Dr. Jones made a helpless sort of shrug. “This probably sounds impossible, but we actually thought we were convincing her. Yesterday was the third time she’d come back to talk to Cora this month.”
“Did you talk to Hathaway at all during her visit yesterday?”
Dr. Jones shook his head. “I almost did, but Cora recovered in time.”
Recovered?Jamey tried to keep her next question casual. “Was she sick?”
“Tough patient that morning,” Dr. Jones said. “She passed out after the read. But she reassured us it was totally normal and no reason to worry.”
Totally normal. Sure. Except Reece had never passed out after a read in his life.
She was tempted to ask for a patient name, but even if he knew, she needed a subpoena or a warrant first. “Thanks.” She handed Dr. Jones her card. “I may be in touch.”
Back in the lobby, she dialed up her most trusted officer. “Can you scope the neighborhood around an address?”
“Sure,” Taylor said. “What for?”
“To see if the neighbors heard anyone leave the house in the middle of the night. But Josh,” she added, “this is a big ask, it’s off-the-books.”
“I’ll go alone,” he promised. “Whose home?”
“Dr. John Camden and Cora Falcon.”
“Oh, the other empath! You want to make sure she got out of town okay?”
“Something like that.” Jamey recognized the footsteps behind her. “Gotta run. Be careful, all right?” she said, hanging up as she turned around to face the prick from the FBI, Agent Nolan. “You? Really?”
But Nolan just shook his head. He had an accordion folder in his hands. “I’m not here to fight.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Same reason I bet you are. I wanted to talk to the staff about Hathaway’s visit yesterday.”
“You’re still on this case?” Jamey said skeptically, because Grayson had made damn sure to lock out the SPD.
“Not on paper,” Nolan said dryly. “But I’m supposed to just ignore a triple homicide and a murderer at large? Might as well throw my fucking badge away.”
Jamey could grudgingly relate.
“I’m glad I ran into you, though, because I owe you an apology,” he went on. “I was tired and stressed this morning, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on your brother. It must have been so hard for a violence-averse empath to go to a homicide scene, but he still did and tried to help, and that’s admirable. Is he doing okay?”
Jamey stilled. That was unexpected. “He’s been better.”
“I bet,” said Nolan. “No hard feelings?”
“Sure.” Feelings were Reece’s territory. Jamey had bigger concerns than holding a grudge against an FBI agent also trying to solve a homicide.
Nolan held out the folder. “Here.”
She took it. “What’s this?” she said, as she thumbed through the folders inside, all labeled with names.
“Peace offering.” When she glanced up, he added, “The schedules and reports of everyone who so much as saw Hathaway yesterday.”
She looked up sharply. “You already got them?”
“I got a lucky tip,” he said. “And these files weren’t in records; they were in the mailroom, about to be picked up by courier to be taken to some nameless drop box in Bellevue. But it turns out minimum-wage couriers don’t want to mess with the FBI. Or the Patriot Act.”
Nolan pointed to the café across the street. “I’m going to have to bring the files back before alarms get raised but I can share first. Let me buy you lunch and let you have a look.”
