When there’d been no answer, he’d banged harder. Shouted, “Police!” And then there’d been the twin gunshots. Bam! Bam!
Gus had kicked in the door and they’d found the man and woman dead on the avocado-green kitchen floor, blood pooling around her chest and his head. The male had been clutching the gun. The female had been shot in the head, a terrified expression frozen on her face. Murder-suicide.
She’d called it in and the two had begun a room-to-room search. She’d climbed the darkened stairs to the second floor and moved slowly down the long hallway, carefully, her heart pounding as it always did when she had a room-to-room search. All clear so far. And then she’d reached the back room.
Seeing the closed closet door had ignited a fear that had flashed and burned hotter and hotter as she moved closer. Little had really rattled her during her nine years on the job, but moving toward that closet had triggered her heart to race and pound against her chest and Kevlar vest. Her shirt and undershirt had been soaked in sweat.
She’d laid trembling fingers on the door handle and opened it slowly. At first she found no signs of life. The closet was large and dark but it smelled of urine, fouled clothes, and rotted food. And then, she’d heard a faint rustle and she’d shone her flashlight into the dark recesses of the closet. When her light landed on the face of a young girl, Jenna had started and nearly dropped the flashlight. The child had long, matted, black hair and a large, stained, white T-shirt engulfed her thin frame. She had stared at Jenna with a gaze hovering closer to feral than human. A loud mew had escaped the child as she shielded startled eyes that winced under the light’s glare.
In that moment, Jenna was the child. This little girl hadn’t been rescued in nine days, but had languished in that closet for years.
You are the lucky one.
Lucky.
Yes, she had been lucky but the luck had exacted a price. She’d been rescued from the closet but a dark fear had remained lurking silently for nearly twenty-five years. And now it was free.
She’d called for her partner, heard the hiss of his breath when he’d seen the child. She’d kept it together until rescue crews had arrived. The next day she’d filed her report and requested leave. Baltimore, like a skin that had grown far too tight, was squeezing the life out of her.
“Lady, are you going inside or not?”
She turned to find the assessing gaze of a woman with red hair and dark-rimmed glasses.
Jenna mumbled an apology and then reached for the cold metal handle of the door and entered the building. She crossed to the information desk, gave her name, showed her driver’s license. She accepted a visitor’s badge and as she pinned it to the collar of her shirt, she faced the window that overlooked the parking lot and rolling fields. The receptionist announced her name over the telephone.
Five minutes later, a side door opened and a tall woman with dark hair and almond eyes appeared. She crossed to Jenna, her strides smooth and exuding an enviable confidence.
The woman extended a long hand with nails that had been cut short and buffed. “I’m Dr. Miriam Heller. You’re Jenna Thompson?”
Jenna accepted the outstretched hand. “Yes.”
“I understand you’re going to help us with an identification.”
“That’s correct.”
“Do you have your supplies?”
“They’re in the car. I wanted to see where I’d be working before I started unpacking. They can be bulky and unwieldy.” In Baltimore, she’d had a small office that had been her base of operations. People came to her so it wasn’t necessary for her to pack her equipment unless she was visiting a victim in the hospital.
“I’ve the specimen and as soon as Detectives Morgan and Bishop arrive, we can decide where you can do your work.”
She would have liked to work in her studio at home. There she had the sunlight and the space to create. But the cops, worried about the chain of custody, would never release the skull to her. When she came up with a face, cops would have to defend her work in court and that meant keeping a strict eye on the evidence.
“Of course.”
Dr. Heller glanced at a simple black watch on her wrist and checked the time. “Detective Morgan called me minutes ago and said they were on their way. Another case pulled them away.”
“No need to explain. I understand.”
Dr. Heller slid her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. “You worked for Baltimore Police Department, didn’t you?”
“I’ve been with them for nine years. I’m currently on leave.”
Questions sparked in the doctor’s gaze but she didn’t voice them. “I’ve seen some of your work. Very impressive.”
“Thanks.”
“The detectives can meet us in the exam room.”
“Sure.”
“Mind if we take the stairs? About all the exercise I get when I’m working long days are the stairs.”
“Love the stairs.”
As they moved toward the locked door, Dr. Heller swiped her key card and the door opened. Jenna stepped through with the doctor on her heels. As the doctor turned to close the door a deep masculine voice called out, “Dr. Heller!”
They turned to see Rick Morgan and Jake Bishop entering the building. Detective Morgan moved with a controlled, steady gait, his gaze resting squarely on Jenna. She sensed the detective did not like her. Whereas Detective Bishop didn’t seem to care one way or the other about her, Morgan acted as if he had a burr under his saddle when it came to her.
You quit.
He wouldn’t be the first cop to criticize her. She refused to justify her choices.