Page 4 of Investigate Away
“I knew he wasn’t the Trinket Killer, but you didn’t want to listen to me.Youalways brushed my thoughts under the rug, yet I was right all along, wasn’t I.” Callie glanced up at Jag, tucking her long blond hair behind an ear. Her expression turned hard and cold. She pursed her lips. “You did this,” she said, venom dripping from every word. She poked him in the chest. “Because of your arrogance. Because of your bad police work. Because of you, my sister is dead. I’m going to make sure you pay for this, Jagar Bowie, if it’s the last thing I do.”
1
A YEAR LATER…
Jagar Bowie leaned against the bar and sipped his scotch on the rocks, letting the dark liquid burn the back of his throat before swallowing. He stared across the banquet hall. Ajax Bond hadn’t wanted a big send-off, but he’d been a staple in the Seattle Police Department for as long as Jag could remember, and when you’re married to one of the world’s most popular singers on the globe, people came out in droves when you had a party. Lorre was kind of a big deal.
Ajax had just become a detective when Jag hit the streets as a beat cop. Shortly after, Jag followed Ajax, and they worked together in the property crimes division before Jag decided that homicide was more his thing. Oddly enough, Ajax gave homicide a good college try, but when the lovebug hit him, Ajax turned in his badge to be with Lorre.
Jag couldn’t blame him, but he sure as shit missed the hell out of him.
“You look like you’re sulking,” Ajax said as he slapped him on the back, waving to the bartender. “Another round of whatever this asshole is drinking.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Bond,” the bartender said.
Jag raised his glass. “Why the hell did you have to go and invite her?” He downed the last of his drink, taking in a hunk of ice with the last gulp.
“I didn’t,” Ajax said with a frown.
“She sent me a draft of her book this week. She wants to interview me all official-like for it.”
“Jesus. Are you going to? I mean, I heard the title was going to be something like:The Trinket Killer, Seattle’s Finest’s Only Unsolved Case.”
“That’s what it says on the first page.” Jag had read the introduction, which had been written by some forensic specialist with the FBI. It was informative, and Jag couldn’t argue with the content—or the statistics.
But he resented the hell out of the last paragraph.
Through a series of unfortunate mistakes regarding the collection and storage of DNA samples by the Seattle Police Department and the subsequent mishandling of the arrest and release of Adam Wanton—a person of interest in the case—the Trinket Killer is still at large. The lead detective on the case, Jagar Bowie, had an impeccable record. This is his only unsolved case.
“Are you going to read it?” Ajax asked.
“Probably.” For months, Jag had been tortured by the lingering memories of the night they’d found Stephanie’s body. His entire world had flipped upside down in a heartbeat. “The Trinket Killer is still out there.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd that he hasn’t killed in a year?”
Jag shook his head. “We don’t know that he hasn’t. He could be anywhere in the world.” Jag had done extensive searches, looking for similar crimes, but he’d come up empty-handed every time. “He’s out there, somewhere, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike.” Hindsight was twenty-twenty, and Jag should have seen it, but Callie had been right about him and his arrogance and how it affected his ability to see the problems with the case. She’d been right to question him, but his ego wouldn’t listen back then. He had the best arrest record in the department, and he wanted to keep it that way.
“The Trinket Killer isn’t your problem anymore,” Ajax said.
Jag arched a brow. “No, it’s my nightmare.” He tipped back his drink and said a small prayer to the man upstairs that Callie wasn’t headed in his direction.
But, as usual, no one was listening.
“You want me to stick around and play referee?” Ajax asked.
“Nope.” Jag slammed his glass on the bar. “Next time you and Lorre are in town, come out to Whidbey Island. It’s really peaceful out there.”
“Will do.”
Jag gave Ajax his best one-armed bro hug before he made a beeline for the door. No way in hell was he going to let Callie corner him. The last time he’d seen her had been at her sister’s funeral, and Callie had made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. She’d actually said if she never laid eyes on him again, it would be too soon.
Not to mention, she’d gone off the rails during a live broadcast, tearing into him and how he’d handled the case, exposing their relationship, and making his actions look more than questionable. He was lucky he was able to get the job on Whidbey.
The salty, cool evening air of Seattle filled his nostrils as he jogged down the steps toward the parking lot where his motorcycle awaited. He’d catch the early ferry, which would get him to his house by the time the ten o’clock news started.
Perfect timing.
“Jag,” a familiar female voice rang out.
