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The cool, bitter taste sent shocks through Connelly’s system, washing away the traces of anxiety that had been gnawing at him since he left Veronica.
She’d be okay.
Zak and Donovan were both on guard duty at the base of the driveway. It was Zak’s overnight shift, but Donovan wasn’t about to stay away since his pregnant wife was inside. Ash’s deputies—both good, solid cops—were parked on the street. The house was filled with women, most of whom knew their way around a firearm.
She was okay.
Tonight would be good for her.
And he had work to do.
He unzipped his laptop bag and pulled the computer out. “I had a thought earlier today.”
“Yeah?” Cal said and also reached for his briefcase. “So did I, but you go first.”
“Alexis was so sure Maria Socktish was the first victim, and even though we now know she wasn’t, there might still be something to it. She was the first of the current M.O.— when he started targeting vulnerable young women with no family ties and a history of sex work and drug abuse. But assuming Stephanie Walsh in 1990 was also his victim, why was there an eight-year gap between her murder and Maria’s disappearance?”
Their food arrived.
“Can I get you anything else?” Jeremy Firestone asked after placing their plates in front of them.
“I’ll take another porter,” Cal said and raised a brow at Connelly in question.
“No, I’m good.”
“I’ll bring that right out,” Jeremy said. “My shift ends soon, but if you need anything after I leave, Shaina, the bartender, can help you out.”
“Great,” Cal said. “Thanks, Jer.”
Jeremy walked away, pausing to clear an empty table nearby, and they both took a moment to doctor their burgers with condiments before continuing their original conversation.
“So...” Cal started, but Jeremy returned with the requested beer, and he closed his mouth without finishing his thought.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Jeremy said and turned to Connelly. “You’re Veronica Martens’ friend, right?”
“I am. Connelly Davis.” He held out a hand. Up close, he realized Jeremy was older than he first thought, probably closer to his own age than high school. The guy’s handshake was tentative and a little clammy.
“My mom’s dog... Alfie? I, um, was wondering how he is.”
Man. It never occurred to Connelly that Jeremy had lost not only his mom but also his dog. “He’s great. Thriving actually. Veronica adores him, and he’s attached to her hip.”
“Oh. Good. I—I miss him.” Tears swam into Jeremy’s eyes, but he blinked them back. “Uh, I found a box of his stuff that Dad missed. Some toys and stuff, but it’s mostly his bowties. Mom loved to—” His voice broke.
“I’m so sorry about your mom,” Connelly said, his heart going out to the guy.
“Her loss was a loss for the whole community,” Cal murmured.
Jeremy nodded sharply and cleared his throat. “Uh, anyway. If Veronica wants the box, I can leave it on our porch for her. We live just a couple streets over.”
Connelly checked his watch. “I can pick it up when we’re done here. Around eleven, if that’s not too late?”
“That should be okay. I’ll let Dad know you’re coming in case I’m not home yet. Have a good night.”
“You, too,” Cal said, waiting until Jeremy was out of earshot before finally finishing his thought. “Okay, so, why the eight-year gap between third and fourth kills? That’s a good question.” He crunched on a pickle spear thoughtfully. “One I’m guessing you have a theory about?”
“I do.” Connelly turned his computer so Cal could see the timeline he’d worked out. “I think his first two victims, Jennifer Anderson and Stephanie Walsh, were personal. I think he knew them both. Do we know who the father of Stephanie’s baby was?”
“There’s no record of it. As far as I can tell, she never even told her parents his name.”
