Page 32 of Missing Justice
Chapter Six
“Victimology,” Taylor said, avoiding Matt’s irritated gaze as she refilled her glass. If Matt had wanted to be an FBI agent, he knew the filters of profiling. In his past life as a detective, he’d used them too. “Let’s start with what we know about Felicity.”
“Really, Taylor? You’re not going to talk to me about your sister? About mine? After everything I’ve just said?”
“Nope. Not talking about our personal shit.”
Or his drunk of a mother because Taylor wasnota drunk. She controlled herself when necessary.
Nope. No way in hell was she going down that long, dark road tonight. Not on top of everything else. “What Iwilltalk about is how the hell we’re going to find Baby Jarvis, which means we have to figure out who our kidnapper-slash-killer is.”
He came up behind her, put his hands on her hips with a sigh. “Felicity Jarvis, age 28, eight months pregnant. Married to Senator Walt Jarvis. College graduate from Cornell, majored in dance. Financial donor to the Kennedy Center Ballet where she once was part of the troupe. She was loaded, thanks to her family’s sunglasses empire. Sunglasses.” His breath was warm against the back of Taylor’s head. “Who knew you could become a billionaire from eyewear? We’re in the wrong business.”
In the midst of her pain, he was trying to make her laugh. Take the sting off. He really was better than scotch.
And here she was, being a total bitch.What’s new?
“I’m sorry about your sister,” she said softly, her mind jumping all over the place, trying to find something to land on to break the monstrous ice cube filling her chest. It was easier to talk about missing children—dead children—if she didn’t have to look Matt in the eyes. “And your mom. Life can be so brutal and unfair.”
“Yeah.” His hands slid around her and he tucked her into his arms, resting the side of his head against hers. “That’s why we do what we do.”
Right. Back to business. She couldn’t let emotions rule her while a baby was missing. “We have no solid motive for the kidnapping, but Felicity’s wealth would be a strong possibility. The senator’s position another. There was no ransom request, and the senator wasn’t being blackmailed. That we know of,” she added.
The selection of the victim often offered a possible motive of the offender, making it easier to get a clear suspect list. Taylor still believed Walt might be guilty; Matt disagreed.
It was going to be a long night.
Sucking down another shot of scotch, she set the glass on the counter and turned to face the devil’s advocate holding her in his arms. “Initial contact site between victim and offender?”
“Felicity told Walt she had a stalker and the sightings were always at the same baby store. No statement from her—that he could remember, at least—that the kidnapper made actual contact, but according to Walt, Felicity did mention seeing the man in his silver truck on multiple occasions watching her.”
If Walt was to be believed. “According to your client’s statement, the stalker was outside the store, a retail place, at night, and Walt believes that’s where she was kidnapped. Why there?”
“Felicity was a regular visitor to that store because of the baby, so the kidnapper knew her routine. He planned it ahead of time.”
“So was he watching Felicity or the store and she just happened to catch his eye?”
“Good question. No one else reported any man in a silver truck watching them. Let’s assume the stalker was specifically after Felicity.”
He was good at this. Taylor reached for his belt and began undoing it as she talked. “The kidnapper probably knew the location well, though, if he’d been watching Felicity there. He might even have known someone who worked inside the store and knew the video surveillance was shit in the parking lot.”
He didn’t stop her eager hands, his fingers going to the buttons on her shirt in a tit for tat. “Which brings up the disposal site. Was that planned too? Did he have familiarity with the scrapyard or was it only after Felicity’s death that he searched for a place to dispose of the body?”
The belt was undone. She pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his pants. “The bones were surrounded by a pile of junked building materials. The forensic anthropologist believes Felicity’s body was most likely there for the better part of the eight years she’s been missing, but actual date of death is unknown at this point. Cause of death is still unknown as well, so we can’t confirm or rule out physical or sexual attack. There is even a slim possibility Felicity died of natural causes and was simply dumped. Highly unlikely, but we have to consider every single possibility, and at this time, we have nothing obvious from the bones. Still waiting on the tox screen, but since it’s being pulled from bones, it may not be all that reliable. If our kidnapper/killer disposed of her body there, he intentionally used the building materials to hide her. That’s planned and organized.”
He finished the last button and drew her shirt down over her shoulders. He leaned down and kissed one naked shoulder, murmuring against her skin, “Any correlation between the store and scrapyard?”
She ran her hands under his shirt, feeling his tight abs. This is what she needed. To feel him. To have him feel her.
For both of them to be alive.
A connection between the initial crime site and the disposal site could offer a lead into the killer’s personality. “None that I’ve found. One site is very public. The other is open to the public but secluded. Everyone goes to the store. Not many people go to the scrapyard. Background checks on all the employees of the baby store and scrapyard show no crossovers.”
“The risk of being seen at the store indicates a lack of sophistication from the killer, but killing Felicity ensures there’s no witness, whichisa level of sophistication. Is it possible her death was accidental?”
“Anything is possible.” God, it turned her on that she could talk work with him. She’d never been able to do that with anyone else. “She could have died accidentally, maybe even during or after the baby’s birth.”
He eased the shirt the rest of the way off her arms and let it fall to the floor as he stared at her breasts, heaped up like matching Mt. Everests. “Nice bra.”
