Bridget: Done with work early. Want me to grab dinner stuff on the way home?
Jo typed back: Sure. Whatever you want.
Three dots appeared, then: Pasta okay?
Perfect.
The dots again. Then: You okay?
Jo stared at the screen.
Long day. Body in the woods.
Yikes. Want to talk about it?
Not yet.
Okay. I’ll make the good garlic bread. Be ready around 7.
Jo almost smiled. Deal.
She pocketed her phone and headed back to the squad room.
Kevin had pulled up something on his screen—fabric samples, close-up photos of weave patterns. “Got a partial match on the fiber found on the clothing. Automotive carpeting, high-end. Used in luxury sedans mostly.”
“That narrows it down,” Jo said.
“Little bit. I’m running it against local registrations now.”
Sam emerged from his office again, this time with his jacket. “Forensics is backed up. Won’t have anything more until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”
Kevin glanced at the clock. “It’s almost six.”
“Yeah.” Sam exhaled. “We’re not doing anyone any good spinning our wheels here. Let’s call it and pick back up fresh tomorrow.”
Kevin saved his work and shut down his computer. “Holy Spirits?”
Sam hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I could use a beer.”
“Jo?” Kevin asked.
She could head home, but one drink with the team after a day like this sounded better than sitting alone with her thoughts.
“Sure. One drink.”
They gathered their things—jackets, keys, phones. Lucy stretched and padded to Sam’s side, ready to go wherever he went.
Major watched them leave, tail swishing in slow, measured beats.
Outside, the afternoon had shifted toward evening. Shadows stretched long across the parking lot.
“I’ll meet you there,” Jo said, heading for her car.
Sam nodded. “See you in a few.”
She slid behind the wheel and sat there for a moment, engine idling.
Something about the case felt off. The deliberate staging. The two dump sites. The professional execution.