37. Garrett
CHAPTER 37
Garrett
Leaving Harper at the bakery was hard, but I’d see her in a few hours. She wouldn’t be alone at any point and the best thing I could do to keep her safe was figure out once and for all who was after her.
I needed evidence to back up my instincts. Then we could get this guy off the streets.
And away from Harper.
I searched my house thoroughly when I got home, checking every room, every corner. I didn’t think someone would be there, but at that point, I wasn’t taking any chances. Did it make me paranoid? I figured it made me careful.
A prickle of anticipation made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as I sat down with my laptop and inserted the thumb drive from the florist.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath. “Show me something.”
She’d given me about a week’s worth of footage. I tried to relax and settle in to the task, but my back and shoulders rippled with tension. After a few deep breaths, my mind cleared and I was able to lean on my training. Compartmentalize. Focus on the task .
The recording was surprisingly clear. That gave me some hope. It wasn’t like a lot of security cams that were so grainy and low-resolution, you could hardly make out what someone was wearing, let alone facial features. The camera they’d used had a tight view of the front counter, including the cash register and both the employee working and any customers.
I skipped forward from customer to customer. The first was a woman who seemed to be placing an order. Margie wrote something down on a notepad and the customer didn’t leave with anything. Next came a guy who picked up a vase filled with colorful flowers. Definitely not white funeral flowers.
A few more people came and went throughout that day, buying various things or placing orders. Some just seemed to come in and talk to whoever was working and then leave. It was tedious, fast-forwarding through long stretches of nothing until someone once again appeared on the screen. Then checking to see what they were buying—if anything—and who they might be.
The first day produced nothing. No one bought a white flower arrangement. I moved on to the next.
Hope started to fade as I worked. I was sleep deprived and not as calm as I wanted to be for this type of work. I kept getting distracted, wondering if Harper was okay. I resisted the urge to text her every five minutes. It wasn’t going to help. She was busy at Angel Cakes. And she wasn’t alone. She’d be fine.
Day two didn’t have anything either. No one buying white flowers.
The third day was the same, as was the fourth. By the time I got to the fifth, I was ready to crawl out of my own skin. My shoulders ached and I was afraid I’d just wasted hours of time I’d never get back.
Meanwhile, Harper was still in danger .
I got up to take a quick break, stretching my back and legs. I figured caffeine might help, so I made a pot of coffee and poured a cup. There were only a few more days of footage to review. If I didn’t find anything, either whoever had bought those flowers had purchased them earlier than I’d estimated, or he’d gotten them from a different shop.
That was fine. I’d hunt down every damn florist in the Cascades if I had to. I was going to find this guy.
I sat down with my hot cup of coffee, took a sip, and started again.
For some reason, the sixth day had been busy. Lots of people coming and going. Maybe it had been a weekend. Or they’d been running a sale to bring in more customers. Whatever the reason, I had to slow the footage down over and over again to check what people were buying.
I went to take another sip of coffee and realized I’d finished the cup. I glanced at the coffee pot. Did I need more?
I let the footage keep going to check the next person and all thoughts of coffee fled.
A man with white flowers.
He’d clearly picked them out of the arrangements on display. It wasn’t something he’d ordered ahead of time. I’d noticed Margie or one of her employees would often go to the back to bring things out—presumably flowers that had been ordered ahead of time. But this guy brought a vase filled with white flowers to the counter.
That tracked. If he didn’t want a record of his purchase, he wouldn’t have special ordered something.
But who was it? It was a man, that was clear. But he was wearing a baseball cap. I couldn’t see his face.
Damn it.
Come on, man, look up.
Margie rang him up. I could see him hand her cash. That also tracked. He wouldn’t have used anything with his name on it .
She handed him some change and a receipt. He pocketed both and took the vase off the counter.
I still couldn’t see his face.
My hands were on the desk, palms splayed, my face moving closer to the screen. Who was he? Was it Matt? The clothes were nondescript, just a T-shirt and jeans. Even his hat was plain gray, without a logo or anything identifying.
That had to be on purpose. He was making sure he didn’t stand out. A guy who could blend in. Fly under the radar.
Was Matt that guy? Not really. But maybe he had a hidden side. Maybe the awkward true crime junkie was just for show.
I held my breath as he started to walk away. Nothing. Not even a glimpse of his face. I was about to go back and rewatch the entire exchange when he moved his face toward the camera and I finally got a look. I hit pause and increased the resolution.
And I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
It wasn’t Matt Rudolph. Not even close. It wasn’t any of our frequent fliers, a known criminal with a record. Not even someone I’d arrested before but had stayed out of trouble since.
It was Phillip Lancaster, the prosecuting attorney.
I sat back in my chair, dumbfounded. Phillip? He was a successful lawyer with a stellar reputation. Everybody loved him.
He couldn’t have killed someone. That wasn’t possible. He put bad guys away for a living.
I kept going through the footage to see if someone else had bought white flowers that day, or the next. Nothing. He was the only one. I went back to him so I could zoom in on the arrangement he bought. It was definitely white lilies. No question.
My stomach churned with a mix of anger and bewilderment. Was Phillip Jasmine’s killer? This didn’t prove it, but it meant he sure as hell might have been.
And I’d been sharing details of my investigation with him.
He had access to everything. Evidence, case files, all my reports, even my schedule. If he’d wanted to, he’d have no problem tracking my location at any time. He’d just have to ask dispatch. Wouldn’t even need a reason. Everyone trusted him.
My gut was screaming at me that this was it. This was the answer.
It was him. Phillip Lancaster had killed Jasmine Joyner.
And he was going to try to kill Harper.
I flew out of my chair. This wasn’t enough to question him, let alone enough for an arrest. The fact that he’d bought white flowers just before Jasmine went missing, and Jasmine’s sister recalled her receiving similar flowers, was nothing but a coincidence in the eyes of the law.
But at that moment, I wasn’t focused on Jasmine. I had to know if Phillip had been back to the florist to buy more white flowers.
Flowers that were going to end up on my doorstep—for Harper.