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Two

Officer Tendum sent me back.” Terry Grant, Madison’s partner who was three years younger than her thirty-six, was coming toward where she was standing next to the shed. Every one of his blond hairs lay perfectly in place, and his cheeks were flushed. She’d probably disturbed his run—something he chose to do for fun and exercise. To her, running was the devil’s pastime.

He nudged his head to indicate the building. “The victim’s in there?”

“Jane Doe, yep.” She hated to think of the murdered as victims, detesting the assignment of a label to a once-living individual, loved by people.

She stepped aside for Terry to enter the building but stayed outside. “She’s behind the lawnmower,” she told him.

Terry poked his head through the doorway. “You’re not coming?”

“No, I’ve seen her.”

“You all right?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” She raised her eyebrows. Her distaste was something she did her best to hide, but if she were honest with herself, she hadn’t been too good at pulling it off.

“Uh-huh.” Terry disappeared again.

She rolled her eyes and followed him.

“Estelle must have had quite a shock,” he said.

“Yeah, you could say that.” She came up next to Terry, who was standing at Doe’s feet. “I didn’t see any sign of the murder weapon, and given the blood drops leading from the doorway, I’d say Jane Doe walked in here.”

Terry pointed a finger to the walls. “No spatter. This isn’t where she was stabbed.”

“I agree. We’ll need to establish the primary.” That being the scene of the crime. “The rain from last night would have washed away any blood outside leading to the shed, so it won’t be easy. But I did notice something while I was waiting.” Madison headed outside and gestured toward the back of the yard. “The gate’s open. She might have come through there. She was stabbed and bleeding, seeking shelter—”

“Why not look or call for help?”

“Maybe she tried? She also could have been in a state of delirium and shock.” Madison couldn’t imagine anyone thinking rationally after being stabbed.

“Okay, well, if I remember the area right, there are some bars and restaurants a street south. Burnham Street. We may be looking at a date gone wrong.”

Madison recalled Doe’s dolled-up face and her apparel. “If that’s the case, dating just got a whole lot less attractive.”

“Hey, nothing like working a crime scene on Saturday afternoon,” Cynthia Baxter-Stanford said, as she approached with her employee, Mark Adams. She went on. “Lou and I were just about to open a bottle of wine and watch a movie.”

“Still in the honeymoon phase,” Terry affirmed. “Before long you’ll be fighting over who has the remote. He’ll be drinking beer or whiskey; you’ll be on your own with the wine…”

The way Terry spoke, a person would think he hated married life, but he loved his wife Annabelle and their eight-month-old daughter, Danielle, above all else.

“Guess time will tell.” Cynthia winked at Madison.

Madison thought Cynthia’s plans sounded like a lot more fun than what Madison had been up to before the call. She and Troy had been in a heated discussion about their future, specifically where they saw themselves living, but it seemed to be a cover for a topic they were avoiding. At least she was. She was confident he was going to propose at Cynthia’s wedding a few weeks ago—just the way he’d been acting and looking at her. Even Cynthia thought for sure he was going to pop the question. But he still hadn’t asked, and it left her feeling prickly and easily irritated. But whether he was responding to her energy or battling his own thoughts, he hadn’t been too pleased when she said she had to leave.

Cynthia and Mark went into the shed and got to work, while Madison and Terry remained outside the door. They wanted to know if Jane Doe had a phone or ID in her pockets to start with, but they gave the investigators some space.

Several minutes later, Cynthia stepped out from the shed, a camera strapped around her neck. “There’s something you’re going to want to see.”

Madison gave a curious glance at Terry and followed her friend inside, Terry at her heels.

Cynthia pointed at the pool of blood on the left side of the body. Mark shone a flashlight on the area.

“What am I looking at?” Madison crouched down.

“Right there. See it?” Cynthia swooped a fingertip over an area of blood. “It’s rather faint to the naked eye, but—” she lifted her camera and held it so that Madison and Terry could see the screen “—it shows up quite clear in a photo.”

“Is that…” Madison squinted at the screen.

“Letters written in blood?” Cynthia said. “Yep. And given the caked blood under the index fingernail of her right hand, I’d say she wrote it herself.”

“GB.” Madison straightened up, placed her hands on her hips. “What does it stand for?”

Terry took out his phone, pecked on it. “GB can stand for gigabyte, Great Britain…”

Madison looked at her partner. “Just a guess, but I think Doe had something—or someone—else in mind. Maybe the first two letters of her killer’s name or their initials?”

“So she knew her killer?” Terry volleyed back. “We’re leaping to that.”

“I’m just spitballing, Terry, and keeping an open mind.”

“Since when?” he shoved out with a chuckle.

Madison met Cynthia’s gaze, and her friend said, “He does have a point.”

“Very funny, you two.” Madison said. “But let’s focus on the case, not me. Any sign of forced entry?”

Mark walked over and put the beam of a flashlight on the doorframe and handle. “Doesn’t look like it, and I’d say the lock wasn’t picked. No scratches in the metal other than the normal wear and tear that comes with sticking a key in and out over time.”

“We’ll ask the homeowners if they leave it unlocked. Do we have an ID?”

“I was just getting ready to check her pockets before…” Mark shot a look at Terry, then asked Cynthia, “You have all the pictures you need of her before I proceed?”

Cynthia nodded her go-ahead.

Mark lowered near the body, aware of the placement of his feet, and slipped a gloved hand into Doe’s jacket pocket. “Nothing in this one.” He rummaged in the other one and pulled out a balled-up tissue, lip balm, and a piece of paper. He was about to put the items into a clear evidence bag.

“Wait,” Madison said. “Anything written on it?”

Mark dropped the tissue and balm into the bag, then took the paper in both hands and unfolded it. Madison stepped closer and could see the page was lined and whole, probably removed from a small notebook. She read what was there.

“The name Alan Lowe and a number.” She took out her phone and placed the call. The line rang while Terry and Cynthia watched her. Mark went on to check Doe’s jean pockets, front and back.

Madison’s call was shuffled to voicemail, and in the greeting, Lowe announced himself as a financial adviser with Stiles Investment and Savings. Madison was familiar with the bank. Lowe was a new name to her. “Mr. Lowe, this is Detective Madison Knight with the Stiles PD. Please give me a call when you get this message.” She rattled off her number and ended the call. Best to keep things vague for now. “It’s a banker,” she said. “The number either rang through to his desk extension or his cell phone. Hard to say.”

Mark resumed full height. “Nothing in the pockets of her jeans.”

“Also, no purse, wallet, or phone,” Cynthia added.

“Guess it’s official. Meet Jane Doe.” Madison sighed. She’d hoped the name was only a temporary assignment, but it seemed it would be hanging around a bit longer.