Chapter Seven
It took Rochelle all of two seconds to do the math. At best, they had five and a half more days to find Justina. At worst, she’d tried to escape or fight and was already dead. Somewhere in between now and five and a half days, Justina’s life would end.
Were there signs of a struggle?
Sandman frowned, nodded. “There have been. See here. She basically lost all the fingernails on her right hand. There are significant contusions and bruising in various parts of her head and body, which would indicate blunt-force trauma.” He pointed to areas on the victim’s head and chest as he spoke.
“Fingernails were removed?” Rochelle asked as Camden studied the victim. “Wouldn’t that indicate she was tortured?”
“If it happened on both hands I might agree with that assessment.” Sandman used his knuckle to push his glasses onto the bridge of his nose.
“Considering the fingernails solely on the right hand have been removed, the indication for a right-handed person is that someone meticulously removed them before dumping the body so that no DNA could be extracted.” He shot a look of apology as he said the word dumping.
Rochelle involuntarily shivered. She’d been a detective for three years now and had been in law enforcement many more years than that.
However, the brutalization in cases like these haunted her.
The fact that another victim was out there, with time running out, haunted her.
And a third victim was just beginning to live in a deranged person’s twisted fantasy.
Was it too late to save the second kidnapping victim?
The clock on the wall ticked louder than usual as Rochelle studied the victim’s body.
Then, she realized it wasn’t the clock at all.
Her toe tapped the floor as she hugged her elbows into her chest. This part of her job, the part where she studied a corpse, turned her stomach.
Showing her pictures made it easier to detach her emotions from the reality of what she was looking at.
Being in the room with a victim was much more difficult. In theory, it shouldn’t be.
Try convincing her stomach.
In the next second, Camden was by her side. His strong presence made her want to lean in closer, absorb some of his strength as she listened to Sandman making voice notes on his cell.
“Multiple lacerations behind the left ear,” he continued as bile climbed the back of Rochelle’s throat. There were other words spoken that she filed away as Sandman recorded the details in a long list.
When he was done recording, she asked for a copy of the file, so she didn’t forget any of the details. A small detail could break a case wide open. Plus, they’d been standing there long enough. Time was wasting and they needed to get back into the field and start canvassing.
Camden gently touched her elbow. The move caused warmth to flood her as electricity sparked at the point of contact. It would be a mistake to look into his eyes right now, so she didn’t. Instead, she said goodbye to Sandman and walked out to the SUV.
After reclaiming the driver’s seat, she checked her phone. “I didn’t realize a text came through from my supervisor. It says we should head to the Maple Road substation, where two bouncers and several bartenders and waitstaff are either heading that way, or waiting for us to interview them.”
“That was fast,” he said as he buckled in.
She studied her screen. “Looks like the social-media call netted a decent number of responses, including the employees.”
“Okay, then,” he said, impressed. “Let’s roll.”
The drive to the substation only took eighteen minutes, a miracle in Austin’s traffic. A few text messages came through on Camden’s phone. He spent the ride engaged in conversation with someone.
She parked in the lot and turned to him. “Everything okay?”
In a rare moment, he smiled. “It looks like my grandfather is holding up. He’s cracking jokes as he faithfully sits next to my grandmother’s side, keeping everyone entertained despite his own hurt.
” He paused for a beat. “I think it’s his way of trying to make up for everything we’ve been through.
” Another pause. “Not that any of us minded. We love him and our grandmother more than words. We would do anything for them. In fact, my brother is retiring from law enforcement to work the ranch.”
“Is that something you would ever consider?” Rochelle asked, finding that she wanted to know more about her partner on this case.
“Me? No,” he admitted. “I do want to be more involved in the family business, though. I’ve neglected going home Christmases and Thanksgivings.
” He shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time all eight of us were together for a holiday.
Facing this holiday season with the real possibility we might lose one of our grandparents hits the point home for me.
I’ve been missing out.” He put out a hand.
“Don’t get me wrong, work is important.”
“Events like these, losing loved ones, reminds us how fast life goes by, doesn’t it?” she asked, but the question was rhetorical. She knew firsthand how awful it could be and how easy it was to take advantage of the people you love most, thinking they will always be around.
Rochelle reached for the door handle as Camden tucked away his cell. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
“Ready to go inside?” she asked.
Camden nodded. He hopped out of the passenger seat then came around the front of the vehicle to open her door. She appreciated the gesture but they didn’t have time to waste, so she exited before he reached her side.
They walked into the substation to a full lobby and checked in with the desk sergeant, who then led them into a small conference room.
“I’ve been instructed to bring folks in one by one,” he said.
“We’d like to see the bouncers first,” Rochelle stated.
“Yes, ma’am,” the sergeant said before exiting the door. He returned a few minutes later with a tall dark-skinned bald man. “This is Ray Combs.” The irony of his last name was not lost on Rochelle.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” she said before he nodded and then closed the door.
“Mr. Combs,” she began, extending a hand. He shook hers and then Camden’s. “Thank you for volunteering to come to the station today.”
“My pleasure,” Combs said. Based on the look on his face, she highly doubted the man was getting any pleasure out of being here, but she appreciated his politeness.
“Would you like to sit?” she asked, motioning toward the metal chair across the table.
Combs did. Knees spread, he rested his hands on thick, powerful thighs. Combs had to be a solid six feet tall. And by solid, she meant muscled. Sturdy. A guy who spent more time at the gym than anywhere else and possibly took steroids. Muscles like his didn’t seem natural.
“This is my partner, US Marshal Remington,” she continued. She pulled up a picture of Justina on her cell, placed it on top of the table, and then used two fingers to push the screen toward Combs. “What can you tell me about this customer?”
“I know our regulars,” Combs said after leaning in to get a good look at the photo. The man looked like a fitness trainer who happened to be the size and weight of a linebacker. “She’s not one of them.”
“So you don’t remember her visiting your establishment at all?” she asked for confirmation.
His nose wrinkled. His eyes squinted. His lips clamed shut. “I couldn’t say with one-hundred-percent certainty, but she looks vaguely familiar. I’d say she was in recently.”
“Do you remember anything special about her visit?” Camden asked.
“Not really,” Combs said. “Just that she seems a little familiar, like I already said.” He leaned back. “Wish I could be of more help.”
Justina was average in pretty much every way. Height. Weight. Looks. There was nothing about the woman that especially stood out, so it didn’t surprise Rochelle that the bouncer didn’t remember a one-time visitor like Justina.
“So do we,” Rochelle agreed with a small smile.
“We appreciate the effort, though.” She reached for her phone and then slid it toward her.
After tapping the screen and offering facial recognition to unlock the phone, she flipped to a picture of Kage Durham.
“What about this guy? Have you witnessed him entering the establishment?”
Combs leaned forward as she pushed the screen toward him a second time.
“Yes,” he said with certainty and without hesitation.
“I’ve definitely seen him.” Kage, on the other hand, was tall, muscular, and would be considered good-looking by most standards.
He was the kind of guy who a bouncer would notice and size up just in case an intervention would be needed at some point in the night.
She suspected every bouncer kept an eye on those he or she believed could put up a good fight if inebriated and out of order.
Combs struck her as street-smart. He was the kind of guy who would notice a physically strong male who could throw a punch and do some damage.
“Is he a regular?” Camden asked, leaning in.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Combs stated. “The main reason I remember him is that on the nights he does come to the club, he’s in and out.” That would gain attention as possibly selling drugs on the premises.
“Does he normally come in with anyone?” Camden continued.
Combs studied the screen. “No. He’s alone when he comes in.”
“What about when he leaves?” Camden asked.
“I’ve seen him walk out with a female at least once,” Combs admitted. “Maybe a couple of times when I really think about it.”
“Has this person ever caused a disruption?” Rochelle asked.
“No,” Combs said. “Not him. I’ve never been called in to take care of him.”
“What about when he leaves? Is he drunk?” Camden asked.
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” Combs answered.
They needed to speak to the bartender on shift that night next.