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Shifting his weight, he looked at her. “They don’t hit back-to-back, but they’ve struck in your hometown now. And you fit the vic profile. You watch your back. I want to hear if you get a bad feeling about anything or anyone.”
“I’m watching it. There was a woman,” she began as she walked out of the small room with him. “I can’t claim bad feeling, but more a bothersome one. I’ve seen her around a couple times now, and can’tgive you a good description because I could never get a clear view of her face.”
“What’s bothersome?”
“I know I’ve seen her before, but I can’t pin it because I can’t get that clear view. Can’t even give you a solid on her age. About five-four, one-fifty, white, mouse-brown hair. She’s with a man. Black, mid to late thirties, about five-ten, a hundred and sixty, black and brown. Hair in short twists. Body language says they’re a couple.
“I saw them last week, on Main, across from the Seabreeze, dinnertime. Then again on Saturday at the local nursery. Both times I couldn’t see her face, and it felt deliberate. Floppy pink hat, sunglasses, and she turned around too fast when I looked in her direction.”
“Across from the restaurant.”
“Yeah, and I ran into Hallie at the nursery. I didn’t see a white van either time, but it felt off.” She glanced back toward her wall. “It feels more off now.”
“You saw the man. Enough to work with a police artist?”
“Yeah. I think yes. We get a lot of tourists, Frank, you know that. Or people who have second homes in the area and come up for a few days here and there.”
“But it felt off to you.”
“It did.”
“I’m going to have a police artist work with you. You on tomorrow?”
“I am.”
“They’ll come to you. It may be nothing, but.”
Sloan nodded. “What if it isn’t?”
“I’ll be in touch. Thanks for the coffee.”
She walked him out, then turned to Nash. “I’m probably wasting his time and manpower on this woman.”
“He didn’t seem to think so. You’re good at this. I already knew that, but seeing you with O’Hara… You’re sure you don’t want to go back to that? The criminal investigation?”
“I still do some, and I’ve never worked anything like this. And this is—it’s just different for me. And yes, I’m sure. What I’m doing, where I do it, at least primarily? It rings the bell for me. I wouldn’t change it. I just need to see this one closed.”
“You’ll know, when it is, you had part of it.”
“And that’ll be enough. Let’s try to get some sleep. We’re both starting early tomorrow.”
She took his hand. “How about this? I’ll pick up pizza on my way home tomorrow, and we’ll sit out on my new patio, eat, and drink wine.”
“You don’t have any chairs out there.”
“Mom said she saw a couple that would work, and a table. I’m going to tell her to grab them for me. She’ll love doing that, so why not let her?”
“I’m going to have the dog tomorrow night.”
“He can’t have any wine.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The police artist, a woman with a rainfall of red hair and a tipped-up nose, did come to her. She waited at a trailhead, leaning against her car and sketching the greening trees and the pines.
“Sergeant Cooper? I’m Faith Loggins.”
“Thanks for waiting.”