Page 91 of The Wedding Party

I breathe out. “Hit me with it.”

“Your crime with the box and red ribbon you posted on the NCIC system.”

I sit up a little straighter. Having my team send out a national law enforcement request for information was longer than a long shot. “Yes. What about it?”

“One of my guys is obsessed with those damn alerts. He brought it to me, and it’s a good thing. I had a box of my own, too. Red ribbon and all.”

“Really? And?”

“The woman who received it is now dead. That seems to be the common denominator between the two cases, along with the box of course.”

I’m standing now. “Tell me more,” I say. “What was in the box, and how did she die?”

“The box included proof that she’d been stealing from her company. What was in your box?”

“Our key suspect in the murder we’re investigating is adopted. The box held proof that her father’s a serial killer.”

“Okay, you one-upped me on that one,” he drawls. “Who did she supposedly kill?”

“Her fiancé.”

“Interesting,” he says. “The crime scene was set up to look like a suicide on our end, but it was a shoddy cover-up, easy for a seasoned detective to spot. I’m one hundred percent certain this case was a one and done, which is why I didn’t list it in the database.”

“And yet we’re talking?” I comment. “Who killed her?”

“Did I mention she was going through a nasty divorce?”

“The husband,” I conclude.

“Bingo. We nailed him wicked fast. She had no idea he knew she’d stolen money from her employer. We found the bank account where she’d stashed it all.”

“I assume he did, too?”

“Oh yeah. Ripe for his taking. She never touched it. Just took it. Can’t figure that part out, but the ex is a dick. Must have been her escape plan to get away from him.”

“And yet she filed for divorce?”

“He did. He had a side chick. They wanted the money.”

“How are these two cases connected?” I say, thinking out loud and settling back down in my chair.

“I think you have yourself a copycat killer, which means there has to be a connection to my case, even in passing. I’m going to send you my case files without you asking. I’m not one of those guys who doesn’t like to share. I’m the guy who wants to catch bad guys. If you want to connect me with your team, I’ll get them whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Detective Boone. This is helpful and a bit bizarre.”

“That it is. If you head in our direction, I’ll show you around, so give me a shout.”

“Where exactly is Franklin?”

“We’re roughly twenty miles from downtown Nashville and a whole lot less to the outskirts. Nashville has a boatload of small cities surrounding it, all close enough that people live in those cities and still work and play in Nashville. In other words, I’d be searching for a connection in Tennessee, not just Franklin.”

I’m already processing theories. “The wife is a nurse. She could have a connection to the hospital. Can you email me the files, including that information?”

“You got it. You want me to send the files to anyone else?”

We connect our two investigative teams and then end the call. I dial my supreme master of the internet, Hazel. “If you called to ask me to work a miracle,” she says, “I’m the closest thing to a miracle I got for you right now.”

“Well, let me give you a chance to be the miracle maker. We’ve got another box in Tennessee, but it appears there’s no real connection. It’s a copycat. Which means someone at that hotel knew about the case and has a link to Tennessee. Carrie’s a nurse. I’m guessing the connection is her. Find a link. Look at where she’s been.”