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He leans over and hands me one of the drinks that he placed in the holder. “Take some.”
I smile and pull the pills out, taking the drink from him and swallowing two. When he turns away and starts to drive again I pop out another two and swallow them down as well.
I stick the photo of Felicity—the girl who was shot—on the whiteboard and take a couple of steps back, leaning against one of the desks. I twist the top on the whiteboard pen back and forth, back and forth as I stare at it. Her eyes are bright and full of life, so much potential there and now it’s gone.
The sound of footsteps behind me alerts me to all of the guys coming in and I stand up, walking back to the whiteboard and crossing my arms over my chest.
“Felicity Jacobs,” I say, writing her name above her photo. “I want a complete profile on this girl. Her family, her friends, where she went, what she did. I want to know everything and anything about her.”
I turn around and face them all, narrowing my eyes and throwing the pen down on the desk next to me.
“Jane, find out who her brother is, the one she was asking about.”
“On it, Sarge.”
I cross my arms over my chest, bowing my head and taking a deep, calming breath but I find it hard to not see her lying there, her eyes still open as the life had vacated them. I can still feel her blood on my hands, I can still hear her voice clearly.
“Sarge? The forensics came back on the burnt car.”
I look up at Kurt, waiting for him to say who it is. He pulls a photo out of the printer tray and walks to the board, placing it next to Felicity and saying, “Brandon Jacobs…” He pauses, his eyes meeting mine before he says, “Felicity’s brother.”
The air stills in the pit, not one person says a word and all we can hear is the squeak of the pen as Kurt writes his name on the board. My chest heaves; I can only come to the conclusion that their deaths are connected, there’s no way that it’s a coincidence.
“Find out all known associates, interview the parents, school friends, find me something to go on!” I storm out of the pit and into my office, slamming the door behind me causing the blinds on the window to rattle.
I’ve seen things that people never want to see while working for the police force. They haunt me at night. The bloody bodies, the beaten women who won’t press charges against their husbands. Women who have murdered and got away with it, children who have been left abandoned.
I’ve been shot at more times than I can count, but luckily, I’ve never had a bullet puncture my skin. I’ve had my nose broken countless times and I’ve given chase to suspects more times than I’ve eaten, but it’s all worth it when the guilty are behind bars.
A knock at my door gains my attention and I look up in time to see Leroy opening it. “Me and Sanchez are gonna head out to the school.”
“Keep me informed,” I tell him.
He taps on the doorframe twice, tilts his head in acknowledgement and leaves.
&n
bsp; Scraping my hands down my face I take a deep breath and log into my computer. Several windows pop up that I didn’t close down yesterday and I huff at myself. I always forget to close the damn thing down properly.
I go to close them down but stop at the file that’s still open with Jonny’s photo on it. Scrolling through I try to see something on him, not caring that I get engrossed in all of the information. However much this case is taking up my time, I’m still determined to get something on Jonny. Kitty has asked me repeatedly to leave it alone, to forget about it, but I can’t. I feel helpless and the longer he’s out there the more my fingers itch to find something on him.
The obnoxious ringing of my cell echoes off the walls and I pick it up, pressing the answer button when I see Leroy’s name.
“Mackenzie.”
“Sarge? You’re gonna want to come down here,” Leroy says.
I frown at the screen on my computer, have I really been searching for something on Jonny for the last hour? It feels like minutes ago Leroy was leaving to go to the school.
“On my way,” I tell him, making sure I close down all the windows this time.
I head straight to the school where Leroy and Sanchez are and park next to where they stand outside the main doors with a woman dressed in drab clothes.
“This is the principal,” Leroy says in greeting. “Could you tell Sergeant Mackenzie what you told me?”
“S-sure,” she stammers and pushes the glasses she wears up her nose. “Felicity and Brandon are… were twins, they were in foster care. Last time I heard they were over at Wayward.”
My pulse spikes at the mention of Wayward, the place where all the criminal activity seems to start and end.
