Page 42 of Already Lost

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

“This isn’t done,” Laura said, turning to Nateurgently.

He looked from the photographs and back toher, slowly. “Are you thinking it’s the wrong gramophone?”

“Of course, it’s the wrong gramophone,”Laura said. “What do we know about the crime scenes so far?”

“They’re all exactly the same,” Nate sighed,picking up on what she was getting at immediately.

“Do we have the results back on thefingerprint analysis?” Laura asked. There was still the print evidence. Theycould still get the answers from that.

“It wasn’t a match,” Captain Kinnockshrugged. “It was probably just contamination. Someone else touched the scenethat we don’t know about, or maybe the print was on there before the killerever used it. It doesn’t matter. We’ll get enough evidence to put him away, andyou’ll get the confession tomorrow, so we’re all good.”

“No, we’re not,” Laura said. “This meanshe might not be the killer!”

“You’re overthinking it,” Captain Kinnocksaid with a careless gesture. “Loosen up. You can talk to him tomorrow andhe’ll probably explain he couldn’t get more than three gramophones from thesame place. Relax and go back to your motel, or go for a drink to celebrate.This is a great result. You got it done so quickly, I think there’s room for apromotion or two all around – or even just a pay raise.” He started to wanderaway with those words of advice, and Laura shook her head at his disappearingback.

“He just wants to look good in front ofthe town,” she said, her voice low. “He’s thinking with his pocket, not hishead. Closing cases too early is probably how he got to captain so younganyway.”

Nate gave her a half-smirk. “Careful,” hesaid. “You might end up sounding jealous. Anyway, you’re preaching to thechoir. Something about this doesn’t smell right.”

“Exactly,” Laura said. “And if it doesn’tsmell right, then I don’t think it’s right. There’s another verse that hasn’tbeen touched on yet. The one about the bridge.”

“You think the real killer is still outthere, and he’s going to strike on a bridge tonight?”

“Got it in one,” Laura nodded. Once againshe reminisced on how much better it was to be back working with Nate – someonewho understood the way she worked and could almost read her mind at times. “Howmany bridges do you think there could be in town here?”

Nate didn’t waste a moment. “There’s oneway to find out,” he said, spinning back to face the computer and opening upthe online map.

“What constitutes a bridge, also?” Lauraasked, thinking out loud.

“What do you mean?” Nate frowned. “Abridge is a bridge.”

“No, there are different kinds,” Laura argued.“A traditional bridge is over water, but you could also have a footbridge or arail bridge. An overpass could maybe be a bridge. You could even have a bridgeinside a shopping mall – you know, you get those pathways across the sides ofthe upper floor.”

Nate threw his hands in the air for amoment, clearly at a loss. “Well, hell, I don’t know. I didn’t know we wouldneed to be bridge experts.”

“What does the map tell us?” Laura asked,leaning closer. “There’s a river in town, right?”

“Right, but it only cuts through the northarea, which is mostly residential,” Nate said. “Look, it’s hardly even withinthe limits.”

Laura thought for a moment, one of herfingernails sneaking its way into her mouth where she could chew it. She neededto get this right. It needed to be right, or the real killer was going to getaway. She was sure, now, beyond sure, that Mark Maverford was just a junkie.

And if the song was the key to all of thisas she truly believed, then there was just one more victim to go. After that,the killer would disappear into the night. Maybe they would never find him,unless his prints turned up in a random check years from now.

“The killer we’re looking for is into thetraditional,” she said. “Old gramophone, old record, old, abandoned places.We’re looking for somewhere with history. I think it has to be the traditionalkind of bridge, doesn’t it?”

“I get where you’re coming from,” Natesaid. He zoomed the map in on the river, scrolling across it with a close eye.“Looks like four or five bridges.”

“We need more information about each ofthem,” Laura said. “When they were built, what they look like.”

“Alright, hold on, hold on,” Nate said,navigating to a new tab so he could try a new search. He found a page about thebridges of the town, part of a historical society website, and opened it up.“Let’s see…”

Laura read over his shoulder, tooimpatient to wait. “The newest ones were built in the seventies, so they’reout. And look, this one was from the sixties. It’s old, but I don’t feel like it’sold enough.”

“Then it’s one of the last two,” Natesaid, scrolling further down. “Here we are. They both date back to the early1900s. They’ve been rebuilt and refurbished a few times, but at least there wasalways a bridge there. It sounds like the others were only built as the townexpanded enough to take in more of the river.”

“I don’t feel like this killer would doall of this and then just go to some modern bridge,” Laura said. “Think aboutit. It’s all old-fashioned. I really think he’ll choose one of those two.”

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