An Eye for an Eye Page 9

  I heard some murmurs and groans, and one student raised her hand. After I called on her, she asked, “How do you develop emotional control? Don’t you have to be born with it, at least a little?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose it helps to have some natural tendencies to keep your emotions in check. Not everyone has the self-control to stay calm in difficult situations. I would say that you should first find a thought that centers you. Focus on something that makes you happy or comforted and try not to let the negative thoughts take hold.”

  She replied, “But isn’t that basically pushing your real feelings aside? Isn’t that unhealthy?”

  My young millennial students never seemed to shy away from showing how they really felt about a situation, which I often found grating.

  “Yes and no. Part of being a functioning adult is not letting every little problem derail your walk through life. At the same time, you shouldn’t always bottle up your feelings. Emotional control is about picking and choosing the times to be strong and the times it’s okay to let go. When you’re on the job, you do what you have to do to stay strong, even at your own psychological expense. Otherwise, you’re doing a disservice to the victims, their families, your fellow law enforcement officers, and the law itself.”

  Another student raised his hand. “Did you work Jenna’s…the murder scene last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “If she was so close to you, how are you even functioning this morning after doing that?”

  I hated to ever speak about personal matters with my classes, but this was one that pertained to their future professions, and they needed a dose of real-life experience. “I know you’re going to have mixed feelings about this, but I’m going to tell you the truth. The Sheriff, Jenna’s aunt, is one of my closest friends. She asked me to work the scene because she trusts me. I couldn’t let her down, and I couldn’t let Jenna down.” I blew out a breath. “So, I detached myself from my relationship to Jenna. I tried to only refer to her and think of her as ‘the victim’ while I was on the scene. I focused on the science of the case, not the emotional side. I did the job—that’s it. My co-workers knew better than to give me too much in the way of condolences. They went on like it was business as usual, which helped me to stay focused. When my job is done, I will allow myself to grieve. But until then, I owe it to Jenna and her family to put my feelings aside so I can do my part to catch her killer.”

  One of the students in the front row raised his hand. “Isn’t this way of thinking what turns so many law enforcement workers to substance abuse? And doesn’t it also cause astronomically high statistics of depression in the field?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “Then why has no one come up with a better way of managing the psychological impact of violence?”

  “I’d love it if someone would, but I don’t know if it’s possible given the millions of different ways human beings deal with stressors. In the meantime, when we are tasked with processing a brutal, gruesome death scene, we get through it any way we can. If you’re going to work in law enforcement, you have to make a commitment to put the safety and welfare of others before your own—physical and emotional. If you’re more worried about yourself than about others and the greater good, this profession isn’t for you. Honestly, if you can’t manage to put aside your personal feelings in order to get through your finals—which is your ‘job’ as a student—maybe it’s time to start thinking about a new major.”

  That comment got me a lot of grumbling. They always hated it when I said it, but why waste four years and over a hundred thousand dollars only to find out that you can’t stomach the only thing you’re qualified to do? I knew from experience that it was heart-breaking to give up the career you’d built your life around. If I’d known at eighteen what I knew now, I might have chosen a different path.

  I glanced at the clock. “We only have a few minutes left, so let’s try to get through the review of the chapter on trace evidence.”

  ***

  The sketch artist was waiting at my office when I finished class. Called in from the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department, Officer Charlotte Mains was an older woman about Jayne’s age. She reminded me of Jayne quite a lot in her rigid stature and determined expression. But once we got inside my office (with my assigned deputy staying outside to guard the door), she was as kind and soft as she could be, taking time to introduce herself and get to know me.

  After asking me a few general questions about Hunter’s appearance, she began sketching a generic face. It was amazing to watch her hand as it moved quickly across the paper. I’d never had any dealings with a sketch artist before, but she made it a painless experience.

  “What was the one facial feature that stood out about him?”

  I thought for a moment. “I guess his eyes. They seemed big and…soulful, for lack of a better word. He was wearing glasses, though, so maybe they were magnified or something.”

  “Was the iris part of his eye large or was it his entire eyeball that you thought was large?” Charlotte asked.

  “The iris. His eyes are dark brown, and the iris seemed to take up most of his eyeball. Eyes you could get lost in…if he weren’t a deranged sociopath.”

  “That’s a good description,” she replied, her hand again zipping across the page, making seemingly random strokes that suddenly came together as a set of deep, bewitching eyes.

  I stared at her drawing. “No, you’re good. That’s really close.”

  “What do I need to tweak?”

  “His eyes are a little farther apart. The bridge of his nose is kind of wide in between.”

  She made that change. “Better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s move out from there. Glasses, eyebrows, and nose are next.”

  I kept describing Hunter’s features, and Charlotte kept drawing. She never seemed to mind when I’d make a mistake and had to have her erase and redraw.

  Once she had the facial features pretty well finished, she asked, “How about his hair?”

  “Dark brown, curly. Kind of longish, I think. It stuck out a good couple of inches all around the beanie hat he was wearing.”

  She nodded and kept sketching. After a few minutes she said, “You said something about a beard. Short or long?”

  “Probably about an inch long. Not too well groomed.”

  Charlotte made a few more strokes, then began shading in areas of the face. Suddenly Hunter Parsons came to life on the page.

  “Oh, shit,” I breathed.

  She smiled sympathetically. “I take it I got him?”

  I nodded. “Spot on.” It was creepy to see our killer staring back at me, looking like the seemingly sweet kid he’d pretended to be when I met him.

  She put her pencil down. “If you’re happy with this, I’ll get it to Detective Baxter. Then we can only hope that between this sketch and the photo that someone will recognize who he really is.” Standing, she held out her hand. “It was nice to meet you, Ellie. I hope your investigation goes well.”

  “Thank you, and thanks for your help.” She left me alone with my thoughts, haunted by the big soulful eyes of Hunter Parsons, murderer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  In the few minutes I had before my next class, I checked in on Rachel and on Nate, who seemed to be doing as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. We hadn’t told Nate about Jenna and didn’t have a clue how to begin. But he could sense that something was off from the fact that his mom had suddenly shipped him off to David’s house. Even though David had only been married to our mother for a short time many years ago, he made it a point to be a father figure to us throughout our lives. He regularly did things with Nate, and the two were as close as any grandfather and grandson. However, Rachel did not make it a habit to go this long without seeing her son. The boy might have only been three, but he could pick up on the wrong kind of vibes coming from his mommy.

  I had wondered when I would hit a wall of exhausti
on after being awake for over twenty-four hours, and I’d just found it. After I hung up with David, I had to all but drag myself to the staff lounge for a cup of coffee. On the way, I ran into my friend, Dr. Samantha Jordan, who was an anthropology professor at Ashmore.

  “Ellie!” she exclaimed. “I was coming to check on you.” She swept me into a hug. “I’m so sorry about Jenna. I just heard.”

  “Thanks, Sam.”

  She let me go and held me at arm’s length to search my face. “Tell me you didn’t work the scene.”

  “I did.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” she said, pulling me in for another hug. “That had to have been awful. How are you holding up?”

  “I would be better if I could get some coffee,” I said pointedly.

  She released me and put on an apologetic face. “Sorry. I forget you’re a no-sympathy gal.”

  As we walked, I said, “Rachel is not doing well. They were very close.”

  Sam’s face crumpled. “Poor thing. I didn’t even think about that. I’d be happy to watch Nate if you’re spending your free time at the station and she needs some time to herself.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. We might take you up on that.”

  She glanced behind us, where my faithful deputy was following along about twenty steps back. “What’s with the beefy tagalong?”

  I hated this part. Samantha was my closest girlfriend, but I couldn’t tell her a damn thing about the case. “Long story.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you in danger?”

  “No…” I walked ahead of her into the lounge and started pouring my coffee.

  Sam didn’t buy my noncommittal response. Her normally light complexion turned white against her red hair. “Oh, Ellie. Please tell me you’ll be safe.”

  “I’ll be fine. Baxter’s just being overly cautious. He’s keeping an eye on me, so don’t worry.”

  She blew out a sigh of relief. “I hope that’s all it is. And not for nothing, but I wouldn’t mind at all if Detective Baxter kept his eye on me. I know you’ve had your differences, but he’s hot, and he’s into you.”

  I poured another cup of coffee and handed it to her. “He’s not into me. We work together, and he has an unholy obsession with keeping people safe.”

  “Still, you could do worse.” She wrinkled her nose. “In fact, you always do worse.”

  ***

  After two more botched classes (at least minus the sermon on emotional control), I was more than ready to get back to the sheriff’s station to finish up my work. I had the deputy drive me home to shower and change, and then we headed to the station. I’d received a text from Baxter that my scheduled time to meet with the Fed was three PM, but that would have meant no shower for me. The Fed could wait. A shower after over twenty-four hours and time spent at a crime scene couldn’t.

  As I walked into the conference room, a low voice barked, “You’re late.”

  I stopped short when I laid eyes on the man sitting alone at the conference table surrounded by files and crime scene photos. The Fed was not some stodgy old pencil pusher like I’d expected. This guy was more GQ than G-man. He had the requisite dark suit, but instead of a starched shirt and cinched-up tie, he wore a silky blue button-down, open at the collar. Muscular, dark-haired, forty-ish, and with intense blue eyes, the Fed was one gorgeous man. But his presence here was still unwanted. It was an unwritten rule that you didn’t get chummy with the Fed who took over your case.

  When I didn’t respond fast enough, he glared at me and added, “This is the part where you say you’re sorry and give me some lame excuse.”

  Even his good looks were not able to make up for the condescending asshole vibe radiating from him.

  I took a seat across the table. “I’m so sorry. I had to wash my hair.”

  He stared me down from across the table for a moment, sizing me up. Then he gave me a cocky smirk and stuck out his hand toward me. “I’m Special Agent Vic Manetti from the FBI field office in Indianapolis. I’ve been sent in to oversee the investigation of the Eye for an Eye Killer.”

  Resisting the urge to roll my eyes at the fact that the Feds felt the need to give a cheeky moniker to every high-profile suspect, I shook his hand. “Ellie Matthews.”

  “Just Ellie Matthews? What, no fancy title or list of accomplishments to try to one-up me? I’ve been hearing all afternoon how great these guys around here think they are.”

  I shrugged. “Girls generally don’t feel the need to compare dicks at a first meeting.” When his only response was a dazed expression, I added, “Plus you have a file marked ‘Personnel’ sitting in front of you. I figure you’ve already read my history and formed an opinion about me, so why waste my breath?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. I had to admit the view wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but he was essentially the enemy until he proved otherwise. “I see it holds true that the criminalist always reads the room and catches the small stuff. Well, Ellie Matthews, bring me up to speed on what you’ve done so far.”

  I wearily launched into a narrative starting with the conversation Jenna had with her friends Saturday night at my house and ending with finding the killer’s fingerprints in my office. His demeanor now serious, Agent Manetti nodded a few times during my story and wrote down several bullet points on the legal pad in front of him.

  When I was finished, he asked, “What do you have left to do for your part of the investigation?”

  “Since all of the evidence has been processed at least once, I’m heading to the lab to assist in the second independent examinations. At some point I’ll complete a finished sketch of the scene, but it’s not a real priority until and unless the case goes to trial. I should be finished with my part by tonight.”

  Manetti nodded. “So after the day’s over, we won’t be seeing each other anymore.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Too bad. Having a firecracker like you on the task force would certainly keep things interesting.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “If we’re done here, I’d like to get to work so I can go home.”

  The agent’s face slipped into a frown. “Oh, yes, by all means. You hurry up so you can go on home. Meanwhile there’s a girl out there whose life is at stake.”

  “There’s also a girl out there who’s lost one of her best friends, whose big sister—her primary support system—has had to ignore her in order to do this job. Don’t go getting preachy on me, Agent. We all have our own battles to fight.”

  His eyes bored into me again, this time with significantly less contempt. After a moment, he said, “You’re free to go, Ms. Matthews.”

  I left the conference room without another word. Halfway down the hall, Sterling fell into step with me.

  “I see you’ve had your meeting with our new HBIC. Did being alone with the pretty G-man get your panties all wet, Matthews?”

  “Oh, you think he’s pretty? Thinking of batting for the other team for a while?”

  My quick comeback had Sterling stopped dead in his tracks, sputtering curses at me all the way down the hall. I was sure I’d pay for it later, but for now I took the small victory in our ongoing battle of putdowns.

  On my way to the lab, I noticed a light on in Jayne’s office, which I didn’t expect to see. She was off the case for personal reasons, plus with Special Agent Manetti here, her job as overseer would have been stripped regardless. I knocked on her door.

  Her voice called quietly, “Come in.”

  I wasn’t prepared for seeing her this way. She never wore athletic wear to work, but today she had on a rumpled tracksuit and sneakers. Her usually sleek bob was disheveled as well, almost as if she’d rolled out of bed this way. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and there were dark circles underneath. She was staring at the photo of Jenna that she kept on her desk, looking like her heart was breaking all over again. Jayne was always in control and professional, no matter what. But this situation was more than she could handle, and ri
ghtfully so.

  “I saw your light on and came to check on you,” I said, coming over to stand near her.

  She blew her nose on a crumpled tissue. “Thank you. I’m…fine.”

  I knew from experience that she wouldn’t want to talk about her feelings and burden me with her problems, but she needed someone. Her brother Mark and his wife Carol, Jenna’s parents, were all the family Jayne had left, and I couldn’t imagine either of them being in a place to offer a shoulder for her to cry on right now.

  I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder. “Jayne, you don’t need to go through this alone. I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

  She looked up at me angrily. “What I need is not to have failed my only niece!” she bellowed, only to dissolve into racking sobs.

  I knelt down beside her and put my arms around her, my own heart breaking. She cried against me for a time, longer than I ever would have expected. When she quieted down, she continued to cling to me, almost like a child. It took all I had not to break down along with her.

  When she finally composed herself and pulled away, she murmured, “This is all my fault.”

  I took her by the shoulders and made her look at me. “Jayne Walsh, it is absolutely not your fault. You know this. You always used to preach it to us when we were beating ourselves up for not solving cases fast enough. The only one at fault here is the psychopath we’re trying to catch.”

  Sighing heavily, she said, “When I heard she was going away for the weekend with a boy she’d just started dating, I was worried. I was going to say something to her, but…I decided it wasn’t my place. I wanted her to have fun and be happy, and I didn’t want to be a nag. What kind of dating advice would an old spinster like me have to give a young college girl?” She grunted bitterly. “Too late now.”

  I knew exactly where she was coming from. I’d had the same feelings toward many of Rachel’s boyfriends. A couple of months ago when I voiced my displeasure about my sister dating an older man who was all wrong for her, she iced me out.

  “If you’d said something, she wouldn’t have listened. Rachel made a comment about it being too soon, and Jenna brushed it off. This guy is…persuasive and smart. I’m sure he had her head over heels for him in no time. I don’t know if Baxter told you, but our killer came to my office Monday afternoon, posing as a student reporter. He certainly fooled me.”