“But no other suspects?” Truman repeated.
“The evidence didn’t give us any new leads to follow. The interviews of her friends and family didn’t turn up any leads either. The case went cold really fast. You saw it was tied to the Jennifer Sanders death too, right? Lots of similarities that made us sure it was the same person. Both went cold.”
“What do you think happened, Ben?”
The line was silent for so long, Truman glanced at the phone screen to see if he was still connected.
“Dunno,” Ben finally said. “I think someone was passing through town and kept going. Those attacks were about two weeks apart, and then nothin’. People who do that sort of thing don’t just give it up, you know.”
“I agree.” Truman took a deep breath. “We think there’s a possibility that Jefferson’s death might be related to these two cold cases. The other three preppers too. You heard we found another one today?”
“I heard,” Ben said gruffly. “Anders Beebe knew how to try my patience, but it doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.”
“Same here.”
“How are some old preppers tied to the two girls’ cases?”
“Broken mirrors.”
A hiss sounded in Truman’s ear as Ben sucked in his breath. “Holy Bruce Almighty. I’d totally forgotten about that part. You got broken mirrors in all of the recent cases?”
“Every mirror.”
“I’ll be goddamned. I can’t believe it.”
“Were the broken mirrors big news back then? Could someone have heard about it and decided to copy?”
“Well now, I don’t know. I seem to remember we kept it to ourselves, since it was one of the things we used to tie the cases together. But you know how hard it is to keep things quiet in this kind of town.”
“I do.”
“Don’t seem possible to be the same person all these years later,” Ben muttered. “It doesn’t fit.”
“I agree. But the mirrors are making us take another look.”
“Well, I’ll think on it,” Ben said. “Maybe I’ll come in and read over my notes on the case. That might kick something loose in my brain.”
“I’d appreciate it,” said Truman. He ended the call with Ben and checked the clock.
Mercy should arrive any moment, and he couldn’t sit still. He felt like a middle school student waiting for his crush to enter the classroom.
Shit. Not cool. He was growing more and more attracted to the FBI agent.
Fucking bad timing. Plus she doesn’t even live near here.
As if location were the biggest hurdle. How about working on the same case?
Green eyes and dark hair popped into his mind. She was stubborn and nearly impossible to get to talk about herself. Maybe it was the air of mystery about her that’d hooked him. He’d always been interested in the unobtainable. He remembered how her face had lit up at his uncle’s home as she gazed at the results of his uncle’s obsession.
He wanted her to look like that at him. Not at a bunch of baking supplies.
The door out front opened and shut.
Please be Lucas. He strode down the hall and spotted Mercy in a light jacket. She turned and smiled at him and he swore his heart skipped a beat.
Get over yourself. It’s not happening.
She seemed to have perked up since they parted an hour ago. Maybe she simply didn’t function well on an empty stomach.
“Ready to go?” she asked. “Did you call Cooley?”
“Yes and yes,” Truman said. “I was—”
The door flung open again and Lucas stepped in with a cardboard coffee tray and three covered cups. “Here you go, boss.”
Reading the sides of the cups, Truman handed one to a surprised Mercy and took one for himself. “Thank you, Lucas.”
“Thanks.” Mercy took a sip and raised her eyebrows as her eyes widened.
“Is that right?” Truman asked. He’d sent Lucas to get her an Americano with heavy cream. Caffeine was a cure-all for him, and he’d taken a chance it’d help her too.
“It is. I was expecting black coffee.”
“That’s in my cup.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks pinked as she lowered her gaze and took another sip.
Score.
Little things. His mom and sister had always appreciated the little things. His dad had taught him how to listen for them, and it’d never let him down.
Just what am I trying to achieve?
He didn’t want to admit his answer.
Mercy studied the profile of the police chief as he drove toward Bend.
It’s just a cup of coffee.
But how many times has Eddie bought me coffee? He always grabs me a regular black cup of coffee.
It means nothing.
It meant he was observant. A fact she was already aware of, and a trait that made her nervous. Around Truman Daly she consistently felt slightly exposed, as if he could see she was simply a small-town girl pretending to be an FBI agent. In four days he’d learned more about her than anyone she’d worked with in the last five years.
She didn’t like it.