“You’re taking my daughter’s side?” He winked. “Why I make the best mac and cheese in the world. You just wait and see.”
She laughed for real this time. “You win. The sooner I begin the reconstruction, the closer we’ll be to identifying the toddler. At least I’m not worried I’ll receive an angry phone call about this case. The man who murdered the woman can’t be the same person who buried this little girl. If he wrapped her in a jacket and buried her with a teddy bear, the person cared.”
“I’d say you’re right on that count. Completely different MO, thank God.”
“Do you remember the woman the cops fished out of the ocean that John had me help with?” Talking about any case other than the toddler case helped release the knots in her neck.
“Yeah. What about her?”
“Did you ever show her photo at the shelter?”
His whole body tensed. “Damn. I’m sorry. I haven’t had the chance to go. I promise I’ll check tomorrow.”
“No problem. I know you’re not principal on that one.”
“I’ll check who is and let you know if they’ve brought in a person of interest.”
“Thanks.”
Once Hunter disappeared into the small kitchen, she spread her gear on the dining room table. This time she’d taken the time to make a plaster cast of the skull. No way would she chance losing evidence again. Once was enough.
The child’s jaw was missing, but she’d been able to put the cranium together using super glue. There were some cracks in the skull where an animal had bitten into the hard surface, but considering where they’d found the remains, she was happy with what she did have. The plaster mold looked good. She hoped she’d guessed correctly on the size and shape of the missing jaw.
Hunter said they were processing the jacket and teddy bear but didn’t expect to find much because of the length of time since the infant’s burial. Water and dirt had soaked the two items, rendering genetic material unviable. Her hope now was to get DNA from the tiny bones. However, without a parent to donate their own DNA, the chances of finding a match to the child were slim. Hunter had checked the missing children reports, but none matched the sex, age, race and time frame for this infant.
Before she realized how long she’d been working on the face, Hunter waltzed out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of mac and cheese into the living room/dining room area. The rich aroma of strong cheddar filled the air, and her stomach grumbled. Her last meal had been hours ago.
“Here ya go.” Pride colored his face.
“That was fast. I’m sorry Melissa isn’t here to join us,” she said. “I bet she would have loved this dinner.”
“Her second favorite meal, but I imagine she’s eating real good stuff at Jen’s.”
Kerry took the bowls from his hands set them down on the coffee table. “My work is kind of taking up most of the room on the table. Mind if we eat over here?”
“I can eat standing up, being shot at, or stuck in the middle of a hurricane. The coffee table is luxury, trust me.”
That phrase word again. Trust. Twice in two days. Why was she so afraid to let go of her fears?
Kerry dropped onto the sofa, expecting Hunter to sit in the leather chair off to the side. Wrong. He sat right next to her, their legs touching.
Hormones and adrenaline zinged through her veins. He smelled of kitchen soap with a hint of pine. Part of her told her to scoot over, but the portion of her brain that controlled her hormones told her to stay put.
While she’d never been married, she was no stranger to intense affairs. A short-term fling with the sexy detective wouldn’t be so bad, would it? It might even help her focus on something other than her past.
“You okay?” Hunter asked.
Heat zipped up her face. “I’m fine. Was I staring?” Please don’t say I looked dreamy eyed.
He had the gall to laugh. “I’d say. You looked like you were on some island paradise.”
With you. Her body temperature nearly broke the mercury on the thermometer. If only she had paranormal powers, she’d blink or twitch her nose to disappear. No luck on that front. Instead, she stuck a mouthful of food into her mouth and looked away. She swallowed and glanced back at him. Hunter hadn’t moved, his gaze still on her. He leaned toward her.
Please don’t let him kiss me. I have no willpower to stop him.
“This sucks,” Gina complained. “Are we going to stay here all night? How do we know this vagrant will even show up? What do you expect him to tell us? How do you—”
“Welcome to the world of surveillance.” Given Gina didn’t take a breath or stop long enough to hear his response, she obviously wasn’t interested in what he had to say.
Phil pulled out a cold bottle of water from a cooler in the back of the cruiser and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” Gina slumped back into the seat.
He was about to lecture her on patience and perseverance when a disheveled man in a plaid shirt, stained pants, and matted hair rounded the corner. “I think we may have our Nash character. Stay here.”
“Like hell I will. He’s not dangerous. Look at him.” The man, holding his paper bag with both hands, climbed two feet up the incline, stopped, and then proceeded another two feet, his chest heaving in between steps. Gina pushed open the door and slid out. “He’s having a hard time making it up the slope to his mattress. He has to be in his sixties. I’m coming with you.”
Christ. If her uncle ever found out about this, Phil would be pushing paper behind a desk all day instead of solving homicides. When it came to Gina, he had a hard time saying no.
“Mr. Nash,” Phil shouted.
The homeless man halted once more and turned around. He squinted, turned back and headed up to the torn mattress at the top of the incline.
“Come on,” Phil said, as he crossed the street.
The heat combined with the trapped exhaust fumes made breathing unpleasant. Gina didn’t look so good either. He grabbed her hand as they began climbing the slope. She was such a rookie. When would she learn not to wear heels on a stakeout? He’d tell her, but she looked too damned good. Why ruin a good fantasy?
“Mr. Nash?” Phil said.
The old man dropped down on his mattress. His breath came out ragged. “Yeah?”
Phil flashed his badge and the old guy squinted. He leaned closer and fear scampered across his face. “I didn’t do nothin’.”
“I know. I wanted to talk to you about Willie Wyble.”
“Haven’t seen him.”
“That’s because he’s dead.” Phil waited for a reaction, but none came.
“So? I didn’t kill him. Me and him were friends.”
Phil glanced behind him. Gina wisely kept back, her hand over her nose. Poor girl.
Phil squatted in front of the man. “I’m trying to find out who might have wanted to hurt Willie. Any ideas?”
“No.” Nash’s gaze shot to the right then left. Liar.
“Can you tell me who he worked for besides the man at the cemetery?”
“How should I know?”
Phil inhaled a couple of slow breaths. “You shared this overpass. I’m betting you two talked. Look, I know Willie loved to dig. Dig for worms, dig graves.”
Nash smiled. His teeth were surprisingly even and white. “He did love to dig them graves too. He had a cell phone, ya know, and would get calls late at night for a digging job. Someone would pick him up and take him different places. He’d come back happy. Always brought a bottle with him. Willie was good at sharing.”
Excitement raced through Phil. “Did this person drive a black Hummer by any chance?” Could the driver have been Willie’s sister?
“Never saw one of them. As I said, there were different cars at different times.”
“Okay. Can you describe one of cars that picked him up? It might have been as long as a year or two ago.”
Nash took a swig from whatever was in his paper bag. “Nope.”
He reached into his pocket, fished out a five-dollar bill, and waved it in front of the man. “Try harder.”
Nash swiped the money. “One van. I couldn’t forget it. It had Medical Examiner seal on the side.”
Oh shit.
20