Janie Crouch - Fully Committed

The houses were just far enough apart from each other to afford some privacy. The victim’s was one of the four on the street that had large shrubbery in the front yard. Better for privacy.

Unfortunately it made the attack more private, also.

The three front steps leading up to the house had been taped off. Jon could see that the crime lab had already been here: print dust lay all along the railing leading up to the house and the door frame. If this was anything like the other scenes, it would soon be evident that the rapist had worn gloves.

Although Jon and Zane looked around, inside the house didn’t yield any more results than outside. They would wait for results from the crime lab, but Jon wasn’t holding his breath.

Their next two hours were spent talking to neighbors. Uniformed officers had already taken preliminary statements, but follow-ups were always necessary. Just as with the porch and the house, they discovered nothing. No one had heard anything out of the ordinary yesterday. No one had seen anyone unusual or suspicious walking or driving around lately. No strange cars. Nothing out of place.

Jon was frustrated, but he wasn’t surprised.

“I read your preliminary behavioral analysis of the perp,” Zane said as they stepped out into the heat after talking to the last neighbor.

He had read Jon’s report? That did surprise him. He’d expected it to end up in the electronic trash bin on Wales’s computer. He was sure that was where it had ended up in most everyone else’s.

“Did you agree with the analysis?” Jon asked.

Zane shrugged and adjusted his hat to settle more fully on his head. “I don’t disagree with any of it. Like you said, our guy is smart, focused, patient. The other rape cases I’ve dealt with haven’t been that way. It’s been more about rage and dominance.”

Jon nodded. “Yeah, most rapists have those characteristics. And maybe our guy does, too, and has just figured out how to hide it.”

The detective pondered that for a moment. “I guess what doesn’t sit right with me is the fact that he’s so smart we’re having to sit around and wait for him to strike in order to gather more info.”

Jon nodded. He had thought almost the exact same thing yesterday. His eyes tightened behind the sunglasses protecting him from the blazing sun. They were waiting for this guy to make a mistake. And that was not a position Jon wanted to be in.

They were almost back at the station when Jon got the text from Steve Drackett.

Found you a forensic artist. Exceptional recommendations from FBI in Houston. Full file sent.

“Looks like Omega found us another forensic artist,” Jon said to Zane. “Maybe this will get us somewhere.”

Everyone, especially Spangler, was glaring at Zane upon their entrance into the station. Evidently no one was thrilled with the younger detective’s choice to spend time with Jon. Zane shrugged in half apology and left Jon, heading in a different direction.

Jon sighed. So much for making headway with the locals. But as he’d told Steve, he wasn’t here to make friends. He grabbed a Coke—not a soda, pop or cola; they were all called Coke here, he’d been told—and went to his desk, the smell of cleaning agents permeating the air.

He was hot, he was frustrated and he was getting tired of the literal and figurative toxic environment surrounding him.

Most of all, Jon was frustrated that they couldn’t get ahead of this bastard.

He sat down to pull up the file on the computer the department had given him—surprisingly one that worked—so he could print the info Steve had sent him on the forensic artist right away.

He took a sip of his soda then almost spewed it out.

Because, damn, if he didn’t find the familiar features of Sherry Mitchell staring back at him.

Chapter Four

Sherry was just as lovely in her photo as she had been in real life. It was just a head shot, so unfortunately those legs he’d seen yesterday in the hospital weren’t in it, but her long blond hair and clear blue eyes were.

Although Jon could appreciate her attractiveness, he was damn well ticked off at the woman.

How could she have stood there in the hallway yesterday and let Frank Spangler interview the victim? Not say a word about her profession?

And evidently she was stellar at it. If this file was anything to go by, Sherry Mitchell was considered by her supervisor at the FBI to be one of the best forensic artists in Texas, if not the entire Southwest. Her track record was impressive, and it seemed she had a particularly good case history with rape victims.

That just led Jon back to his original question: How could someone who obviously had a talent—having received numerous written commendations from some people pretty damn high up in the Bureau—just choose to do nothing yesterday?

Okay, she’d had dinner plans with Caroline. As trite as that sounded, Jon could actually understand that maybe Sherry hadn’t wanted to break her reservation or whatever. But at the very least she could’ve offered to help at a later time, diffused the situation.

Not just stand there in the hallway shivering as though she’d never seen a trauma victim before.

Somewhere in his mind Jon knew he was being unfair, but he didn’t care. He was damn well tired of every law-enforcement agent in the state having some sort of problem with him just because he was outside their don’t-mess-with-Texas inner circle. Sherry Mitchell was the last straw.

He intended to let her know that.

The final part of Steve’s message stated that although Sherry generally worked for the Houston Bureau field office, she was currently on vacation and her supervisor wasn’t sure exactly where.

Jon knew, although not the exact place where she was staying.

But he knew how to get that info, too.

Jon grabbed his phone and called the number from the text he’d received yesterday notifying him of the new rape victim. He knew Caroline Gill would know where Sherry was staying.

“Hello?”

Caroline’s voice sounded sleepy. Jon cringed. As a paramedic, Caroline probably worked odd hours. She might have been asleep.

“Hi, Caroline. It’s Jon Hatton. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, I’m fine. I have a shift in a couple of hours. Has something else happened?”

He could hear the concern in her voice. She was definitely wide-awake now. “No, no. Nothing new since Jasmine Houze. Actually, I was calling to ask you about your friend Sherry Mitchell.”

“Oh. What about her?”

“I just thought I might stop by to talk to her, if you didn’t mind?”

“You found out.”

“Found out what?”

“About her being a forensic artist. She’s on vacation, Jon. She needs a break.”

Was Sherry really so selfish that she wouldn’t take a day out of her precious vacation to help the Corpus Christi PD and a woman who had been through a hideous trauma?

“I just want to talk to her, Caroline. I don’t want to push or cut into her time off. I’m sure she deserves it as much as anyone.”

Jon tried to throw lightness into his tone. Caroline was concerned about her friend. It was an admirable trait even if he didn’t see much about Sherry worth protecting if she was as shallow as her actions suggested. Obviously she was good at taking care of herself. She didn’t need her perky friend to do it.

Caroline sighed. “She just seems so tired. Maybe that’s not the right word, but I don’t know exactly what is. She’s just...she needs her vacation, Jon. Maybe you should leave her be.”

For just a second Sherry’s face—devoid of color, teeth almost chattering—flitted through his mind. Okay, yeah, maybe she was more tired or stressed or whatever than he was giving her credit for. But he had no intention of letting a forensic artist of her talent slip through his fingers when she was right in town and there was such a need.