Page 94 of The Lost Bones
Out of curiosity, Mackenzie knocked the table in different spots. Jennings appeared in the doorway, making his displeasure known as the cops tore through his study and one of them bagged a video camera. When he saw Mackenzie fiddling with the table, he stiffened.
Mackenzie noticed. Without tearing her eyes away from him, she resumed her examination, feeling for any hollow spaces other than the drawers she had been through. There was something here. Panic was rising like a wave behind his eyes.
She knocked on a section at the bottom. It was hollow. He started breathing hard, stepping forward but then stopping himself. Mackenzie bent down. Upon closer inspection, she noticed light grooves in a square. Except there was no knob or lever. She was about to ask for a hammer to break the table if she had to when she noticed a button on the underside. She pressed it and the compartment door slid open.
“Bingo.”
She pulled two things out of it as Jennings watched. One was a plastic folder containing some documents. That made him sweat and turn white as a ghost.
Second was a gun.
“That’s not mine!” he cried, puzzled. “Cromwell! Cromwell!”
Mackenzie turned the gun in her hands.
Cromwell came into the room, volleying some excuses. But her brain was firing in all directions. When Nick arrived, she addressed only him, tuning the others out. “Looks like a .38.”
Nick nodded. “The same caliber that killed Debbie.”
“Murder!” Jennings was taken aback. “I didn’t kill anyone. This is a setup. This whole thing is a fucking setup.”
“There are a lot of .38 guns out there. This doesn’t mean that my client killed Ms. Arnold. He never even met her!”
Mackenzie eyed Jennings, who was breaking apart in front of her. Was he their elusive killer? The one who was obsessed with her?
“You make a fair point, Mr. Cromwell,” she said, sounding way calmer than she felt. “But the serial number on this weapon has been shaved off. Under the gun control act of 1968, it is unlawful for any person to possess or receive any firearm which has had the serial number removed, obliterated, or altered.” She recited the law verbatim.
“Rafael Jennings, you’re under arrest.” Nick asked for handcuffs and recited his Miranda rights.
FORTY-SEVEN
The drive from Jennings’ house was shrouded with skepticism. Jennings was being processed at the station, but he had a cunning lawyer by his side, along with partners in crime in high places. Mackenzie’s faith was fractured. All she could do was play her part. But an arrest didn’t imply justice. It was a long and thorny road to that.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Nick asked.
“Whatareyou thinking?”
“That Rafael Jennings doesn’t look like someone who is obsessed with you. But then again, it is someone in their circle. I can imagine they’re all… sophisticated.”
“According to Andrew’s profile, it’s someone highly intelligent and resourceful—and not new to killing. But then I never believed it was some junkie living in a basement.”
“We didn’t find anything at his place that would indicate an obsession with you.”
“He has many houses.” She crossed her arms. “We just need to get him to tell us where Sterling is.” She rubbed her chest, feeling as if a block of ice was sitting on it.
“You look like you’re sick. Should I turn on the AC?” Nick asked.
She shook her head. “I’m just… I just want it all to be over.”
“The case, you mean?”
She looked at him, thinking about the dream she’d had about Melody and all the thoughts that had been creeping into her mind. Thoughts she didn’t want to dwell on too much. Thoughts that scared her. It was too monumental.
Finally she knew why people could be terrified of something that could be so good.
“You’re staring. Again.” He tried not to smile.
“I was thinking.” She looked away.
