Andrews grunted and reached under a pile of papers for the DVD. He pushed it into a computer and the image of Riley appeared on the screen.
Bowman squared his shoulders, sliding his hand into his pocket. Fingertips brushed the knife he always carried. He studied Riley’s narrow face, more disturbed than he should be by an image taken over a dozen years ago.
“You said she’s a cop now?” Andrews asked.
“That’s right. Eight years.”
Andrews sat back in his chair, folding scarred arms over his chest. “I haven’t pinned the exact location. The painting on the wall does look like a Matisse, though I seriously doubt it is real.”
“I know next to nothing about art, but I know that name. How do you know it’s fake?”
“If it were real, it would be one of his lesser-known works, and even then it would be worth millions. Not likely to be hanging on a wall.”
“Based on what Shield’s informant told him, the Shark is wealthy.”
“The furnishings in this room appear to be top grade.” Andrews tapped a few keys on his computer, responding to a message that had nothing to do with their conversation. “I’ve isolated sounds in your tape. There’s Mozart playing in the background and what sounds like someone clicking their fingers.”
“Clicking their fingers?”
Andrews raised his hand and snapped. “Like that. A nervous habit, perhaps. Shadows on the walls suggest there are at least two other people in the room.” Andrews advanced the video and they both heard gruff words spoken. The voice was male.
“He’s hard to understand,” Bowman said.
“There are two distinct voices. They don’t sound young but aren’t old. The one with the deeper voice is telling Riley she’s lucky. He doesn’t sound happy.”
“Given the batting average for this guy, that’s an understatement,” Bowman said. “What about accents?”
“Neither had distinct speech patterns.” Andrews held one side of a headset to his ear. “The men are talking about the winning player choosing if she lives or dies. The decision is made that Riley will live.”
“Why let her live?”
“Riley was heavily drugged. In fact, judging by her pale skin and the way her eyes were turned back in her head, I wonder if they almost overdosed her. She wouldn’t have remembered anything.”
Bowman stopped the recording and studied her. “I see a faint bruise on her cheek. Knowing her, she resisted at some point.”
“Maybe. I see no other major physical issues. That doesn’t mean there weren’t any.”
Tension gripped in his gut. “Right.”
Andrews sat back, pulled off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. “So this prick left the DVD at her house?”
Bowman swallowed his anger, knowing he’d channel it when the time came. “He did.”
“You say that like it really pisses you off.”
“It does.”
“We’ve not worked a case before, but word is you have ice water in your veins.”
“Emotions don’t get in the way of the work, but I care about all my cases.”
Chuckling, Andrews replaced his glasses and grinned. “You didn’t take your eyes off the screen when the camera was on her. When I talked about them hurting her, you clenched your fingers into a fist like you wanted to punch someone. Dude, that ice water is thawing. You’ve a thing for Tatum, don’t you?”
Bowman ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tuesday, September 20, 6:00 p.m.
Riley watched as Sharp knelt by Cassie’s body, taking in the details now burned in her mind. The girl had been strangled, like Vicky, with a thin cord. Her nails and toenails were manicured, and her hair fashioned in soft curls that still hung around her face in a grotesquely odd way. Cassie wore the yellow dress, though it gapped around her waist and breasts.
Sharp approached Riley. “Tell me again how you found her?”
“Cooper and I responded to a call. When we found Kevin Lewis’s car covered in bullet holes and blood, I decided to do a sweep of the area with Cooper and we found her.”
“Where’s Cooper?”
“In the SUV hanging out.”
“Two bodies within a week, Riley. What the hell gives?”
“Bowman thinks it’s the Shark.”
“Yeah, I understand that. Is this all because of you?”
She tightened her jaw, wishing she didn’t have to speak the words. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You still have no memories of the time you were taken?”
“Only very vague ones. Smell of cigars. Sound of poker chips. Nothing concrete. If I had anything solid, I would have brought it to you.”
Sharp muttered a curse. “The forensic guys didn’t find anything on the cards you gave me.”
“There was also a video delivered to me. It was shot during those missing days. I gave it to Bowman to analyze.”
“Shit.”
“He said his people have state-of-the-art equipment that can analyze it faster than anything we have.”
A dark SUV arrived on the scene; she recognized it as Bowman’s. Oddly, she felt tremendous relief. Bowman strode toward them, his long legs eating up the distance. Deep lines were etched around his mouth and eyes as if the frown had always been there. His gaze swept over Riley. “I received your text.”
“Cooper and I found the missing girl.”
He looked over at the car. “Who called in the car’s location?”
“Russell Hudson.”
“The man who found Vicky?” Bowman asked.
“Yes.”
“Where’s he now?”
“Sitting in the deputy’s car,” Sharp said. “And he is annoyed.”
“Can I talk to him?” Bowman’s tone made the question sound more like an order.
Sharp heard it, frowned. “Sure. But I want to be present.”
“I want in as well,” Riley said.
“No,” Sharp said. “You stay clear of this for now.”
“I might hear something you don’t.”
“No, stay away. I’ll fill you in on anything that needs to be discussed. For now, I want you to clock out. Go home. I’ll call you later. And, Bowman, I want to know more about the video Riley gave you.”
“Understood,” Bowman said. His stern expression told her she’d have no help from him. It wasn’t her nature to cave, but if staying clear helped catch a killer, she’d give in for now.
She left, moving to her SUV with long deliberate strides. And when she slid behind the wheel, she couldn’t help but fight overwhelming anger. As she watched Bowman and Sharp walk to the deputy’s car, she smacked her fist against the steering wheel. “Damn it.”
With Sharp beside him, Bowman approached the car. Before he reached the vehicle, he saw the anger etched in Hudson’s face. Hudson was tugging at a loose thread on his pant leg as he tapped his foot. Bowman rapped on the door. The old man looked up, cursed, and got out of the car.
“Who are you?” Hudson demanded.
Sharp introduced Bowman and himself. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”