wanted. She looked through several pages, frowning, then paused. “Okay. According to her sister's statement, at the time of Tricia's death she hadn't seen her in more than three months. I thought I remembered reading that.”
“Tricia lied to me?” Caleb was baffled. “Why? I mean, it's not like I even asked her why she needed the time off. She had so much vacation and sick time accumulated, I remember telling her to take a week or two if that's what she needed. But she came back to work about . . . four days later.”
Hollis looked through the folder for several more minutes, pausing here and there, and finally closed it. “We've backtracked every victim's life for about two weeks prior to their murders, which means we have information that starts tracking Tricia just a few days after Jamie was killed.”
“So you don't know if she was here in town or went somewhere else.”
“No. Shouldn't be too difficult to find out, though. Her apartment manager has been very cooperative, and Tricia was a friendly neighbor, so her neighbors noticed her.”
“A lesson to all of us not to become too isolated, I guess.”
“One way to look at it.” Hollis hesitated, then said, “Did Tricia ever show up to work with unexplained bruises or burns, anything like that?”
“No. I told you her former boyfriend showed no signs of abusing her. I never saw a bruise, and since she seldom wore makeup I think I would have noticed.”
“True enough.” Hollis smiled. “Thanks for bringing this in, Caleb.”
He took the hint and rose to his feet. “I only hope it turns out to be helpful.”
“I'll let you know,” she promised. “That closure we were talking about.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” He hesitated just an instant, then turned and left the conference room.
Hollis was just about to call Ginny in and find out if the younger officer wanted to share a pizza and do some brainstorming when she felt a sudden chill, as if someone had opened a window into winter.
She watched gooseflesh rise on her arms and had to force herself to look up, toward the doorway.
Jamie Brower stood there.
“Oh, shit,” Hollis murmured.
She wasn't solid flesh, but neither was she a ghostly, wispy thing; she was definitely clearer and more distinct than Hollis had yet seen her. In this form, anyway.
Her expression was anxious, worried; Jamie said something—or tried to. All Hollis heard was that peculiar hollow silence.
“I'm sorry,” she said, trying to hold her own voice steady. Trying not to feel terrified. “I can't hear you.”
Jamie moved a step closer to the table and Hollis. Or rather—and very eerily—floated closer, since she didn't seem to actually take a physical step.
Again, she tried to say something.
This time, Hollis could—almost—hear something. Like a quiet voice speaking from the far end of a huge room.
She focused, concentrated. “I can just barely hear . . . Try again, please. What do you need to tell me?”
Jamie's mouth moved as she tried to communicate, the intensity of her need so obvious that Hollis could literally feel it, like something pushing at her.
Unnerved, Hollis lost both concentration and the desire to keep trying. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, but I just can't hear you,” she said, her own voice unsteady now.
An expression of pure frustration crossed Jamie's lovely face, twisting it, and she threw up her arms in the gesture of someone reaching the end of her limits.