Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(60)

Brooke crossed her arms. “So . . . that’s it? She’s right. You’re right. I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, even though I was there when this child and his mom got gunned down in their front yard, but who cares? My opinion means nothing?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. I’ve seen this before. My way or the highway, right?”

Anger sparked in his eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t compare me to him.”

“Sean?” Callie poked her head into the break room. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re meeting now.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Brooke snapped. “I’m on my way out.”

? ? ?

Sean watched her leave, pissed at himself for letting the conversation go off the rails. She didn’t need this right now. He didn’t need this right now. He had a fresh homicide on his hands, and a prosecutor to deal with who wasn’t going to like anything he was about to tell her.

Callie waited outside the conference room, practically tapping her foot, and Sean followed her into the meeting.

“Hey,” Ric said, looking them over as they grabbed chairs. Sean knew from Ric’s expression that he could tell something was up. “We’re updating Rachel on the leads we’re pursuing.”

“And the ones you’re not pursuing,” Rachel added.

“New development,” Sean said, glancing at his lieutenant. “We’ve established a link between Samantha Bonner and Jasmine Jones.”

“Who’s Jasmine Jones?” Rachel asked.

“The DOA from Lake Wiley,” Callie said. “Her body was recovered this morning.”

Rachel looked at Reynolds. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“They just completed the autopsy,” Sean said.

“What’s the cause of death?” Ric asked.

“Manual strangulation,” Callie told him. “She’d been beaten beforehand and then dumped off the dam, it looks like. The time of death estimate is twenty-four to thirty-six hours from when the body was recovered, so sometime Saturday night or early Sunday morning.”

Rachel arched her eyebrows. “And there’s a connection between her and Samantha Bonner?”

“Jasmine was at Samantha’s funeral Saturday,” Sean said. “Turns out, both victims were friends from AA, and they had the same social worker, who also happened to be at the funeral that day.”

“A social worker?” Rachel leaned forward on her elbows. “Man or woman?”

“Woman,” Callie said. “Her name is Farrah Saunders. She’s been in the job twelve years, and we checked her out. Spotless record.”

“So what’s the extent of this connection?”

“It goes way back,” Sean said. “Both victims were removed from their biological parents as children and placed in foster care. Farrah Saunders was their social worker when they were teens, and the judge overseeing their cases was Eric Mahoney.”

Silence settled over the room.

“Mahoney,” Ric stated. “As in . . . a relative of James Mahoney, whose DNA is a partial match with what was found under the vic’s nails?”

“Whoa. Wait.” Rachel held a hand up like a stop sign and turned to Sean. “You’re telling me you think Eric Mahoney, the judge, had something to do with these murders?”

Sean didn’t respond. He simply watched her, waiting for her to process everything. The logic of it all was undeniable.

She turned to Reynolds. “Are you hearing this?”

The lieutenant darted a look at Sean, clearly startled by everything he’d said. “What kind of evidence do you have to back that up?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Like hell you are.” Rachel slapped her file shut. “Don’t think for one minute that you’re going to go after a sitting judge with some half-baked theory based on questionable DNA evidence.”

“Nothing wrong with the evidence,” Ric said, obviously not liking the jab at his wife’s laboratory. “The DNA on Samantha Bonner is a partial match with a profile that’s sitting right there in the database.”

“A partial match! As in, the man in the database is not our suspect.” Rachel turned to Reynolds. “You think you can just go around arresting people named Mahoney on a hunch? I need facts, not hunches.”

“It’s not just a hunch,” Sean said. “The DNA under Samantha’s nails and the DNA on the knife used to kill her share key genetic markers with a convicted felon named Mahoney. And Judge Eric Mahoney knew both the victims because he presided over their cases when they were teenagers.”

Rachel’s eyes widened as she leaned toward him. “What are you suggesting, Sean? That the judge had some kind of . . . of relationship with these girls, and now they’ve somehow ended up dead?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Is that seriously your case theory?” Rachel glanced around the table, visibly shaken for the first time since Sean had known her. “To even suggest such a thing would be career suicide.” She looked at Reynolds. “For both of us.”

Sean shook his head. “But the DNA—”

“Don’t talk to me about that DNA! It’s a partial hit, and I can’t use it as probable cause for a warrant. And you can be damn sure I’m not going to demand a DNA sample from a sitting judge.”