Page 38 of Over the Edge

“Boat. A scull, to be more precise. I was on the rowing team in college and started solo sculling six years ago.” Enough about that. “I should go.”

After a moment, he stepped back. “Drive safe.”

“That’s my plan.” She closed and locked the door.

He returned to his car and followed her down the street to the corner, where he peeled off in the opposite direction.

As his Taurus disappeared in her rearview mirror, Lindsey took a slow, calming breath.

Loyalty to Clair alone would make her dislike him, but on top of that it was apparent he had doubts about her car story. That he questioned her memory—and perhaps her mental acuity.

That didn’t sit well.

Letting his reservations upset her was crazy, though. He didn’t know her, and the car situation was indeed strange. In his shoes, she’d be dubious too.

But she trusted her memory. Organization and accuracyand precise recall were important in her job, and those skills carried over into her life.

She’d parked in the lot. There was zero doubt in her mind about that.

Which made the car situation not just bizarre, but very, very unsettling.

Eight

JAMES ROBERTSON’SAUTOPSYhadn’t revealed any new clues.

Expelling a frustrated breath, Jack leaned forward in his desk chair and gave the material a second scan, homing in on the pertinent parts.

Cause of death—two gunshot wounds to the chest, with perforation of heart and lungs.

Manner of death—homicide.

Two small-caliber lead bullets had been recovered and sent to the crime lab, all of the tox screens from the accelerated testing were normal, and no trace evidence had been found.

Bottom line? The case was getting colder by the minute.

He sat back and stared at the wall in his office.

Six days in, and they had zip. Unless a clue surfaced soon, he’d have to—

His cell vibrated on his desk, and he glanced at the screen.

A call from the owner of one of the more legit pawnshops downtown, who’d provided helpful information on several past cases.

He put the phone to his ear. “Tucker.”

“Dirk West here, Detective. One of those pieces of jewelry on the list you sent around over the weekend is in my shop.”

His pulse picked up. Maybe the Robertson case wasn’t dead after all.

“Do you know the person who brought it in?”

“No, but he’s still here.”

Even better.

Jack stood and snatched his jacket off the back of his chair. “Try to delay him. I’ll have a city cop there in minutes. Whoever shows up will detain him until I arrive.”

“You got it.”

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