CHAPTER SIXTEEN
C HAPTER S IXTEEN
With photos of the interior of the Masons’ house in hand, Renata studied the murder board in the conference room. Usually, she was out on patrol and didn’t get a chance to help with investigations, except for peripheral activities like knocking on doors, running background checks, and making phone calls. Even in the NYPD, she’d been out on the street most of the time. She scanned the pinned photos, the hand-drawn arrows and circles, the lists of bullet point notes on the case.
Cool.
Renata left the room, closing the door behind her. She didn’t want Claire to accidentally see anything in there. Then she carried the photos down the hall to the interview room where Claire waited.
She sat across from the girl and set the stack of pictures in front of her, face down. “Are you OK to look through these?”
Claire nodded, but her eyes looked unsure. “I want to help catch whoever killed my parents.” She shoved some hair behind her ear. “If I help, it feels like I’ll be taking back some control, control that was taken from me.” She closed her eyes and drew in a single shuddering breath before meeting Renata’s gaze once again. “My whole life is gone.”
“I know, and I’m sorry that happened to you.” Renata understood the need to actively participate. It was one of the reasons she’d become a cop. She couldn’t sit back and watch. She had to do . She tapped the stack of photos. “Look for things that are missing or anything that doesn’t look right.”
For the next twenty minutes, Claire silently shuffled through pictures. Each one brought a new expression to her face: pain, fear, longing, sadness, anger. She covered the gamut.
She settled on two photos, and placed her fingertip on the picture of her dad’s nightstand. Her father’s dead body had been just out of sight. “Dad’s watch is always on his nightstand. Mom bought it for him for Christmas two years ago. I went with her to pick it up. It was expensive.”
“How expensive?”
“Over eight thousand dollars.”
“Do you know what kind of watch it was?” Renata snagged a notepad and pen from the center of the table.
“A Tag something.”
“Tag Heuer?”
“That’s it.”
“Can you describe it?” Renata asked.
Claire stroked the photo almost lovingly. “It was silver and black, bulky looking, with three little round faces on the big face, if you know what I mean.”
“I do.” Renata took notes.
Claire squinted at the photo again. “His money clip isn’t there either.”
“Did he usually carry a lot of cash?” Renata asked.
“I don’t think it was a lot, but there was always some in it.”
Renata wrote unknown amount of cash and money clip .
“Is there anything else that stands out as not there?”
Claire moved to a photo of her mother’s jewelry drawer. “I don’t see Mom’s tennis bracelet.”
“Do you have any idea what it was worth?”
“No. She had it before me. I think it was a present for their first anniversary.”
“Diamonds?” Renata asked.
“I think,” Claire said. “She kept it in a Tiffany box. The bracelet was her favorite. She wore it all the time. Wait. Sometimes she left it on her nightstand if she was going to wear it again the next day.” She went back to another photo. “I still don’t see it.”
Mrs. Mason looked like a Tiffany kind of woman.
Claire suddenly pushed the pictures away. “That’s all.”
“OK. You did well, Claire. This information will be helpful.”
Claire nodded and looked away, as if she couldn’t stand the sight of the photos one more second. Renata gathered them and placed them out of sight in a folder. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Claire shook her head.
“Do you want me to give you a minute?”
“Could you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Renata stood. “Why don’t I get us some lunch?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“How about a Coke or something?”
“OK.” Claire’s response was toneless.
Renata scooped up the folder of pictures and left the room. As she closed the door behind her, she saw Claire prop her elbows on the table and rest her face in her hands. She must be exhausted.
Renata stopped at Marge’s desk. “I need to feed Claire, but she says she’s not hungry.”
“Leave it to me,” Marge said, and picked up the phone.
If there was ever a more efficient woman, Renata hadn’t met her.
She got two Cokes and some pretzels from the vending machines in the break room. The girl needed a minute, but Renata had promised to babysit her. She wouldn’t neglect her duty. She knocked lightly before entering.
When Claire lifted her head, her eyes were clearer. Renata set down the snack. Claire opened the Coke but ignored the pretzels. Renata dropped into a chair and opened her own Coke.
A minute later, Marge walked in. In her wake was a tall, rangy man in paint-splattered jeans and a T-shirt. Even his sneakers were speckled with color. Superficially, Renata admired the way his waistband hung low on lean hips, and the tousled hair that hung over his forehead. He carried a sketchpad and a box of colored pencils.
Fuck. Why did she like the wrong types? Why wasn’t she attracted to clean-cut, successful businessmen? Nooooo. Always the bad boys for her. She’d once had a friend set her up with a banker. Good-looking, gainfully employed, nice personality.
Zero sparks.
Instead, she’d hooked up with the lead guitarist from a band. The sex had been off the charts, but had he contributed to the rent? Nope. Paid for meals? No again. He’d mooched off her for six months before she’d finally kicked him to the curb after coming home from the graveyard shift and finding his friends passed out all over her apartment. They’d been snorting coke in her kitchen while she was on patrol. Someone had vomited in her kitchen sink. She never could decide if he’d been ballsy or stupid. Probably a little of both. Band groupies had convinced him he was the universe’s gift to women.
Before the guitarist, she’d dated an aspiring actor. That had been a sparkler of a relationship. It had burned at a thousand degrees—for approximately forty-five seconds.
Maybe she needed one of those TV matchmakers because she had the worst taste in men.
She ripped her gaze upward, which didn’t help because holy hell ... those eyes.
She needed to get out more. When was the last time she’d been on a date? Not since she’d moved here. She’d been too busy working and taking care of her mom. If she wasn’t paying bills, she was worrying about paying them.
Marge gestured. “Deputy Zucco, this is the sheriff’s brother, Adam Taggert.”
“Hey.” He tucked his sketchpad under his arm and extended a hand.
Her boss’s brother? Get a grip, girl. He was off limits. So far off. Practically on another planet.
“Adam is an artist. He’s helped with witness recollections before.”
Adam shook his head. “Bree thought I might help someone remember a tattoo.”
“Yes,” Renata said. An artist? Yeah. Perfect. Just once, she’d like to think a guy with steady employment was hot. This was why she used dating apps, for screening purposes, to make sure every man she dated had a real job. No more starving-artist types for her. She gestured toward Claire and introduced her.
Claire gave him a shy wave.
He sat down next to Renata, across from Claire, and set the pencils on the table. He leaned back, crossed his legs, and balanced his sketchpad on his knee.
“I ordered sandwiches. They should be delivered in a minute.” Marge looked from Renata to Adam.
“Thanks, Marge,” Renata said.
Marge walked out, closing the door behind her.
Renata’s foot tapped under the table.
Adam selected a black pencil from the box.
“What do I do?” Claire asked.
He leaned back and lifted the sketchpad so she couldn’t see the page. “Tell me what you remember. Where was the tattoo?”
“On his arm.” Claire flexed her bicep and pointed.
“How big was his arm?” Adam asked.
“I don’t know.” Claire clasped and unclasped her fingers on the table.
Adam lifted and flexed his own arm. For a lean man, he had nice biceps. “Bigger or smaller than mine?”
“About the same,” Claire said. “I think.”
Adam cocked his head and waited. His hazel eyes seemed to shift color while Renata stared. Amber or green? Hazel. Be cool. Stop staring.
“Try closing your eyes,” Adam suggested. “And breathe. There’s no downside to trying this. The worst that can happen is we don’t come up with anything, and I get a free lunch. No loss.”
Renata sighed. He needs a free meal.
“OK.” Claire shut her eyes.
“Where were you?” His voice went soft.
“On the playground.”
“Walking?”
“No. I was sitting on a swing. He parked at the curb, got out, and walked toward me.”
“When did you notice the tattoo?”
“Right then. Because after that, I ran, and so did he.”
Adam didn’t respond for a few seconds. Then he cleared his throat. “Can you picture it without the memory being too scary?”
“Yeah.”
“OK, then. Back up. You’re on the swing. He’s walking toward you. Stop right there, like you’re pausing a video. Think about the smells, the sounds, the feel of the ground beneath your ...”
“Sneakers,” Claire supplied. She breathed in and out. “There was a tiger in the center. One paw raised like it was going to lash out. It was snarling.” She described the tattoo in greater detail, then stopped. “There was another tattoo below it.” She lifted her arm and pointed to a spot above her elbow. “This one was a symbol or something. One long vertical line and others in V shapes, almost like arms propped on hips.” She drew marks in the air.
Adam’s pencil scratched on the paper. He mostly listened. Occasionally, he asked a question about a detail, a direction, or size.
Renata wanted to look at the sketchpad so badly she could barely sit still.
Finally, Claire slumped back into her seat and gulped some Coke. “That’s it. I can’t think anymore.”
“OK.” Adam turned the sketchpad. “Tell me what needs to be fixed.”
Marge came in with a cardboard tray of sandwiches and three small liquid containers. “Chicken soup and turkey sandwiches,” she whispered to Renata, obviously trying not to disturb Adam and Claire. She left the food and slipped out of the room.
Adam absently reached for a sandwich. Without saying a word, he passed a soup container and a wrapped sandwich to Claire. She took both, opening the soup and eating some while she assessed his work.
“Um. That’s pretty good, but the tiger’s face was narrower, and its raised paw was bigger.” She moved her finger on the pad and gave him a few more corrections to the tiger and the symbol.
He frowned, pulled an eraser out of his pocket, and corrected something as Claire watched and gave direction. She set aside the half-empty soup container. She’d been so distracted, she’d eaten. “That’s them. That’s really them.”
“Great.” Adam removed the drawing at the perforation and handed it to Renata.
The hairs on her neck stood up as she stared at the image.
Adam opened a soup container while Claire started on a sandwich, still distracted.
“Could you always draw?” she asked.
“Yeah, but I practiced a lot.” He picked up a plastic spoon.
Claire asked more questions, and Renata suspected Adam was intentionally eating slowly to pace his meal with Claire’s, as if he knew she needed the diversion. So, he was both a talented artist and a decent human being.
Damn it. She didn’t want to like him. Pure physical attraction was easier to ignore.
They finished lunch, and Adam stood. “It was nice to meet both of you.”
“Thanks for your help.” Renata walked him out of the interview room and down the hall.
“Take my number in case you need anything else.” He read off the digits.
Renata entered them into her phone. Then she sent him a quick text. His phone chimed, but he didn’t take it out of his pocket.
The sheriff and Matt were walking toward them. “How did it go?” The sheriff gave her brother a one-armed hug. He hugged her back, and Renata could see the family resemblance between them. Same lean features. Same hazel eyes. Same worried look.
Renata said, “We have a drawing of the tattoos.”
“Excellent,” said the sheriff. “I owe you, Adam.”
He snorted. “You don’t, but you’re welcome.”
After he left, they went into the conference room. Renata filled the sheriff in on Claire’s recollections of the missing items from her parents’ bedroom.
Sheriff Taggert frowned. “So, we have two expensive items missing and possibly some cash.”
“Yes,” Renata confirmed.
“Personal electronics were also taken,” Matt said.
“So theft could have been the motive?” The sheriff didn’t sound convinced.
Matt pursed his lips. “The killer still would have needed to know the layout of the house and the Masons’ typical schedule, and if they were going to take the time to search the house, why ignore other small, valuable items?”
“Addicts looking for quick cash is always a possibility,” Sheriff Taggert said. “Call forensics and see when we can expect a report.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Renata headed to the squad room and sat at a workstation.
Juarez was at the cubicle across the aisle, shoving a sandwich into his face. “How did it go with the boss’s brother?”
“He made a sketch.”
“I heard he’s good.”
“As an artist? The drawing is good.” But what had impressed Renata was Adam’s patience and the way he’d listened to Claire. He hadn’t just heard her. He’d paid attention. “Hard to judge his professional ability on a pencil sketch. What does he do for a living?”
“He paints.”
“Houses?”
“No. Paintings, you know, art.”
Renata connected the dots. “So, he’s unemployed.”
“Adam Taggert, unemployed?” Juarez snorted and shoved a fry into his mouth. “Google him.”
“Why? Is he a murderer or something?”
“Google him. I won’t spoil the surprise for you.”
Annoyed, Renata crumpled a sticky note and tossed it at Juarez’s face. “I don’t have time. Just tell me.”
“Nope.” He batted it back at her.
Renata liked him in a little-brother way, and he was just as irritating.
He dropped the remaining piece of his sandwich and sat bolt upright. “Holy shit.”
Renata whirled. “Must be serious. You never swear.” He was ridiculously polite, even a little naive at times.
“Yeah.” He attacked the keyboard briefly, then got to his feet. “I have to talk to the sheriff.”
Renata jerked a thumb. “She’s in the conference room.”
Juarez limped the first few steps. Despite claiming his bullet wound was mostly healed, he still walked gingerly enough that she suspected that claim was bullshit. He grabbed a paper off the printer and headed for the conference room. Renata picked up the phone to call forensics, but she kept one eye on Juarez as he disappeared through a doorway.
What had he found?
Whatever it was, it was big enough to elicit profanity from the department altar boy.