Kerry let out a breath. “Thank you.”
Hunter shifted his stance, tucked his thumbs in his pockets and straightened. He cleared his throat. “Let me show you to your suite.” Her heart thawed under the heat of his smile.
He led her into a room measuring about twelve feet by ten feet. All the office furnishings were a boring brown down to the desk, two bookcases, one five-drawer file cabinet and a sofa.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s all the space I have.”
Had the disappointment she’d tried hard to bury color her face? At least there was a closet for her to hang her things. “No. It’s perfect.”
“Unpack, then meet me in the living room. I want to go over your statement again.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes witnesses recall things after they’ve had time to reflect.”
She shrugged. “You’re the expert.”
Hunter leaned against the back of the sofa and slapped his notebook closed. “I appreciate your willingness to talk about this nightmare one more time.”
“I wish I could remember more,” Kerry said. “I know how much one sound, one smell, one thing out of place can help.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “It feels like someone erased my memory after I went back to sleep.”
“You did fine.”
She leaned forward on the recliner across from him. “Let me make it up to you by cooking dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that. You’ve recalled more than most witnesses I’ve interviewed.”
Her lips pressed together. “That may be, but I need to do something with my hands or I’ll go crazy.”
“You sure? I suck at cooking, so you won’t get an argument from me.” He mentally raced through what he had in the cupboard and in the refrigerator. “I don’t have much in the way of fancy ingredients.”
She smiled and his other brain reacted.
“Leave everything to me and your daughter.”
“You’re the boss.”
Hunter gathered Melissa and let the two of them do their thing. His daughter was overjoyed when Kerry asked her to choose the menu. Her pick was spaghetti and meatballs. He could have guessed. It was his daughter’s favorite.
As they searched the kitchen for the pots and pans to prepare the meal, he squeezed his eyes shut when Kerry guided Melissa’s hand in stirring the pot.
He wasn’t wishing for an Amy replacement. Far from it. But someday he dreamed of a mother for Melissa and a wife at his side—someone who would understand the rigors of police work. That was one area where he and Amy had disagreed almost nightly. She never understood why he couldn’t just walk away from an assignment when she wanted him home.
“Melissa,” Kerry said, “would you mind setting the table?”
“Sure.” She spun around toward Hunter. “Can you help me, Daddy?”
Hunter pushed away from the doorjamb and hustled toward her. He pulled the dishes from the cabinets and placed them on the table. Melissa took over and lined up the silverware next to the plates.
Ten minutes later, Kerry brought over the meal to the table and smiled. “Dinner’s ready.”
Her smile almost made him forget why she was here.
They ate in silence for the first few minutes. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been.
Melissa broke the quiet. “This is great, Kerry. Daddy’s not a very good cook.”
“Hey, watch it, Pumpkin. I can boil water with the best of them.” He reached over and ruffled her hair.
“Aw, Daddy, I was only kidding.”
Little stinker would be a major man-eater when she grew up. She was sprouting up way too fast for him as it was.
Just as they finished, his phone rang. “Excuse me.” He glanced at the caller ID, but didn’t recognize the number. “Markum.”
“Detective... Markum?”
“Yes.”
“This is Jamal Wilson. I saw you on the news. I think the clay model might be my fiancée. She disappeared seven months ago.”
His pulse jetted into overdrive. Hunter recognized the name. Jamal had been questioned when his fiancée went missing. “Would you mind coming to the police station? You can get a closer look at the model.”
“Sure. When?”
“Say, in forty-five minutes?”
“I can be there.”
“And bring some photos of your fiancée. They’ll help our forensic anthropologist determine if our body is hers.”
Jamal let out a small gasp that sounded fake.
“I’ll, ah, see what I have. Bye.” Jamal disconnected.
Hunter put his cell phone away. Every muscle in Kerry’s body tensed. Because Hunter didn’t want to discuss anything in front of Melissa, he lifted his daughter’s chin. “Sweetheart. I’m afraid—”
She moved out of his reach and his throat clogged. Hunter swallowed. “Melissa?”
“I know. You have to take care of something.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’ll get ready to go over to Aunt Jen’s.”
Her small cracking voice ripped him up inside. “I’m sorry, hon.”
“That’s okay. You have to save the world. I understand.”
Jen must have told her that tale. He leaned over and kissed her. “Get ready then.”
When Melissa had left the kitchen, he told Kerry about the call.
Her eyes brightened. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I can’t help but be excited. We might have identified our second victim.”
After they dropped Melissa off at Jen’s house, Hunter drove them to the M.E.’s office to pick up #1’s reconstruction for Jamal to study up close and personal. Good thing Kerry had the key code to get in.
The head-on-a-stick, as Hunter dubbed it, now sat in front of Jamal Wilson at the conference table.
“I’m not sure,” Jamal said, shaking his head at the model.
“Why did you wait so long to call?” Hunter asked. They’d displayed the case three days ago.
“The face only kind of looked like Tameka, you know what I mean?”
Kerry leaned forward. “Reconstructions aren’t exact science, Mr. Wilson. I had to guess the shape of the lips, ears, eyelids and other parts that are formed by fatty tissue rather than by bone.” Kerry tapped the pile of photos he had sitting in front of him. “May I see what you brought?”
“Sorry.” He slid the pictures over to her. “I had to get them from her mom.”
He didn’t have any photos of her? Something didn’t fit.
Kerry flipped through the pictures. “May I keep these for a little while? I’d like to scan them into the computer to compare them to the X-ray of her face. This might give me a better idea if we have a match.”
“Sure, whatever.”
Hunter opened Wilson’s file. “It says here you were brought in for questioning in regards to Tameka’s disappearance.”
“Yeah, but they got nothin’ on me.” Cocky SOB.
Hunter leaned back. “You and I both know, Mr. Wilson, that if this is Tameka’s body, we could bring formal charges against you.”
He waved a hand, but Hunter could tell it was all bravado. “I got nothing to hide. I didn’t kill her. I loved her.”
That was why he’d hit her. “Says here there were four domestic violence calls against you.”
Wilson crossed his arms. “I didn’t come here to get fucking interrogated. I wanted to make sure this was my woman, that she hadn’t run off.”
He probably meant he wanted to make sure his slave hadn’t left on her own free will. Most likely he missed having her cook and clean for him.
Hunter’s avenue of questioning wasn’t getting him anywhere. “Why don’t you start with the last time you saw Tameka?”
Jamal shrugged. “I don’t know the exact date. It’s been a long time, ya know?”
“What were you doing right before she disappeared? Surely, you can remember the day Tameka didn’t come home. After all, you were engaged to the woman.” Acid burned in Hunter’s gut. The man didn’t deserve Tameka.
“Sure. I was at work. She had some kind of doctor’s appointment or something after she finished her shift. I never saw her again after that.”
Hunter straightened. “What kind of doctor’s appointment?”
Jamal skewed up his lips. “What do you care?”
“It may be important.” Hunter forced his tone to be civil.
Jamal rolled his eyes. “I think it was a plastic surgeon. She’d had to have some work done to her face and all.”
“For what kind of procedure?”