I don’t question Jewel’s reasoning on Davis York. She’s a damn good detective and I haven’t liked the man since that first day I saw him attempt to shake her hand. “Tell me what you need right now,” I say instead.
“To prove it. To end him.”
“I’ll gather the team,” I say, motioning her down the walkway, away from the courthouse, and toward the subway, and by the time we’re on a train, it’s done. “Blake and Asher will be at the apartment when we get there,” I say, motioning to the seats at the end of the car.
“I’m trembling,” she says, as we sit down. “I don’t think it’s fear. I think it’s just adrenaline. I don’t know. Maybe both.”
My hand comes down on her leg. “Tell me what happened.” I listen as she relays her encounter with York. The words “a gift” hit me hard. “That’s—”
“The same words used in the note found inside the card,” I say. “I know. If anyone would know where the body was, the defense counsel for the killer would certainly be the one.”
“Maybe he even helped his client hide the bodies.” She presses her hand to her face. “Rodriquez didn’t kill himself. York killed him. I just need to prove it.”
“Do you know of any connection he has to your uncle?”
“No, but there has to be something.”
She’s right, there is, and thirty minutes later, with Blake, Asher, and Sierra, sitting at the island with us, Blake finds the connection. “Holy mother of Jesus,” he says, drawing all of our attention. “We’ve hit gold. Get this. The only case Davis York has lost, aside from the Norton case, was seventeen years ago and it’s widely thought that the testimony of Detective Jonathan Carpenter sealed the deal for the prosecution.”
“I don’t lose,” Jewel repeats his words for the group. “Whatever the outcome, I always know it’s coming and why. Did he lose to somehow stay off my uncle’s radar?”
“You’re suggesting York had a reason to appear ineffective to your uncle,” Sierra assumes.
“Yes,” Jewel says. “Yes I am. It’s the only thing that makes sense. He led me back to my uncle. The case files have to be the answer. Somewhere in them, we’ll find Davis York.”
“Let’s hit the case files then,” I say. “Who’s in?”
“Me,” everyone chimes in and from there we divide them out and start dissecting them one by one.
Hours and several pizzas pass, and we have no answers. By the time it’s early evening, everyone is frustrated. “He’s here,” Jewel insists. “I know he’s in these files. And we know he’s killed at least two people. We have to find him.”
Blake’s cellphone rings and his eyes go wide. “Oh fuck. Yeah. Yeah. Right.” He stands up. “Lauren’s in labor. Royce is flipping out. No one can reach Luke and—” he looks at Asher, “can you get the car pulled to the front door? Royce needs help getting Lauren downstairs.”
“Yes,” Asher says, shutting his computer. “Going now.”
“I’ll go help with Lauren,” Sierra says.
The two of them head to the door and Blake sticks his Mac in his bag and looks at me. “Call me if you find anything. We’ll be back.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. He’s gone, rushing toward the door.
In another thirty seconds, Jewel and I are alone. “If you need to go, Jacob,” Jewel begins. “I can—”
“No way in fuck am I leaving you alone.” I kiss her. “We have some quiet time. The entire group will go to the hospital. Maybe the two of us alone will be the kind of focused magic we need.”
She nods, and I make us a cup of coffee to share before I sit down next to her and grab Sierra’s batch of files. The top six are rubber banded together and on closer inspection, not even murder cases. They’re all… “Fuck,” I murmur.
“What is it?” Jewel asks, turning to face me.
“Rodriquez officially killed himself.”
“No,” she says. “It was murder. You know that.”
“That’s my point. Right now, officially, he’s assumed to have killed himself. Meanwhile, there are six suicides that your uncle had batched together.”
“Suicides?” Her eyes go wide. “Why would he—Oh God. I see where you’re going now. Like in Rodriquez’s cases, they’re not suicides at all. They were just made to look like suicides.” She grabs my arms. “Wait. I have a thought. I need to get something.” She rushes away and up the stairs.
I follow her, and locate her at the bookshelves in the bedroom, holding the memory book, she’d stored on one of them when moving here. “What did you piece together?”
“Give me a second,” she says. “I need to read—oh wow. Wow.” She looks at me. “You have to see this.” She rushes to the bed and sits down, and I sit next to her. She sets the book in my lap and shows me the newspaper clipping of her mother with the umbrella. “What am I looking at?”
“The article published right next to it.”
“Community rattled by local woman’s suicide.”
“Yes, and read the second paragraph.”
“Husband suspects foul play, insists wife had strange events taking place. He’s quoted as saying ‘one day last week three people called her and said they were returning her message, but she didn’t leave them a message.’”
“On the day of the bail hearing, I had several people call me, and tell me they were returning a message. One of those people was Davis York. And that day was the only day I ever felt the slayer’s presence and Davis York was in the courtroom.” She stands up. “I’m ending this.” She tries to dart away.
I stand, catching her arm and turning her toward me. “What does that mean?”
“He wants to play a game. I’m ending the game. I’m going to tell him I know. I’m going to tell him I have him on camera at one of the suicide scenes. And I’m going to record it all.”
“He’s not dumb enough to buy that.”
“He’s not dumb enough to make a mistake we catch, or my uncle would have caught him. I need to shock him. I need to do this right now, tonight.”
I could hold her back. I could stop her. But the truth is, I have plans for Davis York, and I’ve always said plans are better acted on now, rather than later. Now, when the Walkers are too tied up to stop me from doing what I need to do. “Study the files,” I say. “Know what you’re talking about and then let’s go.”