Except, he’d come into her life for one purpose and had wreaked havoc on her heart and soul. More than six months later, why did she still feel a deeper connection to him than to her real brother? Why did she still secretly wish she could talk to him one more time? To find out how much of their connection had become as real to him as it was to her? She knew deep down he’d had feelings for her at the end. Not enough to stop him from his mission. Not enough for him to lay down his gun.
She opened her eyes, letting the light through those grimy windows burn away the memory. Her gaze came back to the printouts of Elizabeth Landis’ autopsy findings. Zoe swiped a sleeve across her face and drew the papers closer, sorting them into order. “Okay,” she said to the air around her. “Let’s see what’s in here that made Franklin believe Dustin was innocent.”
The first few pages revealed nothing beyond what she already knew. As she began to delve into the detailed notes Franklin had compiled regarding the bullet’s trajectory, Paulette stormed into the office, her face a mix of fierce determination and smug satisfaction.
“The file cabinets and chairs will be here within the hour. And we’re getting free delivery and 15 percent off the original cost.”
“Wow. How did you manage that?”
Paulette’s chin lifted as a pleased smile played over her lips. “Let’s just say I’m on a close, first-name basis with the gentleman who acquires supplies for a number of the offices in the courthouse, and if he was convinced to take his business elsewhere…”
“Isn’t coercion illegal?”
“I’m also on a first-name basis with several very good defense attorneys.”
“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
Paulette shrugged out of her coat. “Did you get the printer to work?”
Zoe held up the report she was reading. “My brother stopped by and worked some magic.”
“Bless his soul.” Paulette stood over the spot where her office chair should be, planted her fists into her hips, and shifted her gaze to the boxes along the wall. “I’ll start unpacking until our delivery arrives.”
Zoe lowered Elizabeth’s report, thinking of Abby’s request. “Do you happen to know where I could find a file dated nine days after the Elizabeth Landis homicide?”
Paulette scowled. “What file are you talking about?”
Zoe gave her a brief summary of the case Abby was interested in and why.
“The man was homeless?” Paulette said doubtfully. “And there’s nothing tying him to the case other than this young officer remembers him as ‘looking fit’?”
“And the timing.”
Paulette appeared dismayed. “Don’t we have enough to deal with right now without digging into old cases that have no bearing on anything?”
“We don’t know that.”
“I know Franklin is—was—thorough. I’d remember the case you’re talking about had there been anything questionable about it. I don’t, so it didn’t.”
Zoe eyed the secretary. Apparently, Paulette’s confrontation with the office supply store had given her an adrenalin rush that she wanted to maintain at Zoe’s expense. Or maybe Paulette was making perfect sense. “I promised I’d look into it. If you’re right, I’m out a few minutes of my life. If Abby’s right, we might find the answer to a nine-year-old homicide.”
“A few minutes?” Paulette swept her arm at the unpacked boxes. “Make that a few hours.”
Zoe leaned her forearms on the desk, interlaced her fingers, and gave the secretary her most stubborn stare.
After long moments of silence, Paulette sighed. “Fine.” She bent over her computer keyboard and started typing. “Nine years ago. It should be easier to find in here than figuring out which box Franklin’s handwritten notes are in.”
Zoe rose and crossed to Paulette’s side, watching the monitor over her shoulder. The time period in question had been a busy one for the coroner’s office. Fortunately, most of the cases had names attached. “There.” Zoe placed a finger on the screen, marking a John Doe with a date of death nine days after Elizabeth’s.
Paulette slapped Zoe’s hand. “Stop putting smudges on my screen.” But she clicked on the file bringing up a single page.
“That’s it?”
“I told you. If there’d been anything interesting, I’d have remembered it.”
Zoe leaned closer, reading. John Doe. Six-foot-two. One hundred and ninety pounds. A pair of fishermen found him in a tent, which he’d evidently called home, along a creek. “He showed evidence of long-term drug use. Cause of death, opioid overdose. Heroin laced with fentanyl.”
“Accidental overdose.” Paulette stressed the accidental part. “Case closed.”
“I guess you’re right.” Zoe straightened. Abby would be disappointed that her hunch hadn’t paid off, but at least she could let go of it and put her attention back on her regular work.
Twenty-Three
Saturday’s breakfast consisted of instant oatmeal microwaved in disposable bowls since all the real stuff was packed, ready for their volunteer movers to arrive. Even the two cats ate from paper plates. Pete watched Zoe maneuver around the boxes, stuffing dirty plastic spoons and paper dishware into a large trash bag. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Her answers had been largely one syllable since she arrived home late last night. The lack of chattiness continued this morning. Her reddened eyes weren’t lost on him either. Something beyond the stress of moving and planning a wedding was bothering her. Something she didn’t want to talk about. He had his suspicions. At one time, she hadn’t trusted him with her heart and would keep any number of personal injuries to herself. They’d grown beyond that. She shared almost everything with him now.
With one exception.
Jason.
Make that two. Tom Jackson, her stepfather, was another topic she avoided. With the wedding only a week away and her mother coming into town this morning, Pete wondered if
