Page 27 of All He Takes
She drove faster, and the trees sped by her in a blur of green and brown, the sun setting as they approached Cedar Bay.
Nicky knew that there was a chance they'd be approaching the scene and find absolutely nothing. No facial ID, no fingerprints. But she still had to see it for herself.
They came into the small, quaint beachside town of Cedar Bay. Nicky’s car weaved through the narrow, winding roads. The quaint shops and restaurants were nestled between rows of tightly packed houses and dotted with colorful beach umbrellas. Buildings shimmered in the evening sun as she drove, reflecting ripples of light across the quiet streets. The salty ocean breeze blew gently in Nicky's face through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of salt, seaweed, and damp sand.
Finally, as it was getting darker, they pulled into the parking lot of Olden's Antiques. Nicky could see other police vehicles there, and her heart started to beat faster.
She parked and got out of the car, and Ken followed her. The two of them headed toward the store, and one officer--a young, tall, lanky man--waved at them. Nicky and Ken held up their badges.
"Agent Lyons?" the officer asked, and Nicky recognized his voice.
"You must be Officer Green," she said.
"That's right. Thanks so much for coming so quickly. The manager of the store is inside," Officer Green said. "He's been really upset about this. I think he's on the edge of a breakdown."
"I understand," Nicky said. "Thanks for calling us."
Officer Green nodded, and then they headed into the store. The lights were dim, casting the store in a gloomy darkness. Nicky looked around the store and frowned. She couldn't even see the stack of photographs the officer had told her about. The store was filled with old and dusty furniture, with pieces sprawling haphazardly across the floor. The air was thick with the musty smell of old fabrics, carved wood, and tarnished metal. The shelves were lined with rare and valuable antiques, glittering in the dim light.
Officer Green led them to the back of the store, where the cash register was, and a man--the manager--was being spoken to by two other officers.
"We have forensics standing by," Officer Green told them. "But you can see everything for yourself back here."
They approached the register, where the manager--a distraught-looking older man--looked at them.
"Oh, is that the FBI?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Nicky said. "I'm Agent Lyons and this is Agent Walker. Where was the photograph located?"
He nodded at a pile next to him. Nicky pulled out a glove and slid it on.
On top of the pile was a picture, a Polaroid, just like the others. This one showed a young woman in a blue dress, slumped on a couch, with her throat slit, blood leaking everywhere, all over the furniture.
Nicky's stomach twisted. She looked at the picture and felt rage rise up in her like a tidal wave. She wanted to find this man.
"We'll need to talk to you about this," Nicky said to the manager.
"Okay," the manager said, but he didn't sound okay. His voice and hands were shaking. He looked as if he was on the verge of collapse.
"We already questioned him a lot," Green cut in. "He doesn't seem to know anything."
Nicky focused on the manager. "You have no idea who could have placed this here, or when?"
"I don't know! People rarely look at that pile, if ever. It's mostly for decoration. We have old photographs and postcards, and it's all for fun, really. When the police came in and said they were looking for something, I didn't expect them to actually find anything."
"I understand," Nicky said. "And you have surveillance footage in the store?"
"I don't," he said. "We... we don't have a lot of crime in town. At all. So, you can imagine how shocking this is for me."
Nicky nodded, though she was still frowning. She turned to Officer Green.
"We're going to need you to get footage from the streets as soon as you can," she said. "Look for a 1998 Hana Kuma. We have reason to believe the culprit may be driving that vehicle."
"I will," he said. "But we get a lot of tourists here, and people often wander in and out. It's mostly quiet, so there's not a lot of motion. You might not even be able to see the person who dropped that photograph off."
"Well, we need to try," she said. "You might as well call forensics in and take this man home for the night. He doesn't need to endure this any longer."
"Oh, thank you," the manager said.
