McKinley stepped out, a cell phone in his hand. He tucked it into his pocket, then took a quick look up and down the street as he removed his jacket. He tossed it into the backseat of the car, straightened his tie, brushed back his slick hair, and strode to the front door without another glance. Jake had a perfect view from where they sat, and the video camera continued to catch the scene.
McKinley rang the bell and stepped back, taking a vague glance around as he waited.
And then the door opened and Jake zoomed in.
Willow Taft stood in the doorway, dressed in a negligee, a smile on her attractive face. She reached out her arms and McKinley stepped into the foyer, then into her embrace, and she welcomed him with a passionate kiss. Willow reached over his shoulder and closed the door behind him.
“We got him,” Annie said.
“We sure did,” Jake said. “But it’s not hard and fast proof of infidelity and might not hold up in court. Any good lawyer, especially McKinley, would argue it’s only circumstantial. He could say he’s visiting a client.”
“We’re not in court,” Annie said. “I’m sure it’ll be enough for Crystal McKinley.”
Chapter 9
Tuesday, 12:54 p.m.
HANK PARKED his Chevy behind the precinct, grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat, and stepped out. King’s car was in its usual spot, and Hank hoped the detective had done a little work on the case. King had come into the school building as Hank was leaving, and Hank had assigned him a few research tasks to take care of.
He strode through the double doors and glanced around the precinct floor. King was not in sight. He was probably in the break room, one of his usual haunts. Hank went straight to his desk, put his briefcase beside his chair, then sat and pulled himself up to the desk.
It would take forensics a while to get a complete report on the Nina White case, but he was pleased to see the preliminary report waiting for him. The ME’s report would be a while yet. Hank didn’t envy Nancy’s job of sorting this one out. He assumed she had no world-shaking evidence—otherwise she would’ve notified him immediately.
He opened the folder and browsed through the papers. Nina White’s car, including the trunk, had been searched and its contents itemized. Nothing special there. The contents of her purse were listed, including a broken cell phone. Forensics was still trying to see what was on the phone.
He browsed a set of photographs. There were several of the body, close-ups of the tire track, and shots of the black paint on Nina’s vehicle. He paused at the photo of Nina’s writing in her own blood on the asphalt. Adam Thor. That’s where he would start.
He spun his chair around and wheeled over to a nearby desk. Detective Callaway, the technical whiz in residence, looked up as Hank dropped the photo onto his desk.
“What do we have here, Hank?” Callaway asked, removing his hands from the keyboard and picking up the picture.
“I need whatever you can find on this name,” Hank said, pointing to Nina’s message. “It’s probably not a complete name. By the way the r trails off, it looks like she wasn’t able to finish.”
“I’ll get on it right away,” Callaway said. “I have to clean up something here. Give me five minutes.”
Hank spun back to his desk. If the killer’s car was the one that smashed up the door of Nina’s vehicle, then they were looking for a black car with a dent on it, matching the tire track from the photo, and perhaps with some remnants of blood still on the tire. Possibly registered to someone named Adam with a last name beginning with “Thor.” There might also be a powdering of glass on the hood of the vehicle from the broken window in Nina White’s car.
Hank looked up as an intern approached his desk. “This is from Dr. Pietek,” the intern said, holding out an evidence bag.
Hank took the bag and held it up. He frowned. It looked like a bud from a rose—a red rose. He read the description and Nancy’s remarks on the outside of the bag. During her examination of the body of Nina White, the rose had been found in the mouth of the victim.
He laid the bag on his desk, took out his cell phone, and snapped a close-up shot of the flower. He sat back and crossed his arms. What was the significance of the rose? Surely it meant something. The killer had tried to send a message of some kind, that much seemed obvious.
Had the killer run over his victim, then gotten out of the car and placed the rose in her mouth? If so, the victim was probably still alive at the time and had lived long enough after to scratch the message in her own blood. Otherwise, the killer would’ve seen the message and erased it.
As far as he knew, CSI hadn’t found any footprints at the scene or they would’ve notified him.
Detective King came over to Hank’s desk, a coffee in one hand, a muffin in the other. He dropped into a chair and leaned back, sipping at his drink.
Hank looked up. “Got anything?”
King took another sip of his coffee and sat it on the edge of Hank’s desk. “I talked to all the teachers and everyone at the school who knew Nina White. They were all shocked, of course, but nobody could give me any idea who might want her dead.”
“That’s pretty much what her husband said. She didn’t have an enemy in the world.”
Hank waited until King devoured the last bite of his muffin and washed it down with a long slug of coffee. King wiped his hands on his jeans and took a breath.
“I also went through the student database with the school secretary,” he said. “There’s no one enrolled there at the moment with the name of Adam, and no Adam Thor.”
“Anything else?”
“Yup. I went through Nina’s filing cabinet as well as her computer. She has information on all the students she counsels. Still came up dry. Nothing remotely resembling Adam Thor.”
Hank glanced over at Callaway. The cop was leaned into his monitor. “Callaway’s looking into the name,” Hank said. “He’ll find something.” He handed King the evidence bag containing the rose. “What do you make of this?”
King took the bag and squinted at the contents. “It’s a rose,” he said.
“Obviously,” Hank said. “But it was found in the mouth of the victim. Any idea what it might mean?”
King held up the bag and frowned at the flower. He shook his head slowly, then his eyes brightened. “A red rose represents love and romance. Maybe the killer was in love with the victim, she turned him down, and he wasn’t too happy about it.” He shrugged. “He might be saying, ‘If I can’t have you, nobody can.’”
Hank thought about that. “It’s a good theory. And if it’s true, then this Adam Thor is someone she knew well. Perhaps he’d been stalking her. She obviously knew him well enough to know his name.”
Callaway came over to Hank’s desk. He carried a printout and he slid it in front of Hank. “I went through all the vehicle registrations for variations on the name Adam Thor but found nothing within a fifty-mile radius.”
Hank looked at the printout. “Then what’s all this?”
“I kept looking,” Callaway said. “I searched within fifty miles for any vehicles registered in a last name beginning with ‘Thor.’ I narrowed the search down to only black vehicles and came up with two possibilities.”
Hank ran his finger down the page. “Virginia Thorburn and James Thorbury.”
Callaway continued, “James Thorbury lives out of town and he’s a judge. Not a likely suspect, but not impossible.”
“And Virginia Thorburn?” Hank asked.
“Virginia Thorburn lives north of town. Number 112 Mill Street. Owns a black 2005 Honda Accord.” Callaway paused. “And here’s the kicker. She has a twenty-three-year-old son. Are you ready? His name’s Adam Thorburn.”