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The squad room was a welcome respite. Jo went straight to the K-Cup coffee maker, her movements fluid and practiced.
Jo glanced over her shoulder, her hand hovering over the assortment of K-Cups. “Coffee, Sam?” Without waiting for his response—she knew it would be a yes—she called out across the room, “Wyatt, you want one?”
From his desk cluttered with papers and tech equipment, Wyatt barely looked up, his eyes glued to April’s computer screen as he worked to crack the passwords. “Sure,” he mumbled, absorbed in his task.
The soft hum of the machine filled the space as Jo selected the pods, dropping one into the holder for Sam. Sam watched the dark liquid dribble into his navy blue WRPD mug, his thoughts momentarily adrift to the protestors outside.
“Hope that owl protest dies down soon,” he mused aloud, leaning against the counter.
Jo smirked, pressing her own mug—a vintage seventies yellow smiley mug she’d found at a yard sale—against the dispenser. “Kinda fun to see Jamison sweat, though.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Lucy patrolled the room, her nose skimming the floor tiles. Every so often, she’d pause, sniffing more intently, before moving on to the next potential clue in her canine investigation. She paid particular attention to the corners and under the desks.
Jo picked up the extra mug of coffee, the steam curling up in soft tendrils, and walked over to Wyatt’s desk. She placed it next to his mouse pad, nudging it into his line of sight. “Here,” she said.
Wyatt, his fingers never ceasing their dance across the keyboard, grunted a distracted, “Thanks,” his eyes not leaving the screen.
Coffee delivered, Jo turned and strolled back to her own space, her steps slowing as she neared Lucy. She reached down to give the German shepherd a gentle pat on the head. “What are you hunting for, huh?” she asked playfully. Lucy’s response was a nudge against Jo’s hand and a brief glance before resuming her sniff patrol.
Jo’s gaze drifted to the empty spot atop the filing cabinet where Major usually perched. “Looking for Major? If so, be careful what you wish for.” Major was probably tucked away in a closet guarding his latest toy, and Jo could only imagine the chaos that would happen if Lucy poked her nose in there.
“How are things going?” Sam asked Wyatt. “Was there anything on her phone? Her belongings?”
Wyatt’s chair groaned as he leaned back, his eyes finally detaching from the glow of the computer screen to meet Sam’s expectant look. He passed a hand through his longish hair, pulling at the ends in a gesture of fatigue.
“She only had some clothes and a duffle bag. Her phone was in her pocket, so I worked with John on that.” Wyatt squinted as his eyes adjusted to the broader light of the room.
“Find anything?” Sam asked.
Wyatt shook his head. “Just a few texts, but they’re very basic. One was to Travis and another to Archie Wells, confirming appointments.”
“Nothing personal? No calls?” Sam furrowed his brow.
“Not a single one.” Wyatt took a gulp of his coffee. “If she had another phone, it wasn’t in her motel room.”
“And the computer?” Sam nodded toward the open laptop.
“Not much to go on,” he admitted. “Cracked her password, though.”
Sam leaned against the edge of Wyatt’s desk, arms folded, a silent prompt for more information.
“The bank account’s the only thing sticking out,” Wyatt continued, taking another sip of coffee.
“Interesting how?” Sam prodded, his voice low, matching the hum of concentration that filled the squad room.
Wyatt set the mug down, a slight clink against the wood. “Her account’s seen some peculiar activity. Large sums. Cash deposits.”
“That seems to support what Archie said about her extorting money,” Jo said from her desk.
“Sure does,” Sam agreed.
“And only one check written.” Wyatt looked back at his screen. “To the motel.”
Sam’s brows rose. “At least that’s a lead.”
“And something else.” Wyatt nudged a small pocket calendar across his desk toward Sam. “There are a few notes in there about meetings, all with initials, but one very interesting note on the day she died.”
Sam leaned forward to look at the calendar. It was inside a plastic bag and lay open to the current week. The entry on the day April died had simply the initials H.M. and the time ten p.m.
