Chapter Twelve

 

Jack hustled them out to the car, telling her she could explain on the way. “All right, I’m listening. Tell me everything you’ve got,” he said as he backed out of the driveway, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

Gemma pulled her tablet from out of her bag and quickly accessed the document she had been looking at earlier. “Fifteen years ago four officers covered the southeast side of town. Robert Kowalski and Frank Hurley were partners, while your father partnered with Stan Moretti. Accusations that they were shaking people down and giving breaks to those who could pay them triggered an investigation. One witness died, another disappeared and a third’s testimony was thrown out. Without the witnesses, there wasn’t enough evidence to indict, so the case was dropped. Three of the officers resigned and found jobs elsewhere. Your dad continued for a few more years and then took early retirement. How am I doing so far?”

“You’ve got the basics. But I know all this. Tell me something I don’t know.” He turned on his signal and changed lanes to move swiftly around another vehicle.

Gemma let the challenge in his tone roll off her. With his folks missing, she’d cut him some slack. “Last year, Kowalski died in a car accident, a victim of a heart attack. Then, seven months later, Moretti fell overboard and was presumed dead in a boating accident. Beer bottles were found in the bottom of the boat. Three and a half months ago, Hurley fell down the stairs. It was called an accident.” She looked up from her notes. “Don’t you find that weird? What are the odds that all three of them would die within a year in plausible accidents?”

Jack didn’t get a chance to answer. His cell rang. His car navigation screen displayed the message, “Incoming Call: T.J. Garcia.”

He tapped the screen to accept the call. “Donahue here. Gemma’s next to me and we’re less than ten minutes from the station.”

“Good. I called to tell you that the Chief has scheduled a press conference at ten this morning. O’Hara’s called a meeting for us in fifteen minutes. I’ll tell him you’re on your way.”

“Thanks. Also, could you find a room for Gemma to work in? She’ll be with me today.”

“Will do,” T.J. said and the line disconnected.

Gemma turned slightly in her seat. “You didn’t mention your parents.”

Jack drummed his thumbs against the steering wheel. “It doesn’t have anything to do with our killer.”

“Yes, but surely—”

“Look, at the moment, I’m going to play this close to the chest.” He pulled into the station’s parking lot and parked the car. He turned off the engine, not moving.

“Do me a favor,” he said, staring out the front windshield, “don’t mention my folks to anyone.” He finally turned his head and she caught the worry in his blue eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know who to trust. T.J. seems like an upright guy, but I don’t know him.”

Gemma gathered her bag and computer case and clutched them on her lap. “Of course I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want. I guess then you’re stuck with me.” She smiled as brightly as she could, when inside she found herself hurting for him. He had to be worried about his folks. As a cop, he’d be running all the worst-case scenarios through his mind. She knew what it was like to lose family. She didn’t want him to experience that awful emptiness and pain.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She noted that the worry in his gaze had switched to wariness.

“It means that I’ll be your partner on this case. I’m good at research and asking questions.” She reached out and lightly laid her hand on his arm. “I can help you on this, Jack. Let me.”

He gave a short, clipped nod. “Thanks. But I’m in charge.” He unclipped his seat belt and climbed out of the car.

Gemma sighed. For every step forward she made with Jack, it always seemed that she took another two steps back. Still, he’d agreed to let her help. That was progress.

Inside the station, Jack set her up in a room and then told her to stay put while he attended a meeting with the task force.

Gemma settled herself at the table that, along with two chairs was the only furniture in the room. There wasn’t even a window to alleviate the gloom of the dull walls. She shook off the thought and got down to work.

She’d brought her computer this time and set it on the table along with her tablet and notebooks. She began by inputting her handwritten notes into her computer. It gave her back up and also helped her organize her thoughts.

She really needed to work or she’d lose it. Going over everything she’d collected might lead to a break somewhere. She had to try at least.

She had three documents open. The first document on the serial killer was fairly substantial with the various people she had interviewed and background information on the victims that she had collected. The other two documents were flimsy at best.

The second catalogued the info she’d picked up from Millie on the three police officers accused of corruption. The third contained less than that, since it only noted the circumstances surrounding the photos she’d gotten of the Jack look-alike.

Okay, she needed a plan, a clear strategy for action. She opened a new blank document and considered tangible steps she could take.

Number 1. Find the killer.

Really, finding the killer should be Jack’s job. Normally, she’d leave it to the police. But with this guy calling and texting her, she had a greater stake in nailing him. She wanted him in jail before he put her on his list of victims. Gemma wasn’t stupid. This guy liked playing games and it wouldn’t be long before he decided to use her as a board piece. Sure, he might get bored and stop calling or texting her, but her intuition didn’t think so.

Tangible steps would be interviewing people who knew both victims. Maybe there was someone she hadn’t met yet. It wouldn’t hurt to talk again to the people she’d already interviewed. She wondered if Jack would let her read any of the police interviews. It would give her a chance to compare answers. There might be some discrepancy that could provide a clue. She’d try that argument on Jack and see how it worked.

Number 2. Track down family or friends who knew the three police officers who had died. She needed to talk to these people and collect information. It was too much of a coincidence that all three officers were dead within a year. And maybe in talking to people she’d find her anonymous note writer. That person had sent the note to Gemma, not to Jack. Why? Since Gemma was a reporter, she could only figure that she was expected to expose something.

Number 3. Find the look-alike Jack. If she hadn’t taken the pictures, she would’ve chalked it up to her imagination. But the man existed. If he wasn’t a transient salesman visiting Carville for a short trip, then he should still be around. The trick would be finding him. She’d start at the Pink Kitty, since that was where she’d taken the photos.

She continued to make notes, only to be interrupted by her cell phone. She stared at it a moment with apprehension, only to breathe a sigh of relief when she recognized the number. “Hi, Millie, what can I do for you?”

“More like what I can do for you,” said the older woman. “After you left the morgue yesterday, I did some further research. I found a few addresses that might assist you if you plan on doing more digging.”

“Shoot.” Gemma picked up a pen and flipped to a clean page in her small notebook.

“Frank Hurley’s wife lives in Almeda Heights, that new subdivision that went up a year ago, with her daughter’s family. It’s a daughter from a previous marriage. Stan Moretti’s ex-wife is in an apartment on Sutter Street.” Millie rattled off the addresses.

Excitement made Gemma dig the pen harder as she wrote the information down. “You rock. If you dig up anything else, call me.”

“You got it,” Millie said and hung up.

The door to the room opened as Gemma placed the phone down on the table. Jack walked in, his expression telling her nothing.

“Any news?” she asked.

He pulled the chair out and dropped down opposite her, running his hand through his short hair. “No, no and no. How’s that for an answer?”

Gemma tapped her pen on the table. “Care to elaborate?”

He held up three fingers and ticked off the first one. “No news from the Florida authorities. They’re searching and gathering evidence at this point.” He ticked off a second finger. “The crime lab is going over the car and Candy’s clothes, but so far nothing to point us in a direction.” Finally, he ticked off the last finger. “Candy is unconscious and the doctors refuse to say anything other than it’s early days yet.”

“The Florida police haven’t given you anything?” She’d hoped they might have found some clue.

“They’re still processing the scene.” He winced as he said that and she imagined it had to be difficult to think of his parents’ home as a crime scene.

“Maybe you should go down there,” she suggested.

Jack leaned forward on his elbows, only the table and her computer between them. “I’d go down there if I thought it’d do any good, but my gut says the answers are here. The police down in Florida say it looks like my parents either left in a hurry or were forced out of the house. They said they’d keep me posted.” He sat back, crossing his arms over his chest, and regarded her with a steady gaze. “Now your turn. What more can you tell me?”

She scooted her chair over and beckoned him to join her on her side of the table. He frowned momentarily, then stood up and came over to stand next to her.

“Look,” Gemma said bringing up the first article. “This is an article about Robert Kowalski’s death. When you’re finished, keep scrolling and you can read about the other two, too. For some reason, no one has connected the deaths of these three men. The only one left is your father or the unknown fourth man.”

She tapped her pen against the table, while she waited for Jack to finish the three articles. There wasn’t much to any of them. They were pretty sparse on details. They simply reported the circumstances of each officer’s death and gave the names of the next of kin. They didn’t even allude to the scandal.

“You know,” Gemma said, tapping her pen some more, “that doesn’t make sense. With your father, there are four men. Why would the note say ‘Find the fourth man?’”

“I don’t know.” Jack’s voice rumbled next to her ear, setting off a delicious tingle down her spine. She tapped the pen even faster. He even smelled nice, she thought, as she dragged in another breath.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Gemma turned her head and nearly swallowed her tongue. He was so close. She only needed to lean over a little and she could kiss him. The blue in his eyes darkened and she wondered if he had the same thought.

She whipped her head back around to the screen. “No,why?” Really, his parents were missing and she was thinking about kisses. Ugh.

Jack straightened, and she breathed in relief. “Well, you’re beating the heck out of that table with that pen.”

Gemma dropped the pen to the table. “Bad habit. Anyway, more importantly, I have addresses on Frank Hurley’s wife and on Stan Moretti’s ex-wife. I intend to talk to them today if I can reach them.”

Jack began pacing. “What the hell is going on?” His cell buzzed and he took it out of his shirt pocket. “I’ve got to take this. Donahue,” he said. “Got it. I’ll be there.” He hung up and returned the cell to his pocket. “The Chief is holding a press conference. I’m needed downstairs. Can you keep yourself occupied up here?”

“Sure,” Gemma said. “Someone else from the paper will be covering it, so I’ll stay here and keep digging.”

“All right. Thanks. I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he warned.

Gemma shooed him with her hands. “Go. I’m fine. I’ve got plenty to do here.”

Jack nodded and left the room. He seemed to take all the vitality with him. Needing to stretch her legs and wanting a cola, Gemma dug out some change from her bag and headed out to the vending machine in the hallway.

Taking her seat once again, she reviewed her notes. The anonymous message about Jack and his dad stood out on the page. Her mind whirred as an idea took root. A police station meant records—records that might shed light on what happened all those years ago.

It might also help them in finding Jack’s parents. Jack maintained a professional facade, but she felt certain the worry had to be eating him up inside.

She had to admit that it could be a boost for her job, too, if she found out the truth. One good story could make the difference. Two breaking-news stories of national caliber might get her the attention of some of the bigger journals. With the Internet, a writer could be based anywhere, even in a small city like Carville, NY.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” she muttered to herself as she stuffed her things back into her bag. For her plan to succeed, she would need folders to make it look good.

She shut down her computer, packed it in its case and squeezed it as best as she could into her bag. She left the room and entered the detectives’ squad, which turned out to be empty. She didn’t know how long it would stay that way, so she hurried over to Jack’s desk and pulled out Jack’s chair. She placed her bag on the floor under the desk, pushing the chair back in as far as it would go. She glanced around, ensuring she was still alone and grabbed several folders from the pile on his desk. At the last minute, she remembered the lanyard around her neck. She could hold the folders in front of her to cover up the Visitors badge, but the lanyard’s royal blue color made it hard to miss. Quickly she slipped it over her head, and once more dropped down to get to her bag, praying no one walked by to wonder why a backside stuck out from under Jack’s desk.

Using her newspaper ID, which hung from a black lanyard, she again put things back in place, picked up the folders and marched with confidence out into the hallway. She needed to avoid anyone who might have heard Jack introduce her. Further down the hall, she spied a female officer leaving the women’s restroom. Gemma increased her pace to catch up to her.

“Excuse me. I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said as the female officer turned around. “I’m new here and one of the detectives asked me to take these files down to Records and…” she let her voice trail off.

“And you don’t know where Records is,” the policewoman guessed.

Gemma smiled, feeling only slightly guilty for deceiving the woman. “I really need this job and I’ve already screwed up a couple of times.”

“I hear you. Take the elevator at the end of the hall down to the basement. Turn right when you get out of the elevator and it’s the last room on the left side. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Gemma hurried to the elevator and pushed the down button. “C’mon. C’mon.” She had to get down to Records and back to the detectives’ room before Jack discovered she’d gone on a walkabout. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d be amused or understanding about it.

The doors opened, revealing two men in uniforms. Gemma got in, turned her back to the men and pushed the B for basement. Neither man said anything. The elevator paused at the first floor. Knowing the desk sergeant with the eagle eyes might still be manning the desk, Gemma hugged the side wall to let the men pass. No one got in and she let out a breath of relief.

As soon as the elevator hit the bottom and the doors opened, Gemma scurried out. Right then left, she repeated to herself. Institutional yellow walls made of cement blocks trapped her on both sides. Not a window in sight, she noted. Feeling slightly claustrophobic, she picked up her stride. A huge sign next to a door with the word RECORDS written on it greeted her.

Gemma composed herself and entered. Not knowing what she faced, she didn’t have a plan. She figured she’d wing it as best she could and pray she didn’t get caught.

“Hi, I’m new here, trying to get my feet under me. One of the detectives suggested I walk around the station and get a feel for the place. The place is huge!”

A grizzled cop with steel-gray hair matched by light gray eyes manned the tall counter. “Welcome, young lady. Always nice to see a new face.”

“Thank you. Are you here all by yourself?” Behind him rows upon rows of shelves with tabbed manila folders squeezed in tight seemed to take up every inch of space. She had finally met the proverbial haystack, and the gentleman in front of her was the means to finding the needle within its mass.

“Nah. Loretta’s off delivering files. Caroline called in sick, which is why I came in. I usually man the place at night. Lots quieter then, but they needed someone, so I’m pulling a double shift. No wife, and the kid is grown and lives in another state. It works for me.” He grinned, and scratched at his jaw. “So, who they got you working with, young lady?”

“Call me, Gemma, please.”

“I’m Andy.” He thrust his hand over the counter. He reminded her of a large Labrador, anxious for company.

“Um, I’m running errands for Detective Donahue,” she improvised, mentally crossing her fingers that Jack never heard of this adventure.

“Bill’s boy. He’s a good man. I knew him when he was shorter than this here counter.” Andy tapped the countertop with the flat of his hand for emphasis.

“You knew Jack’s dad?” She kept her expression friendly and interested, when she really wanted to jump up and whoop.

“Sure did. We were partners for a couple of years. Good man, too. Don’t you believe any of the gossip you hear about Bill or Jack. Bill Donahue would never dishonor the uniform.” Andy leaned on his elbows, his manner confiding. “Bill took a bullet for me. I’d been hit once and would’ve been toast if he hadn’t run into the line of fire to pull me safely away. Ended up with a shattered hip and a desk job.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the rows of records. “But it sure beats being dead.

Gemma moved closer to the counter and settled in for a nice chat.

***

Jack opened the interrogation room where he’d left Gemma to find it empty. He reminded himself they were in a police station. The killer couldn’t have gotten to her here.

T.J. peered over his shoulder. “She’s not there.”

Jack stepped in to the room. “I left her here.”

T.J. crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, a smirk on his face. “You can try under the table. Maybe she’s hiding there.”

“Very funny, smart ass.” The room had no windows and no other doors. The only way she could have left was through the door T.J. currently blocked. And she’d either left under her own steam or been forced to leave. Logic leaned to the former conclusion.

“Why don’t you try your desk? She might’ve left a note or something,” T.J. suggested almost helpfully.

Jack barreled past him and entered the detectives’ squad room, only to pause on the threshold. “Someone’s been touching my desk and my chair has been moved.”

T.J. gave him a light shove from behind. “Make space so I can get in.” He continued until he reached his own desk. “Don’t see a note on yours.”

Jack stomped over, noting immediately that one pile of file folders had decreased in size. A quick check clued him in on which folders were missing, nothing major, but nothing that should have walked either. What the heck was going on? He could feel his blood pressure rising. His desk was his space. Somebody better have a good explanation for messing with it.

He tried to push his chair in all the way, except it bumped up against something. Ignoring T.J.’s raised eyebrows, Jack pulled out his chair and bent down to take a look. He reached underneath and dragged out Gemma’s bag.

“Why the hell is her bag here?” He held it up by its strap with one hand. What was she up to? He didn’t doubt that she was up to something. Unfortunately, she hadn’t clued him in and he was not amused, at all.

“Maybe she went to the ladies room.” T.J. titled his head in the direction of the women’s restroom.

“With my files? Why not take her bag with her? At least she could carry the files in it.” She’d managed to fit the computer in, she could probably fit in a few files, too. He wondered if he’d ever figure Gemma out. The only thing he knew for sure is that if she scented a story she’d be off like a greyhound at the track.

T.J. snorted. “That bag would be checked for luggage. It’s huge and probably weighs half of what she does.”

“You’re full of it, you know that?” Gemma had to have taken the files for a purpose. They had nothing to do with Candy or the killer, but Gemma operated under her own logic. While it didn’t always make sense to him, a certain rationale was there. He had to figure out what thread she’d pulled and that would point him in the right direction.

“At least I didn’t lose my girlfriend.” T.J. rolled out his chair and sat down, and immediately set his fingers to typing on the computer keyboard.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jack said, though T.J. clearly wasn’t listening anymore. Jack dropped the bag onto his chair and stalked out of the room. He really didn’t need this. The pressure was coming from the police chief on down to resolve the case. He couldn’t afford to have Gemma wandering off doing her own investigation, or who knew what.

Down the hall, he paused in front of the ladies’ restroom. He couldn’t exactly barge in there shouting for Gemma. That’d go over well in the department. He’d never live it down.

A door across the hall opened and a patrolwoman with a blonde ponytail stepped out. What was her name? Karen. Not Karen. Pam. That was it. Karen was the brunette. Before she got too far, he called out her name. “Pam, can you do me a favor?”

She turned back and smiled. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Uh, I’m looking for a woman, petite, curly reddish hair, green eyes.”

Pam’s eyes widened.

“You’ve seen her?”

“She’s not going to get in trouble, is she? She said she really needs this job. I sent her down to Records. Did she get lost?”

Records? What was she doing there? “No. No. That’s fine,” he assured her, as he tried to figure out what Gemma was after. “I’m sure it’s taking time, that’s all. I really want those records, so I’d better see what’s holding her up. Thanks.”

Pam nodded with a quick grin and went on her way, while Jack reined in his temper.

“How did she do it?” he muttered under his breath. Pam worked juvie. She was no stranger to BS, yet Gemma had managed to create a bond and gain the patrolwoman’s sympathies, not to mention directions to Records.

Why the hell had Gemma needed to go to Records? The question pounded in his head.

He couldn’t be bothered with the elevator. He shoved open the stairwell door and jogged down the four flights of steps that took him to the basement level.

As he approached the records room, he heard voices coming from inside. He was all set to storm inside and give her a large piece of his mind when he heard his father’s name mentioned.

He stopped in his tracks, and hovered outside the entry, shamelessly eavesdropping. She was a reporter, always working the angles for a story. She must have discovered something when he’d left her alone. She hadn’t come to him first, which made him wonder exactly what story she was pursuing.

“So, you think Bill Donahue was set up,” he heard Gemma say.

“You bet he was, young lady. No way would the Bill I know be on the take. He didn’t have it in him.”

Jack recognized the voice. It would have to be Andy on duty. He and his dad had gone to the academy together and even rode patrol at one point before his dad had been promoted to detective. Andy’s loyalty ran deep. His heart twisted as he thought about his folks missing, possible victims, yet here was one person who’d never given up on his dad, despite the gossip and innuendos.

Other cops had stopped visiting the house once the accusations had started to be hurled at his dad, but Andy never changed his routine. Every Monday night, he’d come by for dinner and the football game or whatever sport was in season, until one day he didn’t. He learned later from his mom that his dad had asked Andy to quit coming by so as not to hurt Andy’s reputation at the department.

“Andy, what’d you mean earlier when you said not to listen to the gossip about Jack. What gossip?”

“Oh, now, I don’t want to fill your ears with stuff like that. It’s garbage, that’s all I’ll say.”

“Please, Andy, it’s important. I really want to help Jack.”

“You got your eye on him? About time he found a nice girl and settled down. A man likes to have someone to come home to. Me? I used to go home to the wife. That woman had a heart of gold.”

“What happened to your wife, Andy?”

“Breast cancer. Only fifty-four. God-damned cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Gemma said and Jack, hearing the emotion packed into those two words, would swear she was.

“Yeah, me, too. The kid blames me. Blames this job. But this job is all I got left.”

“There’s more to life than a job, Andy.” The words were spoken softly, with empathy and Jack could imagine the sincerity in Gemma’s face. The woman knew how to tap into people.

Jack leaned against the wall, needing to regain control over his emotions. He’d been angry with Gemma. She’d disobeyed orders, leaving the room and potentially endangering herself. But she connected to people because she truly cared. It wasn’t an act.

Gemma was genuine.

Andy’s voice drifted towards him. “Yeah, well…you know, you’re easy to talk to, but you’d better get back upstairs. I’d hate for you to get in trouble for taking too long.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry. I doubt anyone has missed me yet. Now, what were we talking about?”

That apparently was his cue.

Jack entered and smiled at the man behind the counter. “Andy, good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

“Jack, speak of the devil. Life treating you right?”

“Fine, thanks. How about you?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been listening the whole time. His conscience twinged over the fact that he’d been completely unaware of all that Andy had been through, while Gemma had found out in one meeting.

When he closed this case, and he damn well intended to close it, he was going to take some time off and do some re-evaluating. He didn’t know if he had closed himself off to people or if the job was taking over his life, but he didn’t want to continue along the path he was on.

Andy shrugged. “Doing okay. What can I do for you?”

“First, I came to take this young woman off your hands. She has been missed.”

“I just bet she has.” Andy chuckled. He limped away from the counter and picked up a coffee mug from one of the desks nearby and took a sip.

“Gemma, have you gotten the files you came for?” Since he’d overheard most of her conversation, he knew that she hadn’t gotten any files. He still didn’t know what she was up to exactly, and part of him remained angry that she’d left the interrogation room without leaving a note.

“Right. Those files...” Gemma said, having the grace to appear guilty as she clutched his missing file folders in her arm.

Andy plucked a set of reading glasses from his pocket and placed them on his nose. “What files would those be?”

Gemma moistened her lip, darting a glance at him before speaking. “Um, the corruption scandal from fifteen years ago.”

So, that’s what this was about. He should be angry with her. A reporter digging into his past—even if it was his father’s past—would normally get his back up. Instead, the knot in his stomach eased. Going over the case notes made sense. There might be something in them to give him a lead on his parents.

Jack stepped up and leaned against the counter, cutting into the conversation. “I’d like to keep this as quiet as possible, Andy. Can you get me all the case files available? I’d also like to see the reports on Robert Kowalski, Stan Moretti and Frank Hurley. They’re all dead.”

Andy’s eyebrows climbed up to his hairline. “You got it. As soon as Loretta gets back, I’ll deliver them up to you personally. You know, there’s likely to be a lot of them.”

“Do me a favor, Andy, and call me when you’ve got them ready.” Jack dug into his blazer’s inner breast pocket and pulled out a business card, which he handed over. “My cell number’s on that.”

Andy took it. “No problem.”

“Thanks.” Jack slipped both hands into his trouser pockets. “We’d better get back upstairs. We have work to do.”

Gemma straightened and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Of course.” Instead of turning to leave, she suddenly reached across the counter and took hold of Andy’s free hand. “Andy, it was very nice meeting you. I promise to come back another time to visit.”

“You do that. Now go on. I don’t want you getting fired in your new job.”

“See you, Andy.”

Gemma meant it, too. She would try to see him. Jack owed Andy the same courtesy.

Once they were far out of earshot, Jack took hold of Gemma’s arm. He didn’t know whether to shake her or hug her and the conflicting emotions didn’t sit well inside him. He preferred straight dealing. With Gemma, he always seemed to be walking in a blurred, gray landscape. She’d taken a risk, doing what she had. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you, me, and even Andy would get in if someone stumbled onto that charade of yours? And don’t touch anything on my desk.”

“Well, nobody did catch us. And since you made the request for the files, not me, we’re covered.”

“That isn’t the point,” Jack grumbled as he continued walking towards the elevator.

“Any word on your parents?” She fell in step beside him.

The knot in his stomach returned and twisted. His parents should have been attending some senior shuffleboard tournament, not be missing with the police going through their things. “Nothing. They say they’ll call when they have something. I’m beginning to understand how families of victims I’ve interviewed feel.”

Gemma pushed the elevator button, then leaned against the wall while they waited. “You’ve got to stay positive and focused. There might be something in those files.”

The elevator arrived and they both got in. Jack hit the button and stepped to the back of the small cubicle. On the first floor, a number of people entered. Gemma crowded close to make space, the scent of her flooding his brain and blocking out everything else.

They reached the third floor and Jack ushered Gemma back to the interrogation room. As soon as he closed the door, he said, “Let’s talk. It’s going to take Andy some time to gather those files. We need a plan of action.”

Gemma lay the files down on the table and hitched one hip on it. “I vote we visit Stan Moretti’s ex-wife. She lives on Sutter Street. She might be at work, but it’s worth checking out. If there’s still time after that, we can head over to the new subdivision and try to talk to Frank Hurley’s wife.”

“You’ve already found out where they live? Nice work.” It was, too. He was impressed.

Pink colored her cheeks. “I can’t take credit for that. Millie, who works in our morgue, is a research whiz. She tracked the information down for me.”

Jack shoved both hands in his pocket as he considered her suggestion of visiting both women. But really there was nothing to consider. His parents were missing. They moved to the top of his priority list. As long as Gemma stayed with him, he could protect her, too. “All right. Grab your bag and let’s go.”

Gemma pushed off the table and gathered the files to her. “One more thing,” she said, “I need to be home by four p.m. to get a shower and change for the hospital charity event. It’s a black tie affair.”

Jack groaned. “That’s this evening, isn’t it? I forgot about that. I’ll need to make a quick stop at my place to pick up a suit. I hate these kinds of events.”

Gemma walked past him as Jack held the door for her. “They’re not that bad. I like to talk to people and you can find out interesting things if you ask.”

“Since my duty is to protect you,” Jack said, as he took the lead to go to the detective room, “I don’t plan on mixing.”

Gemma latched onto Jack’s arm and pulled him to a stop. “Bad idea.” She pulled him to the edge of the hallway and smiled at two officers, coming down the hall. As soon as they had walked by, she lowered her voice and continued. “The Chief and Captain will both be there. They were around fifteen years ago, right? This is your chance to find out what they knew of the incident.”

Jack clamped his jaw tight. His first instinct had been to say no. He was used to avoiding the subject of what had happened to his father fifteen years ago. He didn’t have that luxury now. “It’ll probably cost me my badge, but I’ll do it.”