Chapter Four
“This footage is definitely not going to be admissible in court, let alone be enough for a conviction,” Rochelle mused, keeping her thoughts focused on the case and away from her traitorous body’s reaction to Camden’s touch.
“We can’t even get a warrant with this,” Camden said out loud, explaining what they both knew. “But damned if that doesn’t resemble Kage Durham.”
“Wish we had more to go on,” Rochelle stated, hoping for a miracle at this point.
“I guess the only bright spot out of this scenario is that we have a name and, at least, circumstantial evidence. We can watch Kage, and I’ll see if my supervisor will place a request for information from anyone visiting the club on the night in question onto our department’s social-media page. ”
“What’s the success rate of those types of posts in the past?” he asked.
“We get mixed results, honestly,” she said, sighing and holding back about the second text she’d sent while he was distracted by food.
“Given this is a nightclub environment with young women present, we might get a hit. Women tend to pay more attention to warnings in order to stay safe than our male citizens.”
“Always worth a try,” he said. “If a post takes two minutes to put up and solves one case, then it has the ability to save lives.”
Especially in this case, she wanted to say. She sent a message to her supervisor while they were stationary in the SUV.
“We should make a list of anyone who might have had contact with Red Ball Cap that night,” she said after hitting Send.
“Bouncers can be good resources in cases like these,” Camden said after a thoughtful pause. “Owners, not so much. Kage hasn’t been out long enough to qualify as a regular, and he doesn’t have enough cash that we know of for bottle service and VIP tables.”
“The bartender on duty that night would be a good person to speak to,” Rochelle added.
Her cell buzzed. After checking the screen, she said, “My supervisor is arranging for a message to be put up on the department’s social-media page requesting information about a missing person last seen at the nightclub in question. ”
“Here’s hoping for a lead,” he said, crossing his fingers. For good measure?
“Are you done?” she asked, motioning toward the fast-food wrappers.
“Yes,” he said.
She gathered her empties. “I can’t stand the smell of fast food in my vehicle. Sticks around for days.”
“I’ll throw all of it away,” he offered. “Toss it in the bag.” He held up the greasy-smelling fast-food bag.
Rochelle dumped her wrappers inside before he exited the vehicle.
He returned and then clicked on his seat belt. “We can swing by the nightclub and talk to the owners and then I’ll check on the warrant I’m here to serve.”
After pulling up the address, Rochelle took note of the owners’ names. “Think we should call first?”
“Nah,” he said. “You never know with these owner types. I’ve witnessed and heard all kinds of things they’ll do to cover up a crime they don’t want associated with their business.
In my experience, it’s best not to give them advanced notice before stopping by.
Plus, I can tell a lot about a person from their initial reactions when I show up and ask questions. ”
“Guess protecting their business goes with the territory sometimes,” she decided.
She’d seen the same with entrepreneurs, too, especially bar owners.
Some were on the up and up and were proud of the business they’d created.
To others, it was a money machine, and they didn’t care what went on as long as the cash kept flowing.
Underage drinkers in the VIP lounge? Not a problem for some places, whereas others checked every ID if you looked younger than thirty-five years old.
At thirty-two, she’d been carded while meeting up with coworkers for a drink.
She’d felt flattered until she’d been told the establishment ID’d anyone under the age of thirty-five.
There were places that encouraged law enforcement to stop by after shift by offering a discount on food.
Those places liked having officers around for extra security.
Patrons hesitated before stepping out of line in a bar where every other barstool was occupied by someone wearing a badge.
Other establishments weren’t so welcoming.
They couldn’t refuse an off-duty officer from entering their doors, but they didn’t make the place cozy either.
Rochelle started the engine, put the gearshift into Reverse, and backed out of the parking spot. GPS led her straight to the front door of the nightclub in a matter of minutes.
Knowing a kidnapping had occurred on or near this spot sent an icy chill racing up her spine. Always. There was a dark side to a crime scene that she felt on a deep, unexplainable level.
She parked and exited the SUV. Camden met her around the front before leaning against the bumper. The lot was small and dingy. A couple of forty-ounce bottles in paper bags littered the cracked pavement of the sidewalk.
In the light of day, the nightclub showed its age.
An outside wall had a long, crooked line from the corner of the building that slithered down the side like a snake, a product of being built on ever-shifting clay soil—soil that was not meant to hold up any type of building, not even homes.
The turquoise paint probably looked amazing when all the manufactured lighting hit it.
The sun made the color look cheap and showed all the dirt.
A couple of rent-by-the-minute electric scooters had been abandoned around the area, a common theme for club hoppers.
Uber pricing had gone through the roof. After drinking, there was always a group of young people who thought it would be fun to get on a scooter and hit the next bar.
Thankfully, incidents and deaths were still low in Austin, but she always feared that number was like a simmering pot of water about to boil.
“No one appears to be here,” Rochelle said to Camden, who straightened and started walking the perimeter of the empty lot.
“It’s early,” he said. “I figured as much.”
“Should we walk to Kage’s house from here to record the time it takes?” she asked, pulling up the map feature on her phone and checking the distance. “The map thinks it would take us thirty minutes to make the trek. I must be a fast walker because it usually takes me half that amount of time.”
He nodded, agreeing. “Too bad we can’t tell if Justina had too much to drink on the night in question. A fifteen-minute walk with someone who was drunk should’ve drawn attention.”
Rochelle agreed. “She might not have been able to walk straight and could have needed help. Then, there’s the possibility of ketamine being involved. She might have had little to drink but was drugged instead.”
A muscle in Camden’s jaw clenched. “Ketamine in unattended drinks accounts for far too many rape cases.”
“We should add Justina’s coworkers to the list of people to talk to so we can get a sense of her personality,” Rochelle added. “Find out how she spent her free time and who she hung out with on weekends.”
An eyebrow shot up. “Is this officially your case?”
“I asked my supervisor to reassign me from the case you’re on so I can take this one,” she admitted. It had been her second text message after asking for the social-media call for information.
Camden walked away as he pulled out his cell. He turned the corner, out of earshot. Was he doing the same? Asking to be moved to this case rather than the one that would have him serving a warrant to pick up a federal criminal?
The temptation to follow him close enough to hear whom he had called and why had to be tamped down.
For more reasons than professional ones, she wanted to keep working with Camden.
The flicker of betrayal that had crossed his features a moment ago when she’d confessed to her second text caused a vise to tighten around her chest. Would he resent her for making the move?
Camden came walking around the corner, his expression unreadable.
Her heart skipped a couple of beats. She was about to find out.
Camden had just as much right to be assigned to this case as Rochelle. More so, when he considered Kage Durham had been his responsibility to begin with. She wouldn’t even be going down this trail if Camden hadn’t walked up when he had, considering he was the one who had identified Kage.
Camden brought up his gaze, locking in on hers.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me if your supervisor gives final approval.
” He shot her a look as he stopped and then folded his arms across his chest in a dare.
“If you want me off the case, you should probably send another one of those texts.” Then he prepared to fire the dagger, turning his back to her.
“This will make it easier to go behind my back again.”
“I didn’t mean to off—”
He turned and stared her down. “What? Upset me?” He took a step toward her. “Offend me?” Another step. They were five feet away from each other now. “You sure about that? Because I was sitting right next to you when you sent the text, so you could’ve given me a heads-up.”
She put her hands up, palms out, surrendering. “I wasn’t trying to step on your toes. This is my jurisdiction.”
“Kage is my responsibility,” he countered.
Rochelle tilted her head to the right side as she studied him. “You did your job when you picked him up and arrested him. What makes you think he’s still your responsibility when he lives in my jurisdiction?”
“I take my job personally,” he said, gaze narrowed. “And there was always something fishy about his case that I couldn’t put my finger on. I can’t help but think I dropped the ball somewhere along the line. So, no, my job is not finished.”
“You’re not the only one who lives for the job,” she countered with the stubbornness of a bull facing down a red cape. “And I’d planned on telling you once I received approval because I actually thought we might make a good team.”
Oh. Hell.
Had he jumped to a conclusion?
Yes.
Did he feel like a jerk?
Yes.
Could he repair the damage?
Only time will tell.
“I didn’t mean to jump the gun,” he started, searching for the right words to apologize.
“Forget about it,” she said in a tone that said he was dismissed.
“Seriously,” he continued, unfazed by the snub. He had it coming, and he could take it on the chin. “My bad.”
“You won’t get any disagreement there from me,” she said a little too fast for his comfort. Rochelle was sharp. She had a sharp mind and a sharp tongue…
Camden didn’t need to be thinking about anything in her mouth region because his gaze had dipped down to kissable lips—lips that made him even more frustrated.
Kissing Rochelle was an idea that came out of the blue.
The last thing he needed was more drama in his life right now, considering everything going on in Mesa Point.
He stopped right there.
His heightened emotions made sense when he thought about the accident that had happened weeks ago and the fact that his grandmother wasn’t improving.
When he and his siblings and cousins had set up the rotation system to ensure someone was at the hospital 24/7, no one had thought it would drag on this long or make it to his turn.
They, him included, had optimistically believed Duke’s rotation would be first and last.
How naive had they been?
He shook his head. “I underestimated how much not having the family together for Thanksgiving this year would affect me. I’m taking it out on you, and that’s not okay.
” He issued a sharp sigh as he dropped his hands to his sides.
“If you can accept my apology, I’ll stay on the case.
If not, it’ll be better for everyone involved if we go our separate ways.
A distraction is the last thing anyone needs while working on this case.
I can circle back to my superior and rescind my request.”
“We’re good,” Rochelle immediately responded. “Hey, I get it. What you said about your grandparents earlier…well, I should have connected the dots because I don’t get the impression you normally jump to conclusions about other people. So, yeah, I’m good if you are.”
Relief flooded Camden. The barrage caught him off guard because it had less to do with the case and more to do with what Rochelle thought about him.
If he wasn’t careful, he might care a little too much about Rochelle’s opinion of him.
“Let’s head over to Justina’s workplace while our superiors discuss us working together. Shall we?”