Read Online The Secret Friend by Chris Mooney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Mooney
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on his knees and lit the candles. Dozens of statues of the Blessed Mother looked down on him, smiling, arms wide open, accepting. Walter made the sign of the cross, closed his eyes, and with his hands pressed firmly together, prayed to his Blessed Mother for thanks.
17
Saturday morning. Darby stood at her kitchen window, sipping coffee and watching a snowplough trudging its way down Cambridge Street under a bright, clear sky. According to the news, yesterday’s storm dumped two and a half feet of snow along eastern and northern Massachusetts. New Hampshire got the worst of it – as much as three feet in some areas.
Coop was still in the shower. Darby checked her watch. It was almost noon. She was itching to get to the lab to see if AFIS, the FBI’s Automated Fingerprint Indexing System, had found a match on the single latent print lifted from Emma Hale’s jewellery box.
They had spent last night and a good part of the early morning hours examining every inch of Emma’s home, paying close attention to the walk-in closet and the spare bedroom where the intruder had escaped. The only evidence the man had left was a wet shoeprint which Darby had lifted from the floor in front of the window.
How had the intruder gained access to the penthouse? Darby wondered if Bryson had discovered anything on the building’s security tapes. Finding the man on one of the tapes would answer the question of how he had accessed the penthouse but it wouldn’t explain what he was doing there or what he was looking for.
The serial number for the Beretta was traced back to Joshua Stein from Chicago. His home was broken into in 1998. The thief stole crystal and a lockbox holding cash and a Beretta. It was possible that last night’s intruder was a thief – finding a way to slip inside Emma’s home undetected was by no means an easy task – but the more likely scenario was that the man with the strange eyes had purchased the handgun from a pawn shop. Some pawn shop owners dealt stolen handguns as a side-business, based on referrals. It was also possible the intruder had bought the Beretta second-hand on the street or through a private dealer. The list of possibilities was endless. The handgun was a dead end.
With the exception of the missing locket, every item listed in the CSU inventory was found inside the penthouse. Emma Hale’s abductor had come back for the necklace but he apparently hadn’t taken anything else. Did he wear gloves to hide his fingerprints? Had he touched any of the other jewellery? Coop was planning on spending the rest of today fuming each piece of jewellery inside a superglue chamber to see if Emma’s abductor had left behind any partial latent prints. With luck, they would find one and a matching print in AFIS.
Pouring herself another cup of coffee, her mind turned to the question that stood above the others: Why would Emma’s abductor risk breaking into her home and risk being caught to retrieve a locket?
Darby didn’t have a definitive answer, but she had several theories, all of which pointed back to her original assumption that the man who had abducted these two women and kept them alive for months had, in fact, cared deeply for them.
Darby carried her coffee mug through the living room, on her way to her office. Coop was no longer in the bathroom. Her bedroom door was cracked open a few inches. She moved down the hallway in her socks, about to knock on the door to tell him that the coffee was ready, when she saw Coop, shirtless, slipping into his jeans.
She told herself to look away but kept staring. The hard, knotted muscles in his chest and stomach rippled under his smooth, pale skin as he buttoned his jeans in the bright sunlight pouring through her windows. It was easy to see why so many women took notice of him – the hard body and perfect outline of his jaw; blond hair and blue eyes. But she had seen his other side, the one he kept buried under the charisma and constant joking. She had spent
17
Saturday morning. Darby stood at her kitchen window, sipping coffee and watching a snowplough trudging its way down Cambridge Street under a bright, clear sky. According to the news, yesterday’s storm dumped two and a half feet of snow along eastern and northern Massachusetts. New Hampshire got the worst of it – as much as three feet in some areas.
Coop was still in the shower. Darby checked her watch. It was almost noon. She was itching to get to the lab to see if AFIS, the FBI’s Automated Fingerprint Indexing System, had found a match on the single latent print lifted from Emma Hale’s jewellery box.
They had spent last night and a good part of the early morning hours examining every inch of Emma’s home, paying close attention to the walk-in closet and the spare bedroom where the intruder had escaped. The only evidence the man had left was a wet shoeprint which Darby had lifted from the floor in front of the window.
How had the intruder gained access to the penthouse? Darby wondered if Bryson had discovered anything on the building’s security tapes. Finding the man on one of the tapes would answer the question of how he had accessed the penthouse but it wouldn’t explain what he was doing there or what he was looking for.
The serial number for the Beretta was traced back to Joshua Stein from Chicago. His home was broken into in 1998. The thief stole crystal and a lockbox holding cash and a Beretta. It was possible that last night’s intruder was a thief – finding a way to slip inside Emma’s home undetected was by no means an easy task – but the more likely scenario was that the man with the strange eyes had purchased the handgun from a pawn shop. Some pawn shop owners dealt stolen handguns as a side-business, based on referrals. It was also possible the intruder had bought the Beretta second-hand on the street or through a private dealer. The list of possibilities was endless. The handgun was a dead end.
With the exception of the missing locket, every item listed in the CSU inventory was found inside the penthouse. Emma Hale’s abductor had come back for the necklace but he apparently hadn’t taken anything else. Did he wear gloves to hide his fingerprints? Had he touched any of the other jewellery? Coop was planning on spending the rest of today fuming each piece of jewellery inside a superglue chamber to see if Emma’s abductor had left behind any partial latent prints. With luck, they would find one and a matching print in AFIS.
Pouring herself another cup of coffee, her mind turned to the question that stood above the others: Why would Emma’s abductor risk breaking into her home and risk being caught to retrieve a locket?
Darby didn’t have a definitive answer, but she had several theories, all of which pointed back to her original assumption that the man who had abducted these two women and kept them alive for months had, in fact, cared deeply for them.
Darby carried her coffee mug through the living room, on her way to her office. Coop was no longer in the bathroom. Her bedroom door was cracked open a few inches. She moved down the hallway in her socks, about to knock on the door to tell him that the coffee was ready, when she saw Coop, shirtless, slipping into his jeans.
She told herself to look away but kept staring. The hard, knotted muscles in his chest and stomach rippled under his smooth, pale skin as he buttoned his jeans in the bright sunlight pouring through her windows. It was easy to see why so many women took notice of him – the hard body and perfect outline of his jaw; blond hair and blue eyes. But she had seen his other side, the one he kept buried under the charisma and constant joking. She had spent
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