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“On some level, he’s been expecting this,” Marc said. “It won’t make the pain any easier to bear, but it will give him the closure he needs.”
“And if the cops are lucky enough to get a fingerprint, we might get the killer—or at least his identity,” Ryan added.
“Small consolation to a father who’s just found out his daughter was brutally murdered,” Claire said. “Fearing something and knowing it to be true are two different things. The latter eclipses any shred of hope.”
Marc cleared his throat. “There’s something else we have to discuss. Not about Jan’s murder. About the one being investigated now. If Claire’s right and the victim was killed in Hoboken, it obviously suggests a pattern.”
“Damn right it does,” Patrick agreed before Marc could even finish. “The offender is striking as close to home for Casey as possible—and taunting her in the process. First, a murder near Ryan’s place. Now, a second one near me. That’s no coincidence.”
“It certainly isn’t.” A deep baritone came from the doorway.
The whole team turned around, just as Yoda announced, “Hutch has arrived. He operated the Hirsch pad correctly in order to gain access.”
“Yeah, and I identified myself to the guard outside, too.” Hutch tossed his jacket on a chair, dropping his overnight bag.
There was something about Hutch that dominated a room. He was a confident, take-charge man, powerfully built with hard features and piercing blue eyes, whose very presence screamed leadership. He’d been a D.C. cop, worked tough neighborhoods and had a scar on his left temple to show for it. He’d learned to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself, to remain silent until the person he was interviewing blurted out things that he or she wouldn’t normally reveal. He’d also learned to capitalize on his strengths and to keep his weaknesses well hidden.
Casey was his main weakness.
She looked over at him now and blinked. “I didn’t know you were coming this soon.”
“Neither did I. Not until late this afternoon. Looks like I showed up at exactly the right time. What happened?”
“The cops recovered the body of a girl who was killed fifteen years ago—possibly by the same killer we’re dealing with now—and who allegedly just killed again. At least according to what he said to me in our phone call.” Casey blurted the whole thing out at once. “Aren’t you glad you came to visit?”
Hutch narrowed in on Casey’s face. He took in her ashen coloring, her huge, wide eyes and her tousled appearance. She’d thrown on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and tied back her hair, but she wasn’t the together-looking woman she always presented to the world.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Actually, I am.” His gaze flickered to Marc. “Can you fill me in?”
Nodding, Marc rose.
“The two of you macho guys aren’t going off and closeting yourself in another room, and I’m not going to be coddled,” Casey stated flatly.
“You’re about to collapse,” Hutch said, not backing down an inch.
“Then I’ll do it here. We’re waiting for a call from the Hoboken police. Plus, the M.E.’s examining the first victim’s body. I’m not bud
ging until I know what’s going on.”
Hutch shook his head. “The Hoboken police you might hear from soon. But an update from the M.E.’s office? Especially when the cops haven’t spoken with the victim’s next of kin? That call isn’t going to come in for hours.”
“Fine. Then I’ll wait for the cop to call.”
Hutch didn’t change his expression. “Okay. Sit at the table and drink coffee. Let Marc fill me in.” He was placating her, which he was more than willing to do if that was what it took. “We won’t even leave the room. We’ll stay in plain sight and talk over there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the far corner. “Yoda can eavesdrop and give you a full playback later.”
“That’s correct,” Yoda supplied.
Casey had that “it’s my case” look on her face.
“Go ahead and run the show.” Hutch read her expression easily. “But conserve your energy. I think Marc can handle a verbal briefing, don’t you?”
“Fine. Yes. Go ahead.” Casey waved her hand. “Marc’s probably more coherent right now than I am, anyway.”
As she spoke, Patrick’s cell phone rang.
“Yeah,” he answered. A brief silence. “What’s her name and what did he tell you about her?” Another silence, this one a bit longer. Patrick’s jaw tightened. “Thanks, Al. Call me as soon as you find something out.” He punched off.
“What is it?” Casey demanded.
