The Birthday List(99)

I stopped talking at the look in Cole’s eyes. They were full of pain. Of dread. I’d seen that combination in his eyes before. It was the same look he’d had the night he’d stood on this very porch and told me that my husband had been murdered.

“Cole?”

My voice seemed to make the pain worse and his entire face twisted in agony.

“You’re scaring me. What is it? Tell me.” I waited three heartbeats. “Please.”

He swallowed hard. “We found the person who killed Jamie.”

My hand clamped over my mouth but a sob still escaped. No amount of calming breaths could keep my tears away, and they flooded my eyes, trickling down my cheeks. “You did? It’s over?” An unbelievable sense of finality settled in my chest. I was still crying, but the drops were no longer filled with fear. They were full of relief. It was over.

Cole nodded but didn’t seem at all relieved. Wasn’t this good news? A killer was off the streets. He’d found the bad guy. Why did he still look like he wanted to be anywhere but on my porch?

“There’s more.” His voice cracked.

Tension came rushing back, filling my muscles as I stood silently, waiting for Cole to continue.

When he looked to his feet and then back up again, the tears in his eyes pounded a hammer to my chest.

“What?” I begged. “What don’t you want to tell me?”

A tear rolled down his cheek. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault Jamie was killed.”





Five hours earlier . . .



“Hey.” I stepped into the observation area attached to the interrogation room. Matt was standing by the two-way mirror, staring at the woman he’d called in for questioning.

“Hey. Sorry to call you in, but I think you’re going to want to be here.”

“Okay.” I stepped up to the glass.

The woman at the table was young, probably in her early twenties. Her hair was trimmed short, like a man’s, except for the mass of bangs that covered her forehead and fell completely over one eye and covered part of the other. The roots were black but the bangs had been bleached to near white. Her shoulders were hunched forward as her elbows rested on the table, but even with her slouched position, you could tell she had a broad frame. Much bigger than most women.

And she was familiar. Her head was tipped down so I couldn’t get a good look at her face—that damn hair was in the way—but she was familiar. I searched my memory but when nothing came up, I shrugged it off. I probably just found her familiar because I’d seen her on video surveillance.

“Who’s this?”

Matt handed me a manila file. “Nina Veras. She’s number eleven on our list of potential subjects, and I brought her in this morning to ask her some questions about the murder. When I got two different answers to the same question, I stepped out and called you. I’ve got a feeling we’re onto something here.”

I nodded and flipped open the file.

Nina Veras was twenty-two. She worked as a barista at one of the downtown coffee shops. She had no criminal record. No speeding tickets. No parking tickets.

“I trust your gut, so if you’ve got a feeling, I’ll go with it. But, Matt, this girl is squeaky clean.”

“You’re right. She is. But take a look at this.” He handed me another file. “That’s her boyfriend. I pulled it right before you got here. Look familiar?”

The mug shot paper-clipped inside raised the hairs on my arms. With dark eyes and a red bandana tied over his black hair, the man in the photo was wearing a white, threadbare tank top as he glared at the camera and held his identification board. A dog paw print was tattooed on one shoulder. Across the base of his neck were the letters MOB—Member of Blood.

I had no trouble putting his face to a name.

“Samuel Long is her boyfriend?”

Matt nodded.

“Shit.”

Samuel was a known gang member with the Bloods. Him and a couple of his cohorts were currently under surveillance by the gang task force. I scanned Samuel’s file, stopping after the first three pages because I’d seen enough. Vandalism. Theft. Drug trafficking.

All gang related.

Montana had seen an increase in gang activity over the last ten years. Gang transplants from California had come to Montana to stake their claim. Our department had been diligent in making it clear that Bozeman was no place for them, but as the town grew and our resources stretched thin, keeping a handle on their influx had become more difficult.

Nina Veras didn’t look like a murder suspect, but I’d learned over the years to never rule out the influence of a gang. They were masters of brainwashing, trapping kids into their circle so tight not even parents could pull them out.

And if Samuel Long had his hooks into Nina Veras, there was no telling what he’d asked her to do.

“So what’s your plan?”

Matt set the files down on a chair behind us. “I know you aren’t going to like this, but I’d like Simmons to come in and help with the questioning.”

“No.”

“Hear me out.” He stopped me before I could object again. “Simmons is shit at fieldwork, we both know that, but he’s got more documented confessions than any other officer in the BPD. If we’re going to get anything out of her before she clams up, he’s our best bet.”