Adie realized he was right. She hadn’t even considered it. They were on a mission, and finding out what happened to Georgie was all that mattered. Her own insecurities had no place in the situation.
“Thanks. I thought you looked pretty good in your suit as well. Very businesslike.”
He grimaced. “I hate wearing suits.”
“I hate wearing fancy dresses. I guess it’s lucky we don’t have to dress up very often.”
“You probably will, once you settle in to your new lifestyle.”
She shook her head. “Part of having lots of money, I’ve decided, is doing what I like. Swanning around with a bunch of celebs will never be my thing. Therefore, I choose not to do it.”
“What about charity balls and such?” he pressed teasingly.
“If I make out a big enough check no one will care if I’m there or not. I’d rather contribute the money I would have spent buying a new dress for the occasion.”
Cage laughed as he rose to start making breakfast. “The unsocial socialite. I can just see it. You might even start a trend!”
Laughing, Adie threw an eraser at him. Ducking easily out of the way, he turned to pick the projectile out of the sink, where it had landed.
“You do know you don’t have to correct your mistakes by rubbing them out, right? A line through an entry or a word would be sufficient.”
“Leave me alone, you big bully. So I’m a perfectionist,” she declared in mock outrage.
Cage laughed again, loud and joyously. The sound must have carried, because Jig came dashing to the French windows to be let in.
After breakfast, Cage made the call to the detective. She didn’t expect instant answers, but just having someone in the know on the case would take them a step closer to their goal.
Adams answered on the first ring with a gruff recitation of his rank and name.
“It’s Adie Reynolds and Cage Donovan here,” Cage said. “We think we’ve solved the mystery of Georgie Reynolds. Could you find out what you can about a serial killer operating out of Lewes in Sussex? The bodies of his victims were discovered on his farm in 1988.”
“Lewes? What the hell would that case have to do with yours?” he demanded bad-temperedly.
“We tracked down the boyfriend. His name is Roland Hughes, the Viscount of Lewes. He told us Georgie was supposed to come to his country place that night but never turned up. This Leonard Watkins had a farm in the area and drove a taxi on the side. We think he picked her up from the station. That’s probably how he found his other victims as well.”
“Supposition isn’t evidence. What do you want from me?” he demanded a little less belligerently now.
He was listening, which was something.
“As I said. We need to know as much about the bodies as we can. The news story Adie read said the first body found was buried in the late 60s.”
“That was probably an educated guess. Back in the 80s, determining the time of internment was an iffy process. And the DNA identification of remains didn’t start being used until the mid 90s. They could have determined the sex and approximate ages of the victims from their skeletal remains back then, but little else for definite.”
Adie spoke up, her excitement making her brave. “You mean the oldest skeleton might be earlier than the late 60s? Will any attempt have been made recently to discover the identities of the women? Maybe there were possessions belonging to the girls in the farm. Souvenirs.”
“I’ll look into it. But exact identification of skeletal remains without a DNA sample to compare them to…”
“I might have a sample.” Adie declared, before he could finish.
“I thought she has no surviving relatives.”
That shocked Adie. Had the detective been making his own inquiries since they spoke to him? Maybe having Georgie’s records stolen had made him curious.
“She doesn’t. But I think I have her hair on a hairbrush. My aunt kept it for sentimental reasons. The brush I mean, not the hair. Just like she kept the mink coat where we found the train ticket to Lewes. As my aunt was a blonde and the hair in the brush is red, I think the chances are very good that they belong to Georgie.”
For a few long moments the detective was silent. When he spoke again his tone was admiring.
“You state a good case, Miss Reynolds. Let me look into it. Would you be willing to pay to have the DNA test expedited, if a possible match is identified? Our labs are already months behind with current cases. Cold cases have little to no chance of—”
“Absolutely. Use a private lab if that will get us the results sooner. I’ll pay.”
“Good enough. Leave it with me.”
And then he was gone, leaving Adie and Cage staring at each other, lost for words.
“I think we may have piqued the detective’s interest,” Cage finally said.
“I think you’re right. Did you pick up on the fact he’d looked into Georgie’s family? We didn’t tell him Rory was dead. And we didn’t know if she had any other family. I got the feeling from the journal that Georgie either had no family or had washed her hands of that family long before Minerva met her.”
“I have a feeling we’ll be finding out what we need to know pretty quickly. Our cold case just got very warm,” Cage said with a laugh.
There was silence from the detective for several days. In that time Adie arranged for yet another evaluation from Sotheby’s.
