Dogs were one of the few topics Jac’s little sister was fiercely vocal about.
There was the same age difference between Jac and Nat as there was between Olivia and Ava. Olivia was probably watching over Ava right now.
Just as Jac had once watched over Nat.
This was probably the first time little Sadie had ever been muzzled.
She was terrified, she’d lost the owner who adored her, and she was all alone in a scary place. Jac felt for the little thing, so much. It sucked to be facing the world alone and terrified.
“Can we hold off on that? I…just until we know what the dog witnessed? It would make it easier in case we need her again.”
Shayna nodded. “There’s quite a lot of blood on her face. I’ll get her processed. Then, I’ll give her a bath. I’ll sign her out to one of the agents on your team. Just have someone pick her up in a few hours.”
“Let us know if you find anything?” Miranda asked.
“I’ll do that.”
Jac pulled off the gloves carefully. They would be labeled and kept, in case something had transferred from the dog to her in the processing. “Make certain to get a bite impression as well. Just in case.”
“Will do. Good luck out there, Jones. I know you’ll catch this guy soon.”
“I hope so.” She thought of the victims, and the two missing little girls. Even the dog. Innocents who hadn’t deserved their worlds destroyed. “I really hope so.”
43
Jac hadn’t been able to sit in the bullpen, waiting, after leaving forensics. Miranda had been called into the director’s office to update him on their progress. Everyone in the CCU was using Miranda as auxiliary admin due to her broken arm.
Jac dragged Whitman back to the Sturvins’ home. Old Jamestown. The least they could do was canvas neighbors. First, though, they’d stopped by the small office where Paul Sturvin worked out of.
He was a contractor, hired solely to service all the IT equipment located within the St. Louis and PAVAD offices. Eventually, the plan was for PAVAD to absorb the regular field office, but that was going to take some time and careful planning.
From what the director had told her, Sturvin was in the process of setting up the office equipment that the newly forming cold-case unit would need. It was run-of-the-mill IT work. He had had to pass all security checks in order to be awarded the contract.
Nothing in his background was throwing up red flags. As far as she could tell, Paul Sturvin was exactly who he seemed to be.
An ordinary guy, not overly well liked or well-connected, who went to work, came home, and lived his life. Nothing indicated that he would brutally bludgeon his wife to death in their upstairs hallway. From what Dani had found, there were no criminal complaint, domestic complaints, traffic tickets, or any other indication that the Sturvins had ever been on the police’s radar.
This was a nice, middle class family, in a nice neighborhood. So ordinary they wouldn’t be recognized by half the neighbors.
Sometimes, people just snapped, though.
Jac tried to imagine what it could have been—if Paul was their UNSUB, in the first place. There was nothing yet to say that he was.
She and Whit discussed that as they drove from Paul Sturvin’s office to the crime scene.
Whit parked, and she hopped out, pulling her PAVAD: FBI jacket tighter around her. The steady rain of that morning had switched to intermittent showers. But it was cold.
Colder than November usually was, even with the sun threatening to come out from behind the clouds.
She could see Max in the distance, talking to Marianna Dennis as she oversaw the rest of the forensics collection. He had spent the last few hours interviewing neighbors of the Sturvins and some of Paul’s work colleagues, with that toad Todd Barnes supposedly assisting him. She wasn’t certain what Max was looking for, but she kept him in sight.
Paul Sturvin had a home office. It was covered by the warrant, but she couldn’t get into the man’s computer systems. Yet. She would eventually, if the warrant went through.
But there might be paper files. Or at least contact information for where the man was right now.
She’d do one more perimeter search, then work her way inward.
There had to be something they’d missed.
That was just inevitable.
44
Jac had wandered away. Max kept an eye on her, wondering what was going on in her head. This was pure Jac. She usually walked the crime scene a couple times, alone. He’d long thought it was his job to keep an eye on their surroundings for her, while she did it.
To protect.
She’d go deep into her head. Then she would come back with some piece of insightful information. Many times the case would hinge on it.
She’d make a damned fine profiler when she was ready. He knew of the self-doubt she wouldn’t admit to anyone.
She walked over to the sidewalk, where the first victim had been found.
Max ran over what he knew about Mrs. Edith Lindsay.
Eighty-two years old. A widow. No children or grandchildren living. All alone. Neighbors had described her as a shut-in who only got out long enough to walk her small dog around the block twice daily. The belief was that Mrs. Lindsay had heard the attack and came over to help.
That had been her fatal mistake.
Barnes followed Jac into the large forensic tent over where Edith had been found. Max shifted direction. She didn’t need interrupted.
“What are you looking for?” Barnes asked.
Jac looked up, appearing startled for only a millisecond. Her cheeks were so pale that concern went through Max. “The blood, Barnes. Take a look. What does it tell us?”
Max watched as the man did what she said, looking where Mrs. Lindsay’s body had been found. The tents had preserved a good portion of the scenes, thankfully. Barnes immediately turned green and stumbled back. Carelessly.
“That someone died here. But we know that. It was the old lady.”
Jac’s cheeks
