“That’s not lettuce.”
He held it in one palm and pried the blob open gently with the index finger of his other hand. She was right—it wasn’t lettuce. He pressed the object open and it slowly took shape, revealing one sphere, then another. Gray shook his head. “I’ll be damned. It’s from a hydrangea.” He looked up to see Mia smiling with satisfaction. “CSU almost missed it. So what’s this mean?”
“I noticed the hydrangea stems were broken, and some of the blooms had gaps in them. Then there’s the fact that they’re in one of Katherine’s drinking glasses, but Valentine always supplies his own vases. And the broken glass CSU found between the kitchen and the living area—” She gestured with one finger. “That could be from a broken vase.”
“Put it all together, Mia,” said D’Augostino.
“Valentine brought the flowers. Maybe they’re part of his pretense in entering the apartment, or maybe he has them on hand as his calling card. Regardless, my theory is that he was in the kitchen putting water in the vase when the boyfriend walked in. He panicked, threw the vase at him, breaking the glass. Then he reached for a knife.” She gestured with her hands as she spoke. “If it’s Valentine, he killed him in a panic. He didn’t plan it.” She pointed to the blood. “I’ll bet you have two blood types here.”
“The boyfriend’s and Valentine’s,” Gray finished.
“Right. You’ll want to talk to area hospitals in case he’s sought treatment. And look.” Mia pointed to streaks of droplets on the cabinets. “That looks like cast off from the knife. CSU may be able to get an idea of the suspect’s height based on the location of those droplets.”
“And if the boyfriend’s dead,” said Gray, “what did Valentine do with the body?”
“He let him bleed out for a while, based on that puddle. There are drag marks on the tile, right there. But then they stop.” Her forehead tensed. “The bed was empty. It didn’t even have sheets on it.”
Without explanation, she again left and headed toward the bedroom. Gray heard her talking to herself as he followed. “Valentine may have wrapped the body in the sheets and comforter to move it. You know, to make it easier to slide him across the floor.”
Gray stood by the bedroom door. Mia was opening the only window in the bedroom and looking out. “Here’s a fire escape, and there’s a Dumpster below.” She turned around. “Did CSU check the Dumpster?”
Gray nodded gravely. “Sure did. That’s exactly where we found him.”
“You—what?” She spun around, her eyes wide with confusion. “You found him already?”
“One Gregory Stoddard,” said D’Augostino, reading from a small notepad. “Wrapped in a bloody blanket and sheets. He was still wearing the suit and tie he wore to work.” He folded the notebook and placed it in his pocket. “Apparently he’d been pulling a long day.”
“Wait a minute.” The confusion in Mia’s eyes slowly turned to anger. “You let me go through this entire exercise when you already knew what had happened? Why?”
Gray shrugged. “I wanted to see how you work and how you’d respond to a Valentine scene.” After the incident at the hotel, when he’d thought she’d been about to fall apart, he’d had to make sure Mia was up to the task. He gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “You had some good ideas. You passed, Mia. You’re on the team.”
“I don’t believe this.” She yanked her shoulder out of his reach. “You lied to me. You asked me for my professional assistance, and then you lied to me.”
“Now, wait a minute. I never lied to you. I just didn’t tell you everything we’d found.”
Gray suspected it didn’t matter what he said just then. Her cheeks were heated, her eyes hot with rage. She’d clenched her fists, and he wondered how difficult it was for her to fight the urge to strike him. “You’re the one who wanted to work this case, remember?” He tried to keep his voice from rising, but he didn’t like the way she was looking at him. “Now, I think you’re good. I like the way you worked the scene. But this is how I work, and if you don’t like that, then I’ll show you the door. It’s nothing personal, Mia.”
She glared at him, frozen in her anger and no doubt struggling to keep her control. “You withheld information from me. I can’t work with someone like that.”
“Me, neither,” Gray said, “which is why I had to make sure you weren’t deceiving me when you said you were comfortable working a Valentine scene. It’s simple. If you don’t want to work with me—”
“No.” Her voice was calmer, despite her still-flashing eyes. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
He looked her up and down. She had every right to feel enraged, but she’d maintained her self-control. He admired that. “Good,” he said, and meant it.
* * *
When Gray had offered her a ride home, Mia had refused, but she’d accepted one from D’Augostino. Gray had shrugged. What did he care if she was mad at him? As long as she helped him to find the missing girl.
He entered his apartment at almost two in the morning, but he couldn’t sleep. His bed felt uncomfortable, his apartment too warm. He took a cold shower, then sat on his couch wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and read through some of the Valentine files he’d taken home. Sleep wasn’t a priority. Somewhere, some sick freak was torturing a young grad student. Her time was running out, and Gray had to find her.
His brain felt unusually cluttered, and he had difficulty focusing. Maybe it was because he was looking at the Lena Perez file, but thoughts of Mia kept disrupting his work. He did things his way and never felt a twinge of guilt. It was just part of his job.
Yet he couldn’t get that look on her face out of his mind—the one she’d shot him when he’d told her he’d been testing her. She was just another professional consultant, so why should he care what she thought of him? But he’d hated seeing that look in her eyes. The look of disappointment. He gritted his teeth. Maybe he’d try to smooth things over with her, but an apology was out of the question. He’d done nothing wrong.
He pored over the documents for hours, watching the time pass on the clock on his wall. Three in the morning, then four, then five. Gray was never far from a clock. Lives depended on his willingness to work, no matter the hour. He must have fallen asleep at some point, because when the phone rang, he opened his eyes, disoriented and with a stack of papers on the floor beside him.
“Bartlett,” he growled into the phone.
“Lieutenant. It’s Mindy, from CSU. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Gray glanced at the clock. Eight-thirty. He bolted upright and rubbed his eyes. “No, I was just heading out the door. What’ve you got?”
“We have an ID on that body you found by the Charles last week. The vic’s name is Samantha Watkinson. Sound familiar?”
His mind was a fog. “Not really.”
“She’s a reporter for the Globe. That’s the second Globe reporter who’s been killed in the past year. You remember that Jake Smith turned up dead not too long ago?”
“Any connection?”
“I had Ballistics check the bullets. Same gun, Lieutenant.”
Gray gave a low whistle as the news settled, unsure of what the implications were. Mindy took a breath. “There’s something else. I understand Mia Perez is working with you.”
Word sure traveled quickly. “Yes, she is.”
She hesitated. “She was at the scene last week, right? Were you watching her the entire time?”
He sat up straighter. “What are you asking, Mindy?”
“This sounds