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Jo glanced back at the shop, where Lily could still be seen through the front window, shuffling paintings on a wall, her motions betraying a hint of agitation. “She’s hiding something, Sam. Did you see her? She was way too nervous.”
Sam gave a thoughtful nod, his gaze lingering on the figure of Lily inside. “Lucy recognized her scent, but Lily did have a point about the possibility that she dropped the bandana elsewhere. But I agree, she is hiding something. You think she could have been up at the owl sanctuary?”
Jo opened the back door of the Tahoe, allowing Lucy to jump in before she climbed into the passenger seat. “Maybe,” she mused, clicking her seat belt in place. “But did you notice her feet? Tiny. There’s no way she could have made those prints we found. She can’t be our killer if the killer is the one who left those tracks.”
As Sam started the engine, his eyes met Jo’s. “True, her feet don’t match. But even if she isn’t the killer,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more contemplative tone, “she might have seen something or someone. And if she did, that makes her either a witness, an accomplice… or the next potential target.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Kevin stood amid the meticulous array of the regional evidence room, a space shared by the White Rock Police and neighboring districts, including the small, often-overlooked Berlin precinct. It was a quiet room, surrounded by the silent testimony of a hundred cases. He was cataloging a set of gold chains, the camera in his hand clicking with each snapshot he took for the database.
His brows drew together, concentration etched deep into his features as he worked. The chains glinted under the fluorescent lights, each number he entered a promise of order, a bulwark against the chaos that memory issues tried to bring into his life.
Kevin worked methodically, a process that had become a grounding routine in the wake of his memory loss. His gloved hands moved with practiced ease, cataloging a series of items from an old narcotics case, each tagged and bagged, their relevance in court now expired.
He picked up a notepad from the pile, an afterthought among the more high-tech evidence. It was filled with scribbles of what looked like a programmer’s shorthand—strings of characters, symbols, and numbers, a cryptographer’s sketchbook. As he flipped through the pages, Kevin felt a pull in his mind, the sensation of a curtain fluttering in a long-abandoned room. A memory bubbled up. The thumb drive.
Without really knowing why, he pulled out his phone and began snapping pictures of each page, ensuring the focus was sharp, the detail clear. He paused over a particular string of alphanumeric characters that sparked a deep-seated recognition, a sequence that whispered to him of something important and personal.
With the notepad photographed, he emailed the pictures to his private account, a pang of urgency in his chest. He didn’t have the thumb drive here—it was at home, tucked away in a drawer, its contents just out of mental reach—but he had a hunch. A hunch that the key to its secrets was contained within the scribbles of this notepad.
The door clicked open and Officer Daniels from Berlin stepped in, a friendly grin on his face that seemed so at odds with the solemnity of the room.
“Hey, Kevin. Need to pick up the B and E evidence from last week. Roberts needs it for a lineup.”
“Should be in the back,” Kevin replied, his voice steady, his gaze never leaving the screen. “I’ll grab it for you in a sec.”
Once the last serial number was entered and double-checked, Kevin pushed back his chair and stood, his back releasing a slight twinge of discomfort. He walked toward the back, his eyes scanning the meticulously organized shelves, but a seed of doubt crept into his mind.
He paused, his hand hovering over the shelf where the evidence was supposed to be. The quiet confidence that had carried him into the room began to crumble as his mind grasped at the memory of where he had placed it.
“Everything okay?” Officer Daniels called out, leaning casually against the door frame.
“Yeah, just give me a moment,” Kevin replied, the words almost catching in his throat.
He pulled out his notebook, the one companion that never failed him, and flicked through the pages filled with his tidy, precise handwriting. His finger landed on the entry from last week, and relief washed over him.
“Moved Item #2047 for drug seizure items,” he read aloud to himself, the tension in his shoulders easing.
Navigating to a different section with a resolve that belied his earlier confusion, Kevin located the item and handed it to Daniels.
“Thanks, Kevin. You’re a lifesaver,” the officer said with genuine gratitude, clasping the evidence bag.
As Daniels disappeared through the doorway, Kevin let out a breath of relief. The room felt larger suddenly, the shelves not just a storage space but a landscape he had to navigate with painstaking attention.
Returning to his computer, he entered the new location for the item, ensuring the digital record matched the physical one. Then, with methodical care, he scribbled down a reminder in his notebook.
His hands might have betrayed the subtlest of shakes, a silent herald of his internal struggle, but his spirit was steadfast. He pressed on, cataloging the next set of items, each entry a small victory in his quiet battle against forgetfulness. Thankfully, he only had another hour to go before he was off the clock. His brain needed a rest, but before that he had to see if anything he found in the notebook cracked the password on the thumb drive.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
In the cozy warmth of Jo’s kitchen, the woods outside her window faded into the soft glow of twilight as Jo watched Bridget preparing food.
“Good thing you made a giant batch of this stuff,” Jo quipped, unable to resist the alluring aroma. She deftly dipped a fork into the pot, aiming for a taste.
Bridget was quick to bat her hand away with a playful swat. “Why is that?” she inquired with a mock sternness that only siblings could share.
“Because Sam just called. Mick’s got some lead on the case, and they’re both heading over. Thought they might want to dig in,” Jo explained, retracting her fork but not her interest in the meal.
