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She straightened, her interest captured. That was new. It would have been a laborious task. Julia Backworth was a busy woman.
“No one could shed light on why she was in that particular place on that day, however.”
Her shoulders sagged. “And the search warrant for her iCloud and Calendar?”
“I’m sorry, Reese. These companies take their own sweet time following through and sometimes even fight the warrant on relevancy grounds. That may not happen,” he hastened to add. “I know it seems like I don’t have a lot of leads to report.”
He didn’t. And the disappointment of that was crushing. But he’d covered a lot of ground even since their last conversation, and she knew from her work that eliminating possibilities was a necessary step toward finding answers.
“I appreciate everything you’re doing.”
“I’ll keep you posted about our progress,” he promised.
A knock sounded at the bedroom door. “Thank you.” She disconnected and rose stiffly, crossing to open it. Hayes was framed in the doorway.
“I’m making stir-fry. I have salad fixings too, if you want one.”
Intrigued, she followed him back to the kitchen, where he had a skillet on the stove. “You ordered groceries.” He’d said something about it earlier, but she’d been so immersed in reading that she’d lost track of time. She checked her phone. Nearly seven thirty. Either Gibbons was working nights, or he’d been at his desk catching up on paperwork.
“I put the refrigerated products away, but I didn’t know where the rest of the stuff goes.”
Bags, a knife, and a cutting board sat on the island counter. Opened packages of chicken and assorted vegetables were strewn throughout the available space. He was a messy cook. She was hardly in a position to complain.
“I can do that. And make the salad.”
The tasks seemed entirely too familiar, almost domesticated, and a far cry from what she’d envisioned this morning when Adam Raiker had foisted Hayes upon her. But it also provided a distraction from the quagmire of papers and the disappointing news from Gibbons.
Twenty minutes later, she had both jobs accomplished. They each fixed themselves a plate—he must have ordered the paper ones—and carried them to the table. Reese went to the refrigerator and took out two bottles of water. She had plenty of that on hand.
When she returned, he lost no time digging in. She was beginning to think food was a real issue for him. Although…she considered him surreptitiously. He was over six foot and built. He’d require a lot of fuel. When she got busy, she was far more apt to forget about meals. Like she’d forgotten about ordering groceries once they’d returned to the apartment.
“Did you discover anything interesting about Greg Pollack?”
“Interesting in a dirtball sense, I guess.” He was shoveling stir-fry into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Although she guessed it had been nearly six hours. “Those warrants I mentioned actually exist. No surprise there. He’s a big parking scofflaw. But he’s also got an assault and battery charge against him and a failure to appear for a drug count. No wife, so his story was bullshit. I suppose he could have meant girlfriend.”
“That would have been harder to verify, so he should have gone with that.” She ate some salad and then took a cautiousbite of the chicken and vegetables. Her brows rose. It was surprisingly tasty.
“This is good.” She toasted him with her water bottle. “My compliments to the chef.”
His teeth flashed. “I’ve got a handful of simple meal plans I rotate through. I make plenty to tide me over for a few days. I don’t enjoy cooking enough to want to do it every day. And I never know when I’m going to have to blow out of town.”
She contemplated him. He’d mean for work, of course. When she’d looked into Raiker Forensics eighteen months ago, she’d been curious about the number of forensic specialists they employed or contracted with. Coupled with what was touted as a world-class lab with a rapid turnaround rate, she could see the agency’s appeal, even to cash-strapped law enforcement entities. And, of course, Raiker himself had an unparalleled reputation. “What’s your specialty?”
He looked at her over a forkful of salad. “My tap-dancing sucks, but I kick ass at ballet.”
A smartass. Why was she not surprised? But she was adept at pinning down subjects who’d rather deflect. “At work. What’s your field of expertise?”
Hayes chewed, then swallowed. “Forensic psychology. I went to work at Quantico after my doctorate. Was only there three years before Adam asked me to interview. I was stunned. Who hasn’t heard of Raiker Forensics? I enjoyed what I was doing, but his offer included more of the same, plus training me as an investigator. I liked that idea more, so I accepted.”
A shroud of caution dropped over her. Raiker had risen through the FBI’s ranks as a behavioral analyst, and from what she’d read, he was still considered one of the most brilliant experts in the country. While she was grateful his team—which included Hayes—had shown up when they did in the cellar that night, the times she’d spoken to Raiker were never entirelycomfortable. He was skilled at seeing through deception, and there was something unsettling about having his laser-blue gaze focused on her. Hayes was more subtle, but it’d be unwise to think of him as harmless. He’d had no trouble connecting the dots just from hearing one side of her phone conversation this afternoon.
Reese’s wariness was ironic, given her occupation. But her guard had been learned at an early age, as much a part of her now as her hair and eye color.
He got up and went back to the kitchen. Returned with a second heaping plate. “Pollack has priors. Petty theft, some smash-and-grabs, drugs. He served a few days in jail each time, but got probation or deferred sentences in court. Have a feeling they won’t be as forgiving on the assault charge. The address on his driver’s license is his mom’s place. Since the police haven’t been successful finding him, he’s probably been lying low elsewhere.”
“So, no connection to Thorne?”
“Nothing that’s turned up yet. I still have some feelers out. They didn’t grow up near each other or go to the same schools. But they could have met at court-ordered rehab or some event they both attended. Thorne has a sealed juvie record, and a couple of drug-related dings. He’s also been in and out of psych units most of his adult life. No record of that for Pollack. I’ll keep digging.”