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There were two names, which indicated they’d only identified two of the bodies thus far, but two was better than none. Jackson needed something to use against Diaz.
He opened the first file and his heart skipped a beat. He sat back, tilting his head, studying the photo. She looked oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
He opened the documentation and began reading through it.
Olivia King.
Family: Mother, deceased, breast cancer, nine years ago. Father, admitted to nursing home, diagnosed with dementia three years ago. Sister: Anna King, deceased, died of a drug overdose three years ago.
Jackson frowned.
Anna King.
There was a file for each family member, except Anna.
“Why are there no details on the sister?” Jackson asked aloud, more to himself than anyone.
Will shook his head, still looking at his computer.
Jackson picked up the phone and called Max.
“I’m working on it...” Max said before Jackson even had a chance to voice his question.
“The file for the sister?” Jackson asked. “What’s the hold-up?”
“Yes, and the hold-up is some data in the sister’s file that doesn’t add up. I’m trying to verify a few things.”
“What doesn’t add up?” Jackson asked. He couldn’t wait for the details—he needed them now.
Max sighed, but Jackson didn’t care if Max was annoyed.
“Anna King died of a drug overdose three years ago, six months after she reported Olivia missing. As she had no will, her estate went to her father—her only living relative. It was a sizeable estate, given she was only twenty-seven. Anna had been involved in a start-up company that created some software for the government. I can’t access any details because it’s classified. She had a double degree in commerce and law, so I’m not entirely sure of her role in the start-up yet—give me another hour—but I’m assuming it had to do with legal.”
Jackson frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yet she died of a drug overdose? What was the drug?”
“Nothing on her file indicates she had a drug problem. It looks like she was at Blaze nightclub one weekend and took a bad ecstasy tablet. Four people died at that club the same weekend—must’ve been a high-dose MDMA batch,” Max said.
Jackson sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, mulling over this. “Run a check for all known relatives. And send me what you have on Anna King.”
He opened the missing person’s report for Olivia King. Twenty-four, employed as a surgical technician at Oradale Hospital.
Jackson rubbed his jaw.
Both sisters had been very smart. No prior arrests or criminal records, no history of prior drug use or mental illnesses.
Jackson shook his head. There was nothing in her file to indicate how Olivia had ended up in a barrel in the warehouse of Diaz Smith.
He stared at the computer, but nothing magically revealed itself to him.
A new file on the server stole his attention and he clicked on the folder namedAnna King.
Jackson’s pulse raced as he opened the first file—a picture of the woman in question.
His jaw dropped.
He quickly opened another folder of photos that had been discreetly taken by agents at Sloan’s the night Diaz threatened to beat him to a bloody pulp.
Jackson positioned them side by side, then rolled his chair back from his computer and stared at them.
