Page 79 of I'm Watching You

‘No problem.’

They wound down the narrow corridors. ‘Would you like a tour of our newsroom?’

‘No thanks.’ He flashed even, white teeth. ‘Maybe another time.’

‘Sure.’ Under his easygoing demeanor was steel. ‘When the renovation is done, all this is going to be gone. From what I hear, it will all be very sleek.’

‘Really?’

So much for small talk. She led him to a news edit bay, a small glassed-in room off the hallway furnished with a computer station. She sat down on the swivel chair in front of the computer. ‘The station’s new P2 cameras are equipped with hard drives, so there’s rarely a tape anymore. With luck we still have the footage. Generally, when we’ve filed the story, we dump the raw stuff to clear space on the computer.’

Warwick frowned. ‘Let’s hope it’s still here. The other stations didn’t have anything.’

Kendall punched a few buttons and opened a file. ‘You’re in luck. The footage is here.’ She burned aCDand handed it to him.

‘Thanks.’

She rose and had to look up to meet his gaze. ‘No problem.’

When he nodded and started to turn, she said, ‘I hear Lindsay had a rough past. Think there is any connection between this murder and her mother’s death?’

The comment surprised Warwick. ‘You’ve been doing some homework.’

‘That’s my job. Do you think the two killings are linked?’

His expression was unreadable. ‘We don’t discuss the details of an active case.’

‘Just seems odd. Her mother is the casualty of adomestic murder and this latest body is dumped behind a women’s shelter.’

‘Can’t help you.’

She’d have better luck getting blood from a stone than information from Warwick. ‘Thanks.’

Chapter Eighteen

Tuesday, July 8, 4:25P.M.

Lindsay stood behind Zack as she watched the uniformed officer crate up her office files. Impotent rage roiled inside her. She’d worked for a year to make this shelter into something worthwhile, and in twenty-four hours it had fallen apart.

‘Do the cops have to mess everything up?’ Lindsay asked, unable to remain silent.

Zack turned. ‘Lindsay, wait in the kitchen. When Warwick returns, we’ll all talk.’

Frustration ate at her. A few hours ago, they’d shared a meal. She’d laughed with his sister. Now, he was all cop again. ‘Can I have my purse? I’d rather go back to Mental Health Services. At least there I can be productive.’

‘I’ll bring it out to you,’ Zack said.

The wall was back between them. ‘Great.’

She went into the kitchen. This time of day the kitchen should have been teeming with activity. Kids would be running around, residents would be talking, and the phones would be ringing off the hook. Now it was dead silence.

Needing something to do, she went on the back deck to the potting table. There were four six-packs of marigolds, a pot, and soil. All the supplies were still damp fromyesterday’s rain. Careful to keep her back to the murder scene, she opened the bag of soil and poured rich, dark dirt into the pot. It felt good to have her hands in the soil. She gingerly removed a marigold from the plastic container and pushed it into the soil. She was reaching for the flower pack to get another when the back door opened.

‘Ms O’Neil,’ Warwick said, ‘could we talk?’

She shoved out a breath, wondering when he’d returned. ‘Sure.’ She headed back into the kitchen and washed her hands. Zack came into the room and the three sat at the kitchen table.

Warwick opened his notebook to a clean page. ‘We’ve got our warrant, which gives us open access to your files. You can help us by telling us those that should be red flagged.’

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