Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
She knelt and retrieved it, mindful of Harrington’s emphasis on evidence handling. The photo showed the structure from a distance, taken from the water, with a strange light visible at the top that didn’t match the normal beam pattern. The back bore a smudged date that appeared to be from the late 1990s and what looked like the initials “L.M.” partially obscured by water damage.
Her pulse quickened. Those initials tugged at her memory. “L.M.”
Chief Sullivan came up behind her. She handed him the photograph. He’d done the same as her, turned it over, examined the back, and then looked at it again. “This looks old. Wonder if it belongs to the museum collection.”
Her mind made the connection. “Do you think the L.M stands for Lily Morgan? Could these be her initials? The teenager who disappeared around twenty-five years ago?”
Harrington looked up sharply. “Who’s Lily Morgan?”
Chief Sullivan’s expression darkened. “Lily was seventeen when she vanished while researching the lighthouse for a school project. October 1999. We searched for weeks—never found a trace.” He examined the photo. “How is this here? We went through this place top to bottom back then.”
“Maybe Melissa found it during her research.” Vivienne’s unease grew. “And someone took it from her.”
The implications weighed heavily in the air. If Melissa Clarkson had found this photograph during her research, if she had somehow connected her work to Lily Morgan’s disappearance, it could explain why she had gone missing in the same location.
“Chief,” one of the firefighters called from the main room. “We found something else.”
They returned to find the man pointing at the floorboards near the entrance to the tower itself. A small area of discoloration was visible, easily missed but distinct upon closer inspection.
“That looks like blood.” Harrington knelt to examine it. “Fresh, too. Within the last day or so.”
Images flashed through her mind—not the overwhelming sensation from the scarf, but clear, precise pictures. A woman backing away in fear. A masculine figure advancing. The sharp edge of something metal reflecting lamplight.
“She was attacked here. Melissa Clarkson came here looking for answers about Lily Morgan, and someone followed her.”
Chief Sullivan’s jaw tightened. He’d seen her grandmother work cases, knew better than to dismiss what she said. “Harrington, call forensics. We need this processed immediately.”
“We need to test that blood for DNA first.” Harrington stood. “Before we jump to conclusions about attacks.”
“Not jumping to conclusions, Detective. Following leads.” Sullivan’s tone left no room for argument. “Miss Hawthorne has helped solve three cases in neighboring counties. Her insights have value.”
Harrington’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of insights?”
“The kind that find missing persons.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Sullivan reached for his radio to call in the discovery and request forensic assistance. While he coordinated with dispatch, Harrington moved closer to her.
“What exactly do you do?” His voice was low, direct.
“I notice things others miss.”
“Like lucky guesses about where evidence is hidden?”
“Like patterns. Connections.” She met his gaze. “Things that don’t add up.”
“You found that button in tall grass. The scarf hidden in bushes. Now you’re telling us this is an attack scene.” He crossed his arms. “That’s not noticing. That’s something else.”
“Call it intuition.”
“Intuition doesn’t lead you straight to evidence in a search area with twenty other people.”
Brooks stared at Vivienne for a long moment. Her gaze never wavered. She would let him think whatever he wanted about her, but eventually he would ask her what she was, and she’d tell him. It would be up to Brooks whether to believe in her and her craft or not.
“That photograph showing up here after twenty-five years is suspicious. But jumping to conclusions about attacks and connections to old cases—that’s exactly the kind of thinking that derails investigations.”
“And dismissing potentially valuable insights because they don’t fit your narrow definition of evidence is exactly the kind of thinking that leaves cases unsolved.”
Their eyes met in a moment of antagonism before a call came from outside.
“Chief! We found another blood trail leading toward the hidden cove!”
They hurried outside to where one of the search team members pointed to small, easily missed droplets of blood on the rough path leading away, toward the less frequented southern end of the promontory.
“The hidden cove?” Harrington had his notebook ready.
“Local name for a small beach accessible only by a difficult path or by boat.” Chief Sullivan gestured toward the trail. “Not on most maps, barely visible from the water unless you know exactly where to look.”
“I know the way. It will be faster if I lead you there,” Vivienne stated, then began walking.
The chief hesitated, seeming reluctant to put a civilian at the front of what was potentially becoming a crime scene investigation. But time was critical if Melissa Clarkson was injured, and the blood trail suggested urgency.
Harrington looked skeptical. “How convenient that . . .” he paused and looked like he was searching for the right words. He shook head. “Of course you know where all the hidden locations are.”