The forensic technician’s phone buzzed, and she answered it. “The medical examiner is here,” Natasha said. “Twenty-five years entombed in a basement qualifies as unusual enough to warrant a medical examiner’s visit.”
Julia felt Novak’s gaze on her as she shifted her attention back to him. “Thanks for the call, Detective. I’ll ask my aunt if she recognizes the picture taken of me or the victim.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Of course.”
She extended her hand, and he wrapped strong fingers around hers and studied her closely. “I’ll be in touch.”
She moved out of the confined basement space up the stairs to the front door and out to the porch. The sky was starlit and the moon full. Five hours until dawn was a lot of time to think. She drew in a breath.
Her father’s life had been shrouded in secrets. Her mother had always said it was a holdover from his undercover work. The strain of those secrets coupled with long absences and rumored affairs had finally been too much for her mother. Shortly before Julia turned seven, Amy Vargas moved out with her daughter. Just as her parents were considering reconciliation, Jim killed himself.
She looked back at the old house as Novak stepped onto the porch. The look in his eyes was unsettling. He wasn’t looking at her like she was a cop, colleague, or lover. Instead, his gaze was guarded. He knew she didn’t like to talk about herself. Now, he had to be wondering what she was hiding. She was a part of his investigation.
The medical examiner’s gurney rattled, and she looked up to see Dr. Tessa McGowan. Julia raised her hand. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
Tessa smiled. “Agreed. Next time a cozy tapas bar.”
Julia held up a thumb. “Done.”
She checked her watch, sensed Novak’s gaze, and looked back at him. “I’m in court later this morning, but I’ll get back to you.”
“You know how to find me, Julia.”
Novak followed Dr. McGowan and an assistant to the basement. He stood outside the small room so the two had time to adjust to the scene. She issued firm commands as her assistant unzipped the body bag and opened the sides to make way for the bones. The two laid the bones in the bag while Natasha Warner worked the scene.
“Any thoughts on cause of death, Doc?” Novak asked.
She examined the face and reached around to the back of the head. “The base of her skull feels damaged. My guess is that the blow would have been enough to knock her out, and maybe kill her,” Dr. McGowan said. “Without flesh, there’s no way to determine if there were ligature marks on the neck.” She pushed up the brittle shirt. “Tox screens won’t be possible.”
“Let me know when you do the autopsy. I’d like to be there.”
“We’ll get her scheduled in the next day or two.”
“Thanks.”
Dr. McGowan zipped up the body bag and, with the help of her assistant, lifted it to the gurney before securing it.
The concrete floor where the body had lain was stained with the victim’s outline, but there were no large dark stains suggesting old pools of blood. If she’d been struck hard, it hadn’t been here. Where the body had been was a strip of rope about two feet long with the ends cut clean.
Novak watched as Natasha photographed and bagged the rope. “Dr. McGowan, be on the lookout for any marks on the bone that might suggest blunt force trauma or a knife wound.”
“Will do.”
He followed the pair to the stairs, and when Dr. McGowan moved to heft her end of the stretcher, he nudged her aside and took the weight. It was unwieldy more than heavy and slow going up the stairs. It took maneuvering to get the stretcher around the tight kitchen door corner. When they cleared it, he and the assistant carried the gurney out to the sidewalk.
“Thanks,” Dr. McGowan said. “I’ll never say no to a bit of brawn.”
“How well do you know Agent Vargas?”
Since Novak and Julia had started sleeping together, he had resisted the idea of learning more about Julia Vargas. He respected her privacy and halfheartedly believed she would eventually open up to him about herself. Now, asking about her didn’t feel as intrusive. She was part of his case, so it was business. And when it came to a case, all bets were off.
“She’s worked with my husband, Agent Sharp, on a couple of cases. She’s new to the criminal investigations unit. She’s dedicated. Did a couple of years’ worth of undercover work near Virginia Beach. We’ve been out for drinks once, so I can’t say I know her well.”
“Does she ever say much about herself?”
Dr. McGowan cocked her head. “If you want to ask her out, then do it.”
“It’s not like that. We found evidence connecting her to this body.”
“This body? She would have been a kid when the woman died.”
“I know.”
“What did you find?”
“A picture of her with her father in the victim’s wallet.”
Dr. McGowan brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Did you ask her?”
“I did. She didn’t recognize the woman’s name or face.” And if she had, he wasn’t sure she’d have told him. She guarded her thoughts closely. “I thought you might know about her family.”
“Like I said, we went out the one time, but she never mentioned her family.”
“What’s she like in general?”
“When it comes to a case, Julia’s a straight shooter. She’ll tell you what she thinks. If she says she didn’t know the victim’s name, she didn’t know.”
“I’m not questioning her integrity. Have you heard about her father?”
“She doesn’t talk about family, but I know he was a cop. I was at the awards dinner when she went to pick up his award.”
“I was there as well. She didn’t stay long.”
“Can’t be easy. Not everyone was happy that Jim Vargas received recognition.”
When Novak had been in Julia’s apartment, he’d glanced around for the award, but there’d been no sign of it.
Wouldn’t hurt to have a look at the Hangman’s files—and poke around in Jim Vargas’s life.
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday, October 30, 7:00 a.m.
When Novak pulled into his driveway, he was dead tired and could have used an hour or two of sleep. But the dark-blue four-door sedan parked in the driveway told him his daughter, Bella, was home. He reached for his phone and checked the texts. Nothing. She was supposed to let him know when she was on the road.
He ignored the fatigue and pushed through the front door. “Bella? Everything all right?”
“Came home last night to do laundry and study in a quiet place. Where were you?”
He loosened his tie and shrugged off his jacket. He moved to the small cabinet in the entryway, unclipped his gun, and locked it in one of the drawers as he’d done since she was a baby. “Crime scene. Why didn’t you text me and let me know you were coming?”
He found her sitting at the counter, a cup of coffee cradled in her hand. She’d pulled up her hair in a sloppy ponytail, and her eyes were still puffy with sleep. “I don’t know. Guess I wanted to surprise you.”
“I would have told you to stay at school.”
“Is it a crime to visit my father?”