Page 22 of Hunting Justice
“That’s a relief.”
“Listen, I’m about ready to go into an autopsy, but I had to call first.”
Hearing the tension in his voice, she sat up straight. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sitting in Ken’s office. I was hoping to find his planner, but it isn’t in its normal spot. So until I have more time to look, I pulled his docket for today.” He hesitated.
“And?”
“He only has two autopsies scheduled. I’m planning to check out both of them, see if I can find anything weird.”
“To confirm if what he said is true?”
Jonah sighed. “That’s the problem. He didn’t say much, so who knows? I’m probably just paranoid.”
“I wish he’d told you more about what’s going on.” Since Jonah was on an office phone, they both skirted around the fact that Ken had admitted to falsifying reports.
“Me too.” Jonah paused. “I’m going to take a cursory look in a bit, but I have my own work to do.”
She stacked the six notepads in the center of the table and flipped all the pens in the jar ballpoint down. Satisfied the table had order, she threw away her empty coffee cup. “Please call if you find anything.”
“I will. And Elle…”
She dropped into the chair she’d vacated a moment ago. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
She didn’t have to ask why. He meant the world to her too. “I’ll pick you up after work.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Noelle chuckled. The man was rarely on time. “See you soon, Jonah.”
She clicked the phone off and slouched in her seat. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Jonah had landed in the biggest mess of his life.
Noelle pulled the three-quarter sleeve of her shirt up, exposing the scars on her upper arm. Scars that reminded her every day how quickly life could change.
She didn’t want that for Jonah. He had his own scars, although she suspected they were emotional ones and not physical. But the fact remained, he had secrets that caused him pain. And she wanted to protect him from further harm.
Besides, the idea of losing her best friend made her want to throw up.
FOUR
THURSDAY, 1:00 P.M.
So, his puppet, Dr. Ken Dodson, had talked to someone about the women he’d killed.
He’d dubbed himself Jack after Jack the Ripper, but unlike his idol, he didn’t have the stomach for the abdominal mutilation. But taunting and torturing, yes. He loved to hear them scream when he wielded his knife.
Jack placed the earpiece on his desk and folded his hands in front of him. The bug he’d installed on Dodson’s phone had come in handy today. Dr. Jonah Harris knew more than Jack was comfortable with, but apparently Dodson hadn’t elaborated.
Maybe if he snuck into the medical examiner’s office and destroyed the evidence on the body, no one would be the wiser. A small spill of muriatic acid to damage the body of his latest victim might keep the cops from landing on his doorstep. Oh, sure, it’d bring in an investigation, but Jack knew how to stay under the radar. But without Dodson, the body in the morgue had the potential to ruin everything.
With a quick check of his schedule, he decided if he took an early lunch, he’d solve his problem and be back before anyone missed him.
Jack stood, grabbed the keys from his desk, and exited the building. He kept a change of clothes in his car for those occasions that required his special attention.
He’d get in and get out, destroying evidence his goal—not his normal crusade of teaching an immoral girl a lesson.