Page 32 of Hunting Justice
He scratched the scruff on his jaw. “If it were me, I’d have a backup. A flash drive or something small. Maybe both documents and an electronic record.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She rubbed her hands together.
He pushed the remnants of his dinner away and slid the planner in front of him. The concept of the files tucked in with paper reports and a flash drive hidden in Ken’s office took hold. “I’d like to search his belongings tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Sounds like a solid plan.” Noelle cleared the table and quickly cleaned the kitchen.
“Thanks, Elle.”
She shifted to face him. “That’s what I’m here for—to help.”
He nodded. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to shower and get comfortable for the evening.”
“Go ahead. While you do that, I’ll head to my office. The one next to the guest room. I’d like to work for a while before heading to bed.”
He closed Ken’s planner and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll join you when I’m done.” Once in his bedroom, Jonah placed the book on the dresser and gathered his clothes.
Had they really found the clue needed to solve the mystery behind Ken’s deception?
If not, how many more attempts on his life could he live through?
* * *
The notes and photos of cold cases pinned to one of the office walls weighed on Noelle. She’d examined each case in detail over the past year, and if the answer lay in the information in front of her, she hadn’t found it. But it was in there—somewhere. It had to be. She refused to let a serial killer go free when she had the ability to stop him.
At least she and Jonah had something to go on with Ken’s case. They might not have figured out what the numbers meant yet, but she’d bet they were closer to an answer with those than she was with the ten murders staring back at her.
She rested her hip on the corner of the small desk near the window and studied the board from a different angle.
The pictures of the cuts on her upper arms and chest caught her eye, taunting her. Her investigation into the serial killer included her own living nightmare. As the only survivor, the officers had redacted her name from the reports to prevent her identity from leaking to the public. The images in the file had no identifying features to reveal her as the victim, but Noelle knew, along with a select few detectives who’d since retired. And that’s all that mattered.
She rubbed the scars on her arms through her blouse, wishing, not for the first time, for the ability to go back and make a different decision.
“Hey. Still working on those cold cases?” Jonah leaned against the doorjamb.
Tousled wet hair hung limp at his temples. He’d changed into comfortable sweats and a T-shirt. He looked more relaxed after his shower. The smell of his citrus soap drifted across the room—an aroma uniquely Jonah.
“What can I say? I’m determined.”
Jonah joined her in front of her murder wall and crossed his arms. “Have you discovered anything new?”
Many nights she and Jonah had sat on the loveseat that butted up against the opposite wall, bouncing ideas off each other. She’d never explained her interest in the cold cases or this particular serial killer. Jonah knew she held a secret, but he hadn’t pushed her to reveal it. Something she appreciated.
“Not much.” Noelle narrowed her gaze and examined him. He’d relaxed, but the day had taken its toll. She took pity on him and motioned to the loveseat. “Let’s sit down.”
Without complaint, he eased himself onto the small couch. After she joined him, he tilted his head. “Thanks. Now, run it down for me.”
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” The man had experienced the taste of death. She had no desire to push him into a trigger.
He nodded. “I want to help. This”—he motioned to the photos—“seems important to you. We’ve discussed these before, but give me a rundown again.”
Might as well let him a little farther into her world—at least the basics. She sighed. “As you know, I’ve taken an interest in these cases. You may or may not have figured it out yet, but they’re all the work of a serial killer. The last case dates to eight years ago.”
He pointed to the photos of her on the wall. “And the first? How long?”
Her pulse rate spiked. When they’d talked before and she’d pored over the documents, he’d been her sounding board, nothing more. “Fifteen years.” She gripped her own hand hard enough to hurt.
Jonah shifted in his seat and wormed his fingers between her clutched hands. “All eleven of the other cases have names and pictures of the women. Why not the first one?”