Page 12 of Jagged

"But then you'll need a new identification badge. Wasting time—"

"No, no." I held my hand up to her and shook my head. "To the beginning of the case." I motioned to the screen. "Can you tell me what I'm looking at?"

A frown curved her lips as she watched me with daggers nearly flying from her eyes. She lifted the tiny device in her palm and clicked two times in dramatic fashion to bring the graphics back to the start.

"There are six identified victims in this case—" she began again and walked me down the same path as before.

This time, I didn't interrupt and tried desperately to keep up with her. It must've been ten minutes at least of explanation as to how she requisitioned all the cases, sent inquiries to the FBI's crime lab, and ended with an explanation of the types of testing she planned to run. I stared. I stared so hard that I felt myself staring, until she finally looked at me again. Intense hazel eyes met mine for the briefest second.

"Does that sound reasonable to you?" she asked.

"Reasonable. Yes. Yes, very reasonable." I gulped and sat up straighter. "Thanks for all of this."

"It's what I'm good at." She shrugged and set the clicker thing down on the countertop.

"You are, indeed. Here's my card—" I slipped from the stool to fish one from my pocket to give her. "My cell is on there. Can you text me when you learn something more?"

"I will." She frowned at the card and flicked the rumpled corner of it. I watched as she turned it over in her palm, then immediately tensed when I saw the entire back of it covered in a black and red doodle. It held all the qualities of my usual work except scratched out in pen ink. My tag, Jagz, as tiny as can be, hung out in the corner.

"Did you do this?" she asked, her brow now furrowed. At that point, she moved away from looking annoyed, to slightly intrigued.

"Yeah. Got bored in a meeting."

"Jagz," she read aloud, then smirked as she looked up at me.

"That'd be me. Yeah." I pulled a second card out of my wallet and handed it to her. "This one is more professional."

She moved her hand away, holding the graffitied card close to her body. "I like this one."

"Okay then." I chuckled and pocketed the other again. "All yours."

For the first time, Clementine smiled. Not just a smirk or a grimace, but a full smile that made it to her eyes. Her gaze met mine, and this time, she held it for a moment, long enough for me to get a better look at her. A very faint splattering of freckles covered her nose, and her dark eyebrows contrasted her light hair. Only the tiniest hint of eyeliner and mascara coated her lids and lashes, bringing the slightest emphasis to her eyes. Her jaw, curved in all the right places, brought flashes of street art to my mind. I could paint her, turn her image into a wall-size cartoon on the side of a building calling the house next door a Timelord or something. I smirked at the thought of it. Perhaps a more hyper-real image would make it more amusing.

"Okay, bye then," she said, returning her focus back to her work.

I laughed softly and backed away from her. "Bye."

***

"You're making me dizzy." Zay groaned from the table where he sat behind a pile of papers and an open pizza box.

"So? It helps me think." I rolled side to side on the skateboard with a slice of pizza pinched between my fingers.

"Ugh." He tore into his food anyway. "Any word from the forensic investigator you met?"

"Not yet."

"Think we should move on to another case? This one is cold-cold. Not just cold." He motioned to the files in front of him.

"No. I've arranged for interviews with family members to start. All of them have complied. And get this." I dropped one foot off the skateboard, then smashed the tail to kick it up for me to catch. "Alessa Trainor, the three-year-old surviving victim of the 2005 murder, agreed to meet with us."

"Really?" His eyes widened. "Why didn't you lead with that? Next time lead with that!"

"There's a catch." I dropped down in the seat across from him. "We don't get to do the interview alone. Since this is the first time she's agreed. She's twenty-five now. The FBI want in."

"Who told the FBI what we're doing?" He frowned, and his silliness washed away for the moment. "This is our case."

"It was theirs first and you know how shit is. Walsh needs to keep up rapport."

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