Lara Lacombe - Killer Exposure

He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

Owen pulled his phone from his pocket as he walked down the hall, heading for a small, closet-sized coffee station. He stepped inside, grateful for the added privacy. He didn’t think his voice would carry all the way back to Dr. Whitman’s office, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

His partner answered on the third ring. “Gallagher. What’s up?”

“I’ve got a lead.” He tried to keep the excitement from his voice, not wanting to sound too eager. But this was the best break they’d had after weeks of investigating. While he knew it was due to timing rather than his own skills as a detective, a small part of him was proud of being the one to bring this information to the table. Maybe it would even help silence some of his critics.

“What have you got?” Nate’s tone was urgent, hopeful even. He’d been waiting for this, too.

“I’m at the ME’s office. Dr. Baker is here, as well. She recognized the chemical signatures of the compounds isolated from our victims. Said they’re the same as the stuff she used to work with at ChemCure Industries.”

“Hot damn,” Nate breathed. “That is good news. Can she tell you if the chemicals are from the same batches she worked with herself?”

Owen frowned, wishing he’d thought to ask that. “I’m not sure. I’ll ask her. In the meantime, I’m taking her to ChemCure Industries. I’m going to ask a few questions about their nitrogen mustard program, see if I can come up with any more connections between the company and our bodies.”

“Need any help?”

The offer was tempting. Having a second set of eyes and ears was never a bad idea, particularly when questioning people. But Owen felt a little protective of this lead, and while he knew Nate wasn’t the kind of guy to swoop in and steal credit, he wanted to look into this one himself, at least for the time being.

“Not right now. As far as ChemCure Industries is concerned, I’m just there to ask background questions. Nothing that’s going to raise any alarms. Besides, I need you to keep digging for a connection between our victims. Found anything yet?”

“Maybe.” There was a rustle of papers before Nate spoke again. “Several of the victims were patients at the free clinic down off Thomas Street. They had appointment cards in their wallets.”

Owen closed his eyes, pulling up his mental map of Houston. “That’s several miles north of Buffalo Bayou, where they were found.” He leaned against the wall and focused on the blinking red light of the coffeemaker. “That means it’s even more likely these were dump jobs.”

“Yep. The Little Whiteoak Bayou runs right behind the clinic, but according to Doc Whitman, the bodies weren’t in the water long enough for them to have floated downstream that far.”

“So we have a serial killer who is trying to get the evidence as far away from himself as possible,” Owen mused, thinking out loud. “Are you going to check out the clinic today?” Could there be some connection between the clinic and ChemCure Industries? He made a mental note to ask Hannah if the company gave any donations to the free clinics in Houston. Perhaps a bad batch of drugs had gotten through?

“That’s my plan.”

“Do me a favor, will you? Get the names of all the employees at the clinic, from the doctors all the way down to the guy who takes out the trash. I want to see if there’s any connection between ChemCure Industries and the workers there.”

“Will do. Anything else?”

“Just keep me posted. I’ll do the same.”

“Roger that.”

Owen ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket, then ran a hand through his hair. This new connection between his case and ChemCure Industries was big, but he couldn’t figure out how just yet. It was like hiking in the dark through a field littered with land mines. He needed to tread carefully, or he would blow the whole thing and his career would tank.

With a sigh, he stepped back into the hall and made his way toward the ME’s office, his mind already focused on the questions he wanted to ask. He had to be careful to set the right tone, or the company would throw up so many roadblocks he’d never be able to get close again.

The hum of feminine voices drifted out of the office, and he paused, considering the best way to ensure Hannah Baker cooperated. She’d sounded distinctly unhappy about the need to visit the company this afternoon. Was she worried about her former coworkers’ possible involvement in these murders? Or had her departure not been as amicable as she’d indicated yesterday?

“You need to stop touching your neck.” Dr. Whitman’s voice was firm but kind. “I know you don’t always realize you’re doing it, but it’s making him suspicious.”

“Do you think he’s noticed?” Hannah sounded faintly alarmed. Owen took a step closer, straining to hear. She had been hiding something after all. But what?

“It’s hard not to, the way you’re constantly tugging at your shirt.”

“I can’t help it. I’m just nervous.”

“I know,” Dr. Whitman said. “But I promise, no one can see anything.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Her admission sounded reluctant, as if she didn’t really believe her friend but was simply playing along to avoid an argument.

“Just try to relax,” Dr. Whitman suggested. “I know he’s a bit...intense, but he is a good guy.” Owen felt the tips of his ears warm at her pronouncement, and he resisted the urge to hang his head and shuffle his feet. Coming from any other person, the observation would have filled him with pride. He was a detective—intensity was part of the package. But the idea that his attitude scared Hannah Baker gave him pause.

“I know,” Hannah replied. “He’s just a tough person to read. I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, and it makes me nervous.”

“I understand. Just be yourself. You’ll get to know him in time, as you two work together. And if you decide to have a little fun while you’re at it...”

Was it warm in here? He tugged at the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling hot.

“Gabby!”

The reproach in Hannah’s voice cooled him off somewhat, but he had to admit, he liked the idea of the buttoned-up professor having some fun with him. And as much as he hated to admit it, Nate might be onto something. He’d felt so disconnected from everything and everyone since John’s death. Maybe a fling, however brief, was just what he needed to start feeling again. After John’s shooting, Owen had welcomed the numbness that exhaustion and grief had brought. Now, in his darker moments, he wondered if that numbness was becoming a permanent part of him, a cancer growing and spreading, destroying him in the process. Would he wake up one day to find he could feel nothing?

“I just hope you don’t let the accident keep you from enjoying the rest of your life. You lost so much time to recovering, it would be a shame for you to lose any more to fear.”

“I know. But even though he’s attractive, it wouldn’t be right for me to try to start something while he’s working on this case.”

A surge of respect flowed through him, and Owen found himself nodding in agreement. Exactly. Good to know they were on the same page. And since both of them had no intention of being anything other than professional, it was time for him to stop eavesdropping.

Even though he was more curious than ever when it came to Hannah Baker.

Moving quietly, he retreated a few steps down the hall, then turned and walked heavily toward the office, making noise so the women would know he was coming. They both looked at him when he stepped into the room. Hannah’s cheeks were the light pink of a fading blush, while Dr. Whitman had a knowing look in her eyes. Did she realize he’d been eavesdropping? He gave a mental shrug, dismissing the question. It didn’t matter—if she knew, she didn’t look inclined to share the information, and if she didn’t know, he didn’t want to raise her suspicions by acting guilty. Better to act as if everything was normal.