Her Last Day (Jessie Cole #1)(41)
“No blood?” Ben asked.
Leanne shook her head. “Nothing.”
“And you never thought to call the police?” Jessie asked.
“Why would I? There was nothing there. No proof at all of what I’d seen.”
“At the very least,” Jessie said, “you could have told me what you saw. I talked to you three times.”
“Frank didn’t want me to say anything to anyone,” she shot back. “He’d been in and out of jail and didn’t want the cops, let alone the FBI, hanging around asking questions.”
Jessie rubbed her forehead. “The last time we spoke, you told me you left early that night. Why should we believe you now?”
Leanne looked at Ben. “You promised nobody would judge me or point fingers.” She looked around. “I need to get to work. I think we’re done here.”
“You’ve been a big help,” Ben assured her, “but I have one more question before we go.”
“What is it?”
“Did you happen to see what kind of car Sophie or either of the men were driving that night? Color, model, anything at all?”
Leanne shook her head.
“And you never heard either of the men’s names?”
“Nope. That’s all I got.”
After watching Leanne walk off, Jessie turned around and headed for Ben’s car. She felt sick to her stomach, and she wanted to get away from this place.
Awkward silence filled the car as they drove home. Ten minutes passed before Ben broke it. “Why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m pissed. I asked Leanne Baxter the same damn questions more than once, and I got nothing. And now suddenly she not only remembers Sophie but also the men she danced with. Her story is a little over the top—don’t you think?”
“People change. You heard her. She was scared. And Frank told her not to talk.”
“I wasn’t a cop,” Jessie said.
“To Leanne you were worse than a cop. You were her sister. I’m not saying she was right to keep quiet, but she’d obviously been holding on to some guilt for not telling someone sooner. Maybe she was still with Frank the last time you talked to her.”
Jessie’s arms were tightly drawn over her chest. She tried to relax, but she couldn’t get the image of Sophie stabbing a man with a broken bottle out of her head.
“Might I suggest,” Ben said, keeping his eyes on the road, “that next time you interview someone, you attempt to warm them up first. Compliment them, ask questions about their life, questions that have nothing to do with the case you’re working on. It’s easier to get people to open up if you gain their trust first.”
“You’re right. I’m a fucking amateur.” God. Not only was she pissed; she was feeling sorry for herself. Damn.
“I’ve researched a few of your cases,” Ben said. “You’re no amateur.”
“Colin, a close friend of mine, has always told me that I’m too close to the case. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better if I take a step back and stay out of your way. That was a shit show back there. I’m too close, too involved, and for the first time since Sophie disappeared, I’m beginning to wonder if I can look at things objectively.”
“That’s exactly why I need you,” Ben said. “You know details about this case and about your sister that I need, data that would take me months to gather. You might not like her, but Leanne is all we’ve got at this point. She says there were two men with Sophie when she left the Wild West. Skull Ring Man and another guy.”
It wasn’t easy trying to think logically at a moment when her world felt as if it were spinning off its axis, but he was right.
“I’m going to find a forensic artist,” Ben told her. “If Leanne agrees, we could have composite drawings of two men, both possible suspects, by the end of the week.”
A sense of calm swept over Jessie. What if they could locate even one of the men Leanne had seen that night? If so, he might be able to shed some light on what happened. For the first time in forever, she felt hopeful.
TWENTY-TWO
I’m going to kill him.
You’re not going to kill him because when I’m done with him, he’s going to be blood and guts, splattered to bits like a bug on a windshield.
“Shut up,” Zee told the voices in her head as she looked around. She was inside an ugly, straw-covered, stench-filled cell, and through a shared wall of metal bars, she saw a naked woman curled into a ball, lying on the ground in the cell next to her.
“Hey, you!” Zee shouted.
No response.
“Are you dead?”
Who cares? You’re going to be dead if you don’t find a way out of here!
I told you not to try to find that weirdo, but you wouldn’t listen. You never listen.
Zee rubbed the knot on the back of her head. It hurt like hell.
The voices weren’t the only ones who wanted blood.
A minute later she heard footsteps coming down the narrow wooden stairs at the far end of what looked to her like a shitty basement.
When she’d first met the socially awkward man at Rainbow Park six months ago, he’d told her his name was Scar, which she’d figured he’d picked up from the movie The Lion King. At the time she’d thought it was cool, but not any longer.