Millionaire's Last Stand. Эль Кеннеди
while she was gone.”
“Where did she go?” Jamie asked curiously.
“She went to Raleigh for about six months after she and Cole split up, said she was moving on to bigger and better things.” He snorted. “Came back like a dog with its tail between its legs about two months ago.”
“Okay.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Okay, I think the first thing you need to do is talk to some of these people she ticked off.”
“Already on it. Max and Anna have been interviewing up a storm.” Finn suddenly groaned, his blue eyes honing in on hers. “So can you help? Jesus, Jamie, I need something to go on. Anything. Just point me in any direction.”
She could sense his quiet urgency. She knew what it was like, working a case that continued to remain unsolved. But she wasn’t a miracle worker, and profiling wasn’t something you could do without anything to go on.
“I’ll need to see the case files,” she finally said. “Including the crime scene photos. Maybe I can come up with a workable profile if I have more details.”
“Done. Anything else?”
“I want to speak to Joe Gideon,” she decided. “He’s the only one who can back up Cole’s alibi, if Cole is telling the truth. Does Gideon hate Cole enough to lie about seeing him that night?”
“Possibly. But Gideon’s not budging on his story. And neither is Donovan.”
“So if the encounter actually happened, then Cole is most likely innocent. And if the disgruntled neighbor is telling the truth, then Cole—”
“Shot his ex-wife in the heart to stop her from messing around with his finances.”
She leaned back in the chair. “All right, so I’ll see what I can get out of Gideon.”
“Good luck with that. He’s been interviewed four times already, twice by me, the other times by my deputies. I’m not sure you’ll be able to get anything new from him.”
She grinned. “You’d be surprised what people tell me. There’s a reason most of the agents call me in when they’re getting nowhere with a suspect. I have a sixth sense about people, you know that. And suspects always seem to spill their guts when I’m around.”
He went quiet for a beat, and when he spoke, she could hear the admiration in his tone. “Did you really get the Raleigh Butcher to confess to all thirteen murders?”
“Fourteen,” she corrected. “He admitted to killing his sister when he was a teenager.”
“Damn.”
Finn sounded impressed. Most law enforcement members were when they saw her in action in an interrogation room. She wasn’t an arrogant woman, but she knew if anyone could delve into a killer’s psyche and unearth its secrets, it was her. Call it a gift, or maybe a curse, but people opened up to her. Particularly violent, delusional people.
“I’ll speak to Gideon tomorrow and let you know what happens,” she said as she rose from the chair. “And I need those files.”
Finn was already reaching into his desk drawer. He extracted a pitifully thin blue folder, rounded the desk and handed it to her. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s probably not how you wanted to spend your vacation.”
She released a rueful breath. “Trust me, this will be much more exciting than anything else I could have planned.”
“The only excitement I want is the kind you get from making an arrest,” Finn answered with a sullen look. “We’re getting ten calls a day, demanding we get this, and I quote, evil murderer, off our streets.”
Jamie tucked the folder under her arm and shot him a reassuring smile. “Well, that’s why I’m here.” Her jaw hardened in determination. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you catch this guy, Finn. I promise you that.”
Chapter 3
Jamie spent the entire evening and following morning going over the meager files Finn had given her, and by the time afternoon rolled around, she hadn’t gained any insights about the case. Teresa Donovan had argued with her ex-husband in the parking lot of a bar, gone home at midnight, and two hours or so later, took a bullet to the heart.
Until the forensic results came back, there was nothing to prove that Cole Donovan had killed his ex-wife. He had the motive, sure, but Jamie still couldn’t reconcile the man she’d spoken with yesterday with a cold-blooded killer. Besides, judging by Finn’s notes, half the town had a motive when it came to Teresa.
By three o’clock, Jamie finally closed the case folder and left the cozy suite she was renting at Serenade’s only bed-and-breakfast. Joe Gideon had agreed to meet with her at four o’clock, and since she had an hour to kill, she decided to head into the town and poke around. The townsfolk probably wouldn’t want to talk to a stranger, but maybe someone would have something to offer. And if not, she could always sit in the town diner for a bit and eavesdrop.
As it turned out, she did neither of those things. After finding a parking space right on Main Street, she hopped out of the SUV, glanced at a store window and got sidetracked. She stood in front of a small art gallery, admiring a gorgeous oil painting that captured the town of Serenade so beautifully she found herself walking inside.
“Can I help you with anything?” a pleasant female voice asked.
Jamie looked over at the narrow counter by the door, surprised to find the same brunette she’d glimpsed by the fountain yesterday. Up close, the woman was even more beautiful, with the creamy pale skin of a cosmetics model, enormous liquid brown eyes, and a cupid’s bow mouth that had Jamie feeling envious.
“I’m interested in the painting in the window, the one of the town,” she answered. “Is it for sale?”
The brunette nodded. “It just came in last week. One of our local artists painted it, Miranda Lee. She’s unbelievably talented.”
“Her work is beautiful,” Jamie agreed.
The woman hopped off the tall stool she was sitting on and headed over to the easel by the window. “I’ve got it priced at three hundred,” she said over her shoulder, “but I’m sure the artist would be willing to lower the price if it’s too steep for you.”
“It’s fine,” Jamie reassured. “And I’ll take it. It’ll look fantastic hanging in my living room.”
The brunette gave a wide smile. “Wonderful. I’ll just wrap it up for you then.” As she gently lifted the canvas from the easel, she shot Jamie a curious look. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Jamie laughed and gestured to her business attire. “I stick out like a sore thumb, don’t I?”
“Kind of.” With a smile, the brunette extended one delicate hand. “I’m Sarah Connelly, by the way. I own this place.”
“Jamie Crawford,” she answered as she shook Sarah’s hand. “I’m in town helping out a friend. You probably know him, actually. Patrick Finnegan, the sheriff?”
It was as if a light switch had been flicked off. One moment Sarah’s fair face was animated and friendly, the next, it went pale and expressionless.
“Sure, I know Finn,” Sarah replied, a slight edge to her voice.
Well, okay. Definitely some history there, but Jamie knew not to push for details. She could always ask Finn about it later. From the distrustful crease marring Sarah Connelly’s forehead, it was obvious the woman wasn’t going to answer any personal questions.
“So I guess you’re here because of Teresa Donovan,” Sarah added, her motions stiff as she placed the canvas on the counter and bent down to get a roll of bubble wrap.
“I am. I’m with the FBI,” Jamie admitted. “The sheriff