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Lexie melted, her whole body going all soft and gooey as she nestled into the couch cushions with a smile.
“Very smooth, Nico.”
He laughed again. “Glad you think so.”
“You should get some sleep.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll, uh, see you around?”
“See you around. Oh, and Lexie?”
“Mm?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it worth the wait.”
With that, he disconnected.
“Alright, people, quiet down.”
West’s bellow sent a hush over the police bullpen the following morning.
Nico—who’d been casually resting one ass cheek on the corner of Frank’s desk—stood and crossed his arms, prepping himself for whatever news the chief had. Seth and Zoe stopped whatever paperwork they’d been doing. Even Cora paused to look over from her place at the front desk. Everyone was wrung out, anxious, and more than ready to catch a break on this case.
“I just got off the phone with the ME,” West began reading from his notes. “Given what was found in the autopsy, they’ve concluded that even though there was evidence of blunt force trauma to the head, the official cause of death is blood loss. Based on a thorough inspection of the victim’s stab wounds, the murder weapon is a small, sharp blade, slightly serrated on one side. Possibly some kind of flip-blade hunting knife.”
“So, a hunter or a fisherman. That narrows our suspect list down to just about everyone,” Frank mumbled.
Sara Riley was killed with a kitchen knife.
Nico let the thought drift by as West kept talking.
“I also spoke to the lab last night. We officially have zero salvageable DNA evidence left at the scene—bar our mystery man whose semen turned up nada in CODIS.”
A few disappointed curses and groans swept through the small crowd, Nico among them.
“I know that’s not what any of us wanted to hear,” West said. “But it just means we’re going to have to work even harder to bring this asshole in. You two,”—he turned to address Seth and Zoe who’d been in charge of canvassing majority of the surrounding neighbors for possible witnesses—“tell me you got something.”
Seth huffed out a breath. “Wish we could.”
“Nobody saw anything. Nobody knows anything.” Zoe shook her head. “This guy’s a ghost.”
“Shit.” West pursed his lips, hands on hips. “What about you, Frank?”
“This just in,” Frank said, holding the printed piece of paper he and Nico had been discussing moments before. “Footage from Betsy Harland’s security cameras shows an old Chevy driving around on the night of the murder. Betsy lives six blocks from the crime scene. She handed the footage in this morning because she thought it looked suspicious. I ran the plates; vehicle is unregistered, but we did get a rough image of the driver’s side profile. You’re gonna love this.” He cast a look over at Seth as he handed the paper to West. “Looks to be Logan.”
“One of our interviews turned up something interesting yesterday,” Nico added, noting the serious glance West threw in Seth’s direction at the mention of the vehicle owner’s name. “Colin Rowe said there were rumors of a boyfriend named Logan, even though the victim’s best friend and family say otherwise. Frank’s been filling me in on these recluses we apparently have living above us.”
West rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. They’re a pain in my ass. All of them.”
“We’re going to need to talk to this guy,” Nico said. “Do you know how to find them?”
Rather than answer, West turned a pleading gaze to Seth, silently questioning the young officer.
Seth hesitated, then sighed. “Okay.”
“You sure?” West asked him.
