Read Online Dark Passing (The Ella Reynolds Series) by Liz Schulte - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Liz Schulte
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small-town politician stare me down.
His eyes drifted and he gave the smallest of nods, acknowledging my victory. “Have a good evening,” he said softly as he walked away.
His overly familiar attitude and constant blocking and micromanaging drove me insane. All of it made me think Sheriff Fagan had something to hide. I opened my notebook to the sadly empty suspects’ page and entered Carter Fagan . I tapped his name with my pen a couple times, pondering why I’d added him—was it merely out of dislike, or was there an actual reason? Finally I decided that, dislike aside, I did find him suspicious. I just didn’t know why yet.
I closed my book and returned to the evidence boxes. I rummaged around until I found Bryan Jenkins’s interview. It was on a VHS tape. Who still uses VHS? I didn’t have access to a VCR at the bed and breakfast or at home. I glanced up and scanned as much of the office as I could through my open door. Fagan appeared to be getting ready to leave for the evening. I hunkered down and pretended to be immersed in the autopsy report. After what I was sure was enough time for him to leave and drive away, I got up and stuck my head out of the room. There were a few people scattered across the desks, working and talking.
I cleared my throat. The man closest to me jumped.
“Can I help you?” he asked, frowning.
“Is there a TV and VCR I could borrow?”
He looked at me like I’d requested the moon.
“She’s okay, Collins,” a young African American cop said from a few desks away. “Fagan had us set up the room for her earlier.” He grinned at me with warm eyes. “I’ll bring one to you.”
I went back into the room and waited, checking my watch. I had two hours before I was supposed to meet the girl from the café. There was a faint knock on the door before the officer wheeled in a cart. He pushed it in front of an outlet and plugged everything in.
“This should do it.” He glanced at the boxes and piles around me. “What are you working on?”
“I’m researching Mary Nelson’s case.”
His head tilted back and sympathy washed over his face. “I was there when the car was found. Those images will stay with me forever. You can’t imagine.”
“The pictures are pretty terrible.”
He shook his head. “The smell…” He grimaced. “No one deserves to go out like that.”
“Did you know Mary?”
“No. I hear she was a good kid, though.”
“That’s the general consensus. Do you have any idea what happened to her?”
He cracked his knuckles and studied me for a moment. “Things like that don’t happen in Jackson. I think it was some sick fuck, and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know?”
Not a bad theory, but it left holes. Was too easy. Where’d she been between her disappearance and being found if the killer wasn’t a local? Wouldn’t someone passing through kill her quickly? “Possibly,” I said softly.
“Why are you digging anyway?”
“Mary’s mother asked me to write a book about her.”
“Some things should be left alone.” He headed for the door. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he said over his shoulder.
“What’s your name?”
“Jared Duke. You?”
“Ella Reynolds.”
Something like recognition flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else. He went back out to the bullpen, and I inserted the tape in the player. The interview room popped onto the screen and jagged white tracking lines ran across the image for a few seconds. Finally it played. Bryan was led through the door by a uniformed officer; then a few moments later Sheriff Fagan walked in. The scene was all too familiar. A similar memory of Gabriel questioning me like that fluttered into my mind. Did I look as nervous as Bryan? The sheriff fired off question after question, repeating some occasionally, trying to trip him up. Fagan seemed volatile, almost angry. Bryan broke down in tears several times, but it didn’t stop Fagan. Did Gabriel
His eyes drifted and he gave the smallest of nods, acknowledging my victory. “Have a good evening,” he said softly as he walked away.
His overly familiar attitude and constant blocking and micromanaging drove me insane. All of it made me think Sheriff Fagan had something to hide. I opened my notebook to the sadly empty suspects’ page and entered Carter Fagan . I tapped his name with my pen a couple times, pondering why I’d added him—was it merely out of dislike, or was there an actual reason? Finally I decided that, dislike aside, I did find him suspicious. I just didn’t know why yet.
I closed my book and returned to the evidence boxes. I rummaged around until I found Bryan Jenkins’s interview. It was on a VHS tape. Who still uses VHS? I didn’t have access to a VCR at the bed and breakfast or at home. I glanced up and scanned as much of the office as I could through my open door. Fagan appeared to be getting ready to leave for the evening. I hunkered down and pretended to be immersed in the autopsy report. After what I was sure was enough time for him to leave and drive away, I got up and stuck my head out of the room. There were a few people scattered across the desks, working and talking.
I cleared my throat. The man closest to me jumped.
“Can I help you?” he asked, frowning.
“Is there a TV and VCR I could borrow?”
He looked at me like I’d requested the moon.
“She’s okay, Collins,” a young African American cop said from a few desks away. “Fagan had us set up the room for her earlier.” He grinned at me with warm eyes. “I’ll bring one to you.”
I went back into the room and waited, checking my watch. I had two hours before I was supposed to meet the girl from the café. There was a faint knock on the door before the officer wheeled in a cart. He pushed it in front of an outlet and plugged everything in.
“This should do it.” He glanced at the boxes and piles around me. “What are you working on?”
“I’m researching Mary Nelson’s case.”
His head tilted back and sympathy washed over his face. “I was there when the car was found. Those images will stay with me forever. You can’t imagine.”
“The pictures are pretty terrible.”
He shook his head. “The smell…” He grimaced. “No one deserves to go out like that.”
“Did you know Mary?”
“No. I hear she was a good kid, though.”
“That’s the general consensus. Do you have any idea what happened to her?”
He cracked his knuckles and studied me for a moment. “Things like that don’t happen in Jackson. I think it was some sick fuck, and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know?”
Not a bad theory, but it left holes. Was too easy. Where’d she been between her disappearance and being found if the killer wasn’t a local? Wouldn’t someone passing through kill her quickly? “Possibly,” I said softly.
“Why are you digging anyway?”
“Mary’s mother asked me to write a book about her.”
“Some things should be left alone.” He headed for the door. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he said over his shoulder.
“What’s your name?”
“Jared Duke. You?”
“Ella Reynolds.”
Something like recognition flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything else. He went back out to the bullpen, and I inserted the tape in the player. The interview room popped onto the screen and jagged white tracking lines ran across the image for a few seconds. Finally it played. Bryan was led through the door by a uniformed officer; then a few moments later Sheriff Fagan walked in. The scene was all too familiar. A similar memory of Gabriel questioning me like that fluttered into my mind. Did I look as nervous as Bryan? The sheriff fired off question after question, repeating some occasionally, trying to trip him up. Fagan seemed volatile, almost angry. Bryan broke down in tears several times, but it didn’t stop Fagan. Did Gabriel
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