CHAPTER FOUR
They have the BOLO and amber alert already issued, but she's still supposed to be working on tracking down the missing husband and daughter of their latest victim. Instead, she stares at the empty desk opposite, a deep frown creasing her brow as she absently worries at her bottom lip.
That desk is starkly tidier than it was yesterday. The yesterday that she remembers.
Now, there are no piles of folders or stacked case files. No takeout coffee cups. No nametag. No personal items of any variety, except for the action figure she recalls last seeing on Frankie's bookcase.
The blue and white robot stands sentinel next to Frost's monitor, like it is keeping protective watch over the open bullpen and she wants so badly to know – to remember – how it ended up there.
Would Frankie humor her crazy talk like Korsak had if she called him and just outright asked?
"Find anything?" Korsak enquires from his desk to her right.
"Um," she blinks, slow to turn but eyes reaching his eventually. "No, nothing." And it's true, she had at least completed a batch of standard searches before her mind started to wander. The screen blinks several pop up responses of 'Not Found' as proof.
"Let's go see what Nina can dig up," he suggests, plants his palms on the desk and rises quickly.
Nina isn't a name that's familiar and a blanket of dread weighs down her eyelids as he heads for BRIC. Following without comment, she takes cover behind the man's broad shoulders, sniffs and runs a finger beneath her nose. The prospect of Frost having already been replaced makes her eyes sting.
She could cry. Could weep loud, messy, ugly tears given half a chance. Could sob for her lost friend and lost memories. Wants to bawl her confusion, but not here and not now. Not when she has important work to do, an innocent to save. And not when she's still not convinced…
Denial. The first of the five stages of grief.
She's survived it before. Stubborn enough to avoid and skip over all the other stages. Forced herself to race through them, lest she appear just as human as anyone else. Being average is something she doesn't permit, not while living and breathing death every day. Denial gets you nowhere.
Maybe she hasn't escaped it this time. Maybe that's what is twisting her world upside down.
They come to a stop in the heart of Boston's Regional Intelligence Centre with its wall-to-wall screens and hi-tech computer equipment, and she prays this case will consume her attention, if only to put thoughts of Frost aside for a while.
Silent, she stands by as Korsak gives the case details to the woman at the helm. Remembers the last time, only days ago really, when her beloved partner occupied that same spot.
"Charlie Mills," he states, drops the case file on the desk so Nina can get a look. "We've checked the usual and hit a dead end. Can you work your magic and dig something up?"
"Sure thing," she replies easily, graces them both with kind eyes and a beaming smile.
Dammit. She's friendly and warm and if Nina keeps this up Jane doesn't think she'll be able to resent her for long. It seems universally unfair that she even looks a little like Frost.
"Here you go," Nina says, eyes pinned to the largest screen on the wall where the results are shown for all to see.
Jane shakes herself again. How did Nina do that so fast? Frost was good, could run rings around her and Korsak, but - There can't have been more than a half dozen key strokes, either that or her mind had wandered again. It's entirely possible.
"Charlie Mills," Nina confirms, "Self-employed consultant. Worked most recently for Greenslate Real Estate and before that for Jameson Investments." Several more keystrokes send layer after layer of documents up onto the screen in a dizzying pattern.
She squints hard. Deciphering any useful detail from the mass of financial information displayed is nigh impossible. Bank statements, tax returns, land registry. It might as well be Greek to her but Nina reads it with enviable ease.
"Looks like he's earning rental income all across the city," Nina states, glances over for a second. "The money moves here and there – tax avoidance, probably, it's a pretty standard tact-"
"Wait a second," Jane interrupts, wags an index finger at the screen and inches forward in interest, only stopping when her thighs meet the edge of Nina's desk. "He owns a bunch of other houses?"
"Yes," the woman nods, unfazed by Jane towering over her as she continues. "The deed transfers are pretty well buried; I'd say he used the investment company as a cover. But the money all seems to lead back to him."
Her eyes lock with Korsak's and he mirrors her smile. Hope is always a good motivator and now that they have something to go on, they can get moving. Literally. "Can you forward the addresses of those properties to our phones?"
They're already almost out the door as Nina replies, "On it."
"Thanks!" And she means it, flashes a wide smile of her own over her shoulder, eager to do what she does best and go catch a killer.
It's straightforward enough as cases go. All indications point to the husband killing the mother and then taking off with their only daughter. Now they just have to prove it and find him, stop him before he hurts anyone else.
They find him at the second house on the list.
But they find him alone.
The tenants of the first house had let them look around, had nothing but good things to say about Charlie Mills.
He is a nice guy apparently – affable was a word somebody used - and it's annoying as all hell to admit he seems that way in interrogation, too, at first.
As with any victim's relative, they're very sorry for his loss. They get him a drink of water and try to make him comfortable. But not too comfortable. He's a suspect after all, and so they're not slow in getting down to business.
"Did Rebecca have any enemies that you know of?" Jane asks softly, "Anyone who would want to hurt her?"
"No," he sniffs, runs a nervous hand through sandy blonde hair before he adds a shrug. "I don't know. I haven't seen her since before the divorce papers were drawn up."
"And your daughter, what can you tell us about her?"
"I don't know anyone that would hurt her either," he says, but he can't meet her eyes and shifts in his seat.
He seems upset, understandably so, but in an understated way that niggles beneath her skin. He's not devastated that Rebecca is dead, but that's nothing she hasn't come across before. Sometimes there's just too much bad blood mixed into that water under the bridge.
But he doesn't light up at the mention of Kelsey either, not like most fathers would, and it raises the first little red flag.
"Any problems of your own lately?" she asks, heading away from the obvious topic of the missing girl to revisit later. "Anyone who might be trying to hurt you by hurting them?"
He scoffs. "Problems? No. Not unless an ugly divorce counts."
And of course it counts. It could be motive for murder at the very least.
Her brows draw together, and she catches Korsak scribbling something in her periphery.
Ugly?
It's a perfect match for her next question and it settles a warm feeling in her belly, like her first coffee of the day. That they're still so in sync after all these years is comforting.
"In what way was it ugly, Mr. Mills?"
And he scoffs again, an almost barked laugh, humorless and bitter. "In every way. She was trying to take things from me, things she wasn't entitled to." When his eyes lift, they're cold and angry, and the face of an altogether different Charles flashes through her mind.
Korsak takes over while she blinks away the haunting visual. "Do you mean the second property, the one we found you at? Did she know about that?" He's played the property card close to his chest and it's a smart move. One she's thankful for. One they can use to their advantage depending on how the suspect answers.
"Well off course she knew," Charlie sneers, causing both her and Korsak to stiffen. "I had to move somewhere when she kicked me out."
This feels like they're getting somewhere, setting a subtle trap that he may be unwitting enough to fall in to. And so when he visibly deflates and continues a second later she's happy just to let him talk and see what spills out.
"But I own another one. It's a rental," he sighs, palms face up on the table, as if he's freely giving them the confession they're looking for. "When she discovered my extra income she flipped, threatened to take me to the cleaners. It didn't matter that I owned it before I met her…"
She lets him trail off, content to have a moment of quiet in which to think.
He's smart, but he's no Einstein. Probably thinks if he's willing to give up information they don't already know, they won't go digging.
But he's wrong. Because they do know, thanks to Nina, and owning up to one house, rather than an entire portfolio speaks volumes. They can garner just as many clues from what he doesn't say.
"Do you have any other family, Mr. Mills?"
"Only child," he says flatly, seemingly bored and not seeing the point in their questions. "My parents are dead."
Jane nods, tries to loosen him back up with a smile. "And what about Rebecca's parents?"
He shrugs. "I never met them. All I know is Rebecca and her mom had a fight years ago and they haven't talked since."
They're not getting any case-breaking information and he's becoming rigid with irritation. Jane scribbles a note of her own and sticks it under Korsak's nose. Let's take a break.
Clearing her throat, she throws a meaningful look in the Sergeant's direction. It's a half smile that says just trust me. To Charlie it should be no reason to worry.
She inches her chair away from the table, clear indication that they plan to leave. It's a tried and tested maneuver. A break will give him room to breathe, make him feel safer, like they're on his side and believe everything he's told them.
When she smiles it's deliberately warm and reassuring, adds to any false sense of security he might be harboring. "Thank you, Mr. Mills. We just have a few things we need to check on if you don't mind waiting."
"Of – Of course," he nods.
"Oh, I nearly forgot," she says, lightly slapping her thigh and turning back to the suspect while Korsak holds the door halfway open. It does no harm if Charlie thinks her a scatter-brained halfwit. "When we picked you up earlier, you said you were home all night last night. Is there any way we can confirm that?"
"Um," he blinks, removes his fidgeting hands from the table and hides them in his lap. "I was home alone, but – I mean… I made some calls from my cell around 9.30 if that helps?"
"Okay," she says brightly, a fake smile plastered across her face. "We'll be right back. Hang tight."
"Thoughts?" Jane asks quietly as Korsak joins her behind the two-way mirror.
"Nina's still digging, but he's squeaky clean so far. Not even so much as a parking ticket, which is suspicious in itself if you ask me."
She lets out a chuckle, feels light for a brief moment before they turn serious again.
"He had a gun registered in his name, a 9mm. Reported it stolen nine months ago. No record of him buying any ammunition then or since, so if he did it wasn't from a licensed store."
"Interesting," she mumbles. Another red flag to add to the two already checked off.
"He just lied to us about the real estate, too," he reminds her and she nods slowly, knows there's more to it.
"As alibis go, his isn't great." The 'home alone' ones are always tricky and unhelpful.
Korsak murmurs in agreement. "I'll have Nina run his cellphone anyway."
She stares at the man sat alone in their interrogation room while her colleague sends a text message. Her back is rigid, arms folded across her chest as her teeth nibble her bottom lip.
"Cell tower records will only tell us where his phone was, not where he was," she says, thinking aloud. "We've got no murder weapon, so we need something else."
"Like what?" Korsak grumbles.
She knows they're clutching at straws until the physical evidence gives them a definite lead. "Anything come back from those other addresses?" she prompts, waves a finger at the phone he's still holding.
He pulls up messages while she taps her index finger against her lips. "Uniforms spoke to another set of tenants and took a look around but didn't find anything. The last house on the list was empty, didn't look lived in."
"Okay," she breathes, calmly absorbs the information.
"You still think he did it," he states, eyeing her profile as she continues to watch Charlie Mills through the glass. It's not even a question.
He knows her, can probably tell by the way she stands, or the way she rolls her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet. She's restless. Her brain running a thousand miles a minute.
"He was evasive when I asked about Kelsey." She squints, wags an index finger at their captive as Korsak nods and follows along. "Like he didn't want to talk about her. At all. Something felt… off."
"Y'know, as good as your gut is sometimes we need a little more to go on, Jane."
"Yeah, yeah," she dismisses, swats a palm in the direction of his bicep. He's teasing but it's not unkind, certainly not the kind of jibe she's used to from some of the other guys in the bullpen. If anything, it's encouraging, pushes her to do better, to be a better cop.
It's everything she strives for every day. To get the job done and catch the bad guy. To make him proud. And even though she knows he noticed the same signs she did, and hasn't explicitly disagreed with her on anything, he's right. They do need more to go on.
They stand shoulder to shoulder for long silent moments as she chews on the tip of a thumbnail. It's not easy to watch the only suspect in their case sigh in boredom and check his watch like his old lover isn't lying in the morgue and his only offspring isn't missing.
She breathes in sharply as a bare-bones plan formulates in her mind. When she turns to Korsak, it is with a pointed eyebrow raised in daring question. "We might have another twenty-four hours to wait for lab results, but what if we got a second opinion on this guy in the meantime?"
Korsak tries to smother a smirk. "Do I even need to ask who you have in mind?"