could do this. Yes, it might be awkward to go out with him—the idea made her palms sweat—but she’d live. She could even fake a headache and leave early. No appetizers, no dessert. Really, what was the big deal? She’d suffer through an evening with him in exchange for having more control over a file she cared about. Dinner in exchange for information that she could use to save her job, repair her reputation and bring Mitch Kruger to justice.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ll have dinner with you.”
He didn’t smile. She didn’t expect him to. Her tight-jawed acquiescence wasn’t a victory by any measure. Instead he nodded slowly and turned back to the door. “Then I’ll speak with Jack about getting you involved with the investigation.”
“Great. At least one of us will enjoy this.” She flung her gaze to the far wall, directing her words to a large potted plant on the bookshelf.
Ben stood in place, and when he spoke, his tone had softened. “Listen. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. I was hoping that I could do this to make it... I’m not doing anything to hurt you.”
“You want me to give you a second chance by coercion. That may work on other women, but it won’t fly with me.”
“Sally. Come on now. That was ten years ago—”
She wasn’t listening as she bustled around her office. “I don’t have time for soliloquies. I’m meeting Dennis Marlow and Ronnie Kruger downstairs.” She picked up a few scattered pens on her desk and dropped them with a thud into the pen holder. Then she swept round her desk.
Ben stepped into her path. “Hold it.”
He was in her way, his broad figure blocking her retreat. She had no choice but to stop. “What?”
“It’s not just your file anymore. I’m going to that meeting, too, and I’ll be going to any meeting that comes up. From now on, whether you like it or not, when it comes to the Kruger case, there’s only ‘us.’ Got it?”
His hands were on his hips, his stance wide as he towered over her. Sally stared right through him without saying a word. Then she swept past him and out the door, as if he hadn’t been there at all.
Chapter 3
Sally’s angry head start didn’t matter in the end. Ben caught up with her in three easy strides down the hall. Maybe the heels had been a mistake, after all.
“We’ll take the stairs,” he announced. “And on the way, you can explain your theory of this case to me. Give me your elevator pitch.”
She rolled her eyes again. “Veronica Kruger disappeared almost a year ago. Vanished. Apparently she had a nasty fight with her husband, Mitch. Next thing we know, she’s not showing up at work. The police investigate and their kid tells us he hasn’t heard from his mom in a few days.”
“Their son? How old?”
“Teenage son, sixteen at the time. His name is James. That’s James, not Jim. He was set to testify that he came home late from a party on the night his mother disappeared, sneaked into the house and went straight to bed. The next morning his dad told him that she’d packed up and left after an argument. While he was at the party.” Sally sighed. “James didn’t believe it, and things between father and son have been tense. James was going to testify against his father. He thinks Mitch killed his mom. Thought. He’s been living with a friend.”
They reached the staircase and proceeded down it. Their voices echoed against the metal stairwell and cinder block walls. “But you weren’t basing your entire case on James’s testimony.”
“Partly,” she admitted. “But we’re basing it in larger part on the forensic evidence. The police found an area rug in a Dumpster behind a store that Mitch passed each morning on his way to work, months after we first suspected murder. A store employee called it in because... God. You should see the pictures. It just looks like someone bled to death on it.”
“And he threw it out? In plain sight?”
“A store employee saw it, and surveillance footage confirmed it. It was rolled up, but still messy. We think he may have hidden it in a storage unit and dumped it after the preliminary investigation cooled and the police gave him some breathing room. James identified it. He said the rug had been missing since the night his mom disappeared.”
“It’s like he wanted you to find it,” Ben mused. “So that’s your case? Missing woman and blood on an area rug?”
“The lab ran DNA tests. It’s Mrs. Kruger’s blood, and the amount on that rug proves a fatal injury. Police found blood spatter on the wall consistent with a gunshot wound. The blood had been cleaned up, but the evidence was not completely destroyed. Between all of that and James’s testimony, we have ourselves a murder. I mean, we thought we had.”
“Hmm.”
Sally glanced over her shoulder at Ben. “What?”
“Just thinking,” he replied.
“No.” She opened the door to the landing, then froze in place. “We’re partners now, remember? I told you my theory, so what are you thinking?”
He leaned into the door she held. She was surprised to see his forehead crease as he thought, evidence that he was taking this case, her case, very seriously. “I’m thinking about how a massive amount of Ronnie Kruger’s blood could be on an area rug while she is still alive. Sounds like a lab error.”
“Impossible. I’ve checked and triple-checked everything with the lab and the detectives on the case. I was about to go to trial, Ben. I know there wasn’t a mistake.”
“I’m not saying anyone’s at fault,” he said mildly. “I’m only suggesting that something was missed or maybe overlooked. In any case, the good news is we may have just found Ronnie Kruger’s body.” He gave Sally a wink as they exited through the door. She tried not to roll her eyes yet again.
Marlow was already in the conference room when they arrived. “Sorry I’m—we’re—late,” Sally said. Ben shut the door behind them.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the defense attorney said, rising from his seat and extending his hand to Ben. “I’m Dennis Marlow, and this is Veronica Kruger.”
“Ronnie.” The woman didn’t exactly smile, but she wasn’t unpleasant, either.
“Ben McNamara.” He shook hands with Marlow and gave Ronnie a polite nod. “Ma’am.”
Sally slid into a seat and studied Ronnie from across the table, trying to wrap her head around the idea of her. Ronnie Kruger had haunted her nightmares. Sally had imagined her screams and her fear. She’d hounded the police detectives about her, wanting them to extend searches for her body so the poor woman could receive a proper burial.
Sally had tried not to think about the grisly details of her death. Blood spatter patterns at the Kruger household had been blurred by aggressive cleaning, but illuminated by luminol, and they indicated Mrs. Kruger had been shot multiple times. A bullet recovered from the fireplace contained Ronnie’s blood and confirmed the weapon had been a .357. Sally couldn’t think about that final, awful end when the bullets had torn into her body. She knew some of her colleagues, like many homicide detectives, had to crack jokes to distance themselves from the daily horrors they witnessed. They called people “vics” and “perps” and used cold, impersonal language to describe the crimes. It was their only armor against evil.
Sally wasn’t quite there yet, psychologically, although she supposed she might have fewer nightmares if she were. Instead, when she had a new case, she thought of clothes. This was what gave her insomnia: victims’ clothing. When she looked at crime scene photos, she’d stare at the person’s shoes and think about how alive he or she had been at the moment they’d dressed. At the darkest points of the case, when she questioned her abilities and her energy