Cold Shot (30 page)

Finley padded down Griffin’s steps, feeling refreshed if not fully clean. Night terrors always brought the feeling of shame, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she’d done everything right and yet she was still paying for Howard’s evil.

Please, Father, I know you’ve never left my side. I know you brought me out of that night alive and whole, despite the anxiety. Please let this fear leave for good. Let me trust in Griffin enough to share, and I pray he’s the man I think he is and will react the way I hope he will—with understanding and compassion, not guilt and pity, as Brad did.

She didn’t blame Brad. But he’d felt responsible for not anticipating Howard’s move. For not protecting his girlfriend. But it wasn’t his fault. It was Howard’s. She knew that, and told Brad as much, but he never could seem to move past it. She’d always be a reminder of the mistake he felt he’d made.

Much like Griffin struggled with guilt over Judith Connelly’s death.

Please, Father, please bring healing to us both.

I will. Through you both,
a soft voice echoed in her soul.

Entering the front room, she found Griffin perched on the edge of the couch, Winston curled up at his feet.

Griffin looked up at her, eyes brimming with compassion. “Hey.”

She slipped her hair behind her ear and moved toward him. “Hey.”

He scooted back on the deep leather sofa, his left arm draped across the cushions. “Why don’t you join me?”

She sank into the alcove of his arm, slipping the edges of her long-sleeve knit top over her hands, balling them inside as she curled closer to Griffin, letting his steadfast strength give her courage.

Taking a deep breath, she began, “Howard wanted to punish me for interfering with his
‘course of justice,’
as he called it.”

“What kind of sicko views torturing and killing women as justice?”

“The first victim was his fiancée-to-be. At least he thought
so, but when he proposed she just laughed. So he decided she deserved to die. Each victim after that had, in his watchful eyes, humiliated a man, cheated on her boyfriend or husband, or rejected a proposal. He scoured the Internet under numerous aliases looking for stories, stalking women at bars to see who was out without her spouse. It was an enterprise to him, and I ruined it all.” She took a moment to catch her breath, to slow her breathing. In
 . . . one . . . two.
Out
 . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . four.

Griffin wrapped his hand around her shoulder, encircling her with his arm, and despite the horror of what she was sharing, she felt safe, sheltered.

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.” His voice was low, reassuring.

“I know.” She slipped her hand from her sleeve and grasped his. “I want to.” She took another deep breath and dove into the nightmare. “Howard grabbed me in my house, drugged me. When I woke I was tied to a chair and he was . . .” She bit the side of her cheek. “Touching me, running his knife over me, telling me exactly what he was going to do to me.”

Griffin clutched her tighter. How she wished he’d been the one with her that night. Brad had rescued her in the end, but then he’d let her down horribly. She’d felt so alone until now. Though she’d never really been alone.

“When you pass through deep waters, I will be with you.”

She loved the verse from Isaiah. Whenever the panic surged, she reminded herself God was with her in the darkest of places and that she
would
pass through.

Griffin waited patiently. Not pressing. Just comforting.

“He wanted to give me a taste of what the end would be like. Wanted to toy with me, so he suffocated me multiple times just
to the brink of death and then stopped. He was about to cut my ring finger off when Brad and the team burst in.” He’d gotten there just in time and yet far too late.

“Oh, honey.” Griffin pressed a kiss to her head. “I’m so sorry you had to go through something so awful. If Howard wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him myself.”

Frank, one of Brad’s team, had taken care of that when Howard rushed him. At least she knew he could never hurt her again, at least not physically. Mentally, emotionally, the pain he inflicted lingered, but she had hope, she
trusted
, one day the scars would fade and she’d be free. That day was nearer now, and Griffin was a big part of it.

Thank you, Jesus, for bringing me Griffin.

Leaning against his chest, he stroked her hair with gentle lovingness, and she rested in the peace of the moment.

Avery studied Parker as he hovered over his microscope in his lab at the Baltimore Medical Examiner’s office. Being an independent contractor, he’d applied to rent lab space, and given his abilities—along with the number of cases he worked with the ME—he was granted the space. Parker’s wasn’t the typical lab—at least not what Avery pictured when she thought of a crime scene lab—nor was it at all similar to the other labs in the building. The walls were burgundy, the silver cabinets with stylized handles. Droplights provided a softer ambiance than the overhead fluorescent ones, which Parker only turned on when needed.

Rolling silver stools were tucked under the counters and pulled out when needed. While everything was meticulous and sterile, the space felt more like a home than a lab.

She glanced back at Parker, hard at work on the hair sample—the sight so familiar it was nearly laughable. They’d probably be there all night.
Intense
didn’t come close to describing the man’s work ethic.

41

G
riffin and Finley headed for the hospital in the morning. They’d spent the entire night talking. Finley sharing her experience, doubts, and fears she’d struggled with during the last year. Griffin sharing what God had laid on his heart about Parker and the forgiveness he finally needed to extend. He wasn’t exactly eager to see Parker. It was never easy eating crow, and he owed him a whopper of an apology.

He held Finley’s slender hand in his, so thankful she trusted him enough to share her struggles. Thankful God had brought her into his life.

His cell rang, and he reluctantly answered via Bluetooth, wishing for a few more moments of solitude with her. “McCray.”

“Mr. McCray. This is Jim Trent. Arthur’s brother.”

“Yes.” He looked at Finley with a smile. Maybe they’d get another lead. “Thank you for calling me back.”

“Sorry it took me a bit. I was in Boca until late last night. I spoke with Art, and he said to help you in any way I can.”

Thank you, Art
. “I really appreciate it.”

“So what would you like to know?”

“We’re interested in Marley’s relationship with her aunt. It sounds like your wife had a great impact on Marley and the direction of her career.”

“Yes. Marley was like an eager sponge whenever Andrea spoke about her work in Bosnia, whenever she told stories of what she’d seen and experienced. Andrea loathed the injustice and suffering inflicted by the men in power, and Marley took on that crusade, following in Andrea’s footsteps.”

“We were told Andrea gifted her camera to Marley?”

“Yes. She took that thing with her everywhere.”

Even to her death.

“As you know, Marley’s body was found in Gettysburg. Would you have any idea why she’d be up there?”

“No. I couldn’t say. Marley and I didn’t really discuss her work.”

“When was the last time you saw Marley?”

“Last year. Right around this time, actually. She came for Andrea’s files.”

Right after she’d seen the “ghost,” as Ben had described it. Griffin looked at Finley, intrigue raking through him. “What files?” he asked.

“Everything Andrea collected, wrote, and photographed during her time in Sarajevo.”

Griffin frowned. What’d that have to do with Perera? Had the timing just been a coincidence? “Did she say
why
she wanted the files?”

“Said she was curious about something and asked if I
minded if she borrowed them for a while. I had no problem with it. I knew Marley would keep them safe, so I let her have them.”

He hadn’t seen any Bosnia files among Marley’s belongings. “Where are the files now? Did she bring them back to you?”

“No. While she was alive, I figured she was taking her time to go through them. She worked hard and there was a lot to sift through—a half-dozen boxes. With her job, I figured it was a weekend hobby. Maybe her way of staying close to Andrea after her passing.”

“And after Marley went missing?”

“I asked Art about them. He said they weren’t among the things her co-worker sent up. I called her office and talked to the co-worker, and he said he couldn’t find them among Marley’s things. I figured they got lost in the shuffle.”

“Shuffle?”

“The police taking stuff, her co-worker. Art with his health issues wasn’t able to make it up to Marley’s place, and I don’t think it got handled like it would have had he been able. I offered to help, but by then it was already done.”

“So you have no idea where those boxes are?”

“No, and I have to admit it makes me sad. That was my wife’s lifework and something of great importance to my niece. I hate to think they’re sitting in a landfill somewhere.”

Oh, he doubted that was the case. They were either hidden somewhere they hadn’t found or they’d been destroyed.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Trent. If you think of anything else, would you give me a call?”

“You got it. I so appreciate you not giving up on Marley.”

“She deserves justice.”

“Yes. She does.”

Griffin disconnected the call and looked to Finley. “Well, there’s an interesting side note.”

“You going to ask Paul about the boxes?”

“Most definitely.”

They were still searching for a possible storage facility, but none were turning up. At least not under his name. Maybe it was time he asked Paul outright.

He dialed Paul, who answered on the third ring.

“Mr. Geller?”

“Yes?”

“This is Chief McCray.”

“Yes?” he asked, his voice hopeful. “I hope you have good news.”

“Actually I have a question for you.”

“Oh?”

“We just hung up with Marley’s uncle. He mentioned that Marley took a half-dozen file boxes of her aunt’s from her uncle’s house last fall. It seems those boxes are nowhere to be found. You wouldn’t by any chance know where they’d be?”

“You searched my place. Clearly I don’t have them.”

“Not at your place.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Mr. Geller, do you have a storage facility?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You can take that however you want. I’m tired of these boorish questions. The only person you should be questioning is Mark Perera.” He hung up.

Griffin looked over at Finley.

“I’d say that was about as clear a yes as we’re going to get.”

“I’ll talk to Declan about getting a warrant, but without
any idea of where the storage facility is, I don’t see how we can obtain one.”

“And Paul’s not going to offer anything up.”

“But why hide her aunt’s files?”

“Maybe he wasn’t specifically hiding those. Maybe they were simply among the additional items he took that he’s hidden away.”

“I’m seriously starting to wonder if he was more than just obsessed with Marley.”

“Yeah, and I keep coming back to the question of whether that obsession turned deadly.” He’d seen it on the job way too much.

42

G
riffin greeted Declan, thrilled to see his coloring returned and him sitting up alert and on the phone. He gestured them in, holding up a finger. “Okay, thanks.” He hung up and turned his full attention to them.

“That was the sketch artist I sent up to Gettysburg after Parker called and told me the hotel owner saw our man or at least the man who apparently checked Marley out. He just finished working with Linda Jo Banks. A local officer is scanning and e-mailing me the image as we speak.”