***
Reggie had all the evidence boxed up for us when we got to the station. Seeing me walk in, he meandered over and threw a thick arm around my shoulders. The top of my head barely hit his shoulder. Not because he was so tall, but I was just that short. Between my height, my petite frame, and my wavy, dark hair, people were always shocked when I told them my occupation. What I said was private investigator—what they heard was midget bounty hunter.
“How’s it going, baby girl?” Reggie asked, leading me to his desk.
That had been his nickname for me for as long as I could remember. He’d been one of my dad’s best friends when I was growing up, and he’d been especially fond of me. I could always talk him into having a tea party with me when he came to visit. Let me tell you, there was nothing quite as endearing as a two-hundred-and-seventy pound police officer sitting in a small, pink chair sipping imaginary tea with a tiny napkin tucked into his shirt like a bib.
With a squeeze, he let go of me and shook Shane’s hand.
“I’ve been better, Reggie,” I admitted.
He nodded. I was sure he’d heard all about it by now. News traveled fast in a place like Charleston.
Shane sat on the edge of the desk. “So, what can you tell us about the Welch case?”
Reggie ran his hand over his nearly bald head before tossing me a thick manila folder.
“It’s all in there. Unfortunately, that’s all you get to take with you. Those are copies of the official reports. All the evidence, however, stays here.” He shrugged apologetically. “Open case and all.”
I understood. Chain of evidence. He couldn’t risk us compromising anything just in case it ever had to go to trial. Nodding, I opened the file.
“So, is there somewhere we can take a look at this?” Shane asked.
For being a former history teacher, Shane had adjusted well to the life of a PI. He didn’t ask a lot of dumb questions, especially around the police. It made things easier on me not to have to constantly school him on police procedure.
Reggie hefted the white box and dropped it into Shane’s arms. “Interrogation Room One is open. It’s all ours.”
In a strange procession, we walked to the room, followed by dozens of curious stares. I tried to ignore them. It was only natural they’d be curious, even suspicious of Shane, and by association, me. No one was outright rude, and that was all I really asked for.
Flicking on the overhead light, we settled around the wooden table. Reggie took a seat in a corner and propped his feet on the table, leaving Shane and me to rummage through the contents of the box.
I examined the bags. “Are these from the house?”
“The house, the car. Even her locker at the school where she taught,” Reggie answered in his thick Southern drawl.
“Her computer?”
He shook his head. “No personal computer. We have her phone, but there were no unusual calls made or received. Baby girl, I know her daddy is upset we aren’t actively pursuing the case anymore, but we went over every scrap of her life and came up with a big fat nothing. Looks more and more like she just ran away.”
“You really think so?” I looked him flat in the eye.
“Aww hell, I dunno. I don’t think she’d leave those kids, that’s for sure. But you never really know about people, do ya?”
I agreed. People never failed to surprise, and often disappoint.
I pulled out a bag holding a planner. “Anything in this?”
Reggie nodded as he leaned forward and opened the folder containing the notes. “There’s a copy of every page in here. It was just her work schedule, the kids’ school stuff, and a couple of nail appointments. No red flags.”
“Reggie, you know I’m not trying to step on your toes here. I’m sure you guys did all you could. I told her father as much. But if it’ll make him feel better to get another set of eyes on this, then that’s the least I can do for him. Whether she just took off or not, he lost his child. Those kids lost their mother. So I’ll go over every scrap one more time, just to give them what little peace of mind I can offer.”
“I know that, baby girl,” Reggie said softly. “I wanna put this mess to bed as much as anyone.”
His eyes held mine, full of emotions his words would never betray. We’d both been in the search team when she’d first gone missing. Every day there were fewer and fewer volunteers. At the end, there were just five of us. Then they called off the searches all together. No one ever wanted to admit it, but the honest truth was we knew from day one it wasn’t a search-and-rescue mission, it was a recovery mission. We never expected to find her alive.
Reggie had been on the police force for over thirty years. I knew his wife wanted him to retire, and I knew why. Jobs like his, cases like this one, they haunted you. I’d only been doing this for a year, and I could already feel the weariness creeping into my bones. How my father had managed twenty-odd years on the force and another ten as a PI, I would never know.
When I’d first taken over the business, Reggie came to see me. He told me that the only thing keeping him sane was his family, that they tethered him to life. Without that, he said, the darkness would eat away at a man’s soul. He told me to find my tether.
I was still looking for one.
Two hours and six pages of notes later, we were finished. As Shane and I repacked the box, Reggie handed me the cardboard lid.
He rubbed his head. “You got everything you need?”
“I think so.” I slipped the pages of notes into the folder. “I’ll call you if we turn anything up.”
I tossed the clear bag holding Lisa Welch’s purse into the box with a flick of my wrist. Useless, I thought with a huff.
Beside me, Shane stiffened.
I looked up. His face was rigid, nostrils flared, mouth in a half snarl.
“Shane?”
Reggie noticed, too. His hand twitched at his side not far from his gun.
“Shane!” I snapped my fingers this time.
He relaxed, looking down as the tension receded from the air around him.
“What is it?” Reggie asked.
Shane picked up the evidence bag I’d tossed and held it out to Reggie. “Can I open this?”
Reggie tilted his head to the side, his hand still hovering near his gun. “No, but I can. Why?”
“I need to smell it,” Shane answered quietly, not looking up.
Reggie looked baffled. “Smell it?”
I stepped in before Shane had to explain. “Shane has a highly developed olfactory sense. A thousand times better than any bloodhound. He might be able to smell something on the purse that could give us a clue about her abductor.”
I tried to make myself sound more confident than I felt. Truth was, Shane did have a great nose. Unfortunately, the thing he could smell the best was blood. If that bag had been in, near, or around blood, he’d know it.
With deliberate slowness, Reggie took the bag from Shane’s hand. Pulling a knife out of his utility belt, he slid the blade across the red seal, squeezed the bag open a fraction, and held it out to Shane.
“Don’t touch it,” he warned.
Shane looked up, his brown eyes clear, and nodded. I let out a breath. Whatever he was up to, he was at least in control of himself.
Holding the bag carefully under his face, he drew in a deep breath. Then another. Closing his eyes, he handed the bag back to Reggie, who quickly resealed and initialed the pouch.
“Anything?” Reggie and I asked at the same time.
Shane shook his head. “A hint of perfume and gasoline. This was found in the car?”
“Yep. Wow, that’s better than a bloodhound Brooks.” Reggie closed the box with a smile. His voice was dry, husky. As much as he liked him, I knew Reggie would have shot Shane in a second if he thought he was going to lose it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Can we get a look at it?” Shane asked as we left the room.
“You’ll have to talk t
o the husband,” Reggie answered. “As soon as the scene was cleared, the car went back to him.”
“Great.” I sighed.