The Last Shadow (Shadows and Strings #3)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Frankie

“Frankie, you shouldn’t be here right now,” Jay says, his eyes full of concern. “Look, it's okay to step back for a bit. You need to take care of yourself. You can’t keep pushing like this, it’s okay to take some time off.” He’s trying to protect me, but I shrug it off.

“I’m fine,” I snap, sharper than I intended. My gaze is locked on the whiteboard, filled with victims’ faces. Each one is a reminder of why I’m here, even as the fire keeps creeping into my thoughts.

“Your house just burned down, Frankie,” Jay says. “If you need to take care of things, I got this.”

I take a deep breath, slowly blowing out the frustration. “I spent all day on the phone with the insurance company,” I say. “They won't do anything until they know if it was arson. I can't even go over there yet.”

He just looks at me, concern written all over his face. I don’t have the time or the headspace for this right now. I take another breath, trying to get my focus back. “I need to work, Jay.”

Jay doesn’t argue, but the silence hangs between us. I glance back at him. “Are you ready to do this, or are you going to keep feeling sorry for me?”

He sighs, a hint of a smile. “All right, Frankie. I’m really sorry about your house. But let’s get to work.”

“Thanks, Jay.” I’ve thanked about fifty officers who stopped by the war room to offer their condolences on my house, all of them with a mixture of sympathy and pity in their eyes. I’m tired of hearing that shit and I need to focus on things that matter.

“We’ll probably never figure out who put the cameras in your place now, not that we were close to figuring it out, anyway.”

He’s right, but I know who installed them, even if I don’t know his name or what he looks like. “We’re as close to finding them as we are who killed Zeke and all the rest.”

“Right. We’re getting closer, I can feel it.” Jay flashes his old smile and for a split second, everything feels right with the world. It feels as if maybe things will get back to normal, at least if I don’t remember that my home—for now—is Damien’s penthouse. “Wait a sec,” he mutters, his eyes dropping to his phone screen. The moment he sees it, his entire attitude shifts. “Shit. I gotta run.”

I get to my feet and grab my jacket. “Where are we going?”

“No, I have an appointment I forgot about.” His gaze flicks away from my face and I’ve played poker with him enough times in my life to know when he’s bluffing. Or lying out right.

“An appointment?” I keep the disbelief out of my tone.

“Yeah. I’ll be back later.”

It stings, but I don’t call him on it. “Are you sick? Have you been monitoring your blood pressure like the doctor said?”

He shrugs. “As much as I can with a serial killer on the loose.” He glances down when his phone lights up again, and groans even louder. “See you soon.” Then he rushes out of the war room so fast you’d think someone caught his butt on fire.

“Fine,” I grunt to the empty room. “See you later.” Jay’s acting weird and I need to find out why. I wouldn’t put it past him to hunt down a lead on his own, mistakenly thinking that he’s doing me a favor by cutting me out of my own fucking investigation. “Not today and not this case.” I leave the office to get answers and run into Nate.

“Hey Frankie, man, I’m so fucking sorry about your house. How are you doing?”

“Wishing my house wasn’t ashes at the moment, but otherwise I’m doing about as well as you might expect.” His smile is sympathetic, and I rush to change the subject. “Hey, do you know what’s going on with Jay? He just left for another mysterious appointment he won’t talk about.” It’s the third or fourth time it’s happened recently and now I’m curious.

“Don’t know,” Nate offers with a shrug. “It’s weird he would leave now.”

I’m a little confused by the emphasis he puts on now . “Why?”

“Because there’s a smoking hot witness who just got here. A Laurel Kinney from Hope House.”

Hope House? We have a witness from Hope House in the box and Jay leaves? That doesn’t make sense, but his absence gives me the opportunity I need to talk to her without interruption. I school my features and nod at Nate. “Thanks. I’ll see you around.” I move toward the hallway where the interrogation rooms are when Nate calls out to me.

“Are you sure you’re good, Frankie?”

I nod. “Solving this case will help. Thanks for asking!” I step into the observation room and take in the witness, Laurel Kinney. She’s attractive, sporting vibrant red curls, almond-shaped green eyes, and plump pink lips. A few freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose. Miss Kinney has a wholesome charm of the girl next door with a figure that could stop traffic.

I take a few minutes, going back to the war room to gather photos and notes before I join her in the box. “Miss Kinney, thank you for coming down to speak to us.”

Her green eyes settle on me, and she nods with a shrug. “Sure. I wasn’t there long, but when I saw the details on the news story, I thought I should come in just in case.”

It’s a smart instinct even though no women have been killed. “I appreciate that so much. Can you tell me when you lived at Hope House?”

She nods, answering the basic questions easily. “I didn’t stay very long, though. My folks were a mess, always on and off, strung out on whatever drugs were available. But a few months without me—and the check we got—was enough for them to at least fake it, act like they had their shit together. I don’t know what I can tell you, but I’m willing to try.”

I want to offer sympathy, but I know it won’t make a difference. She's already giving off survivor vibes. “I’m hoping you can help us identify a few of the other children who stayed there while you were there.” I pull out the photos and line them up in front of her. “Do any of these kids look familiar to you?” I look up and watch her carefully, in search of any sign that she knows more than she says.

She concentrates intently on each of the images, taking her time to fully take in the details of every picture. “This guy here is Damien Wolfe. You know that gorgeous billionaire tech genius? It’s him but I remember he went by Michael back then.” Her full lips curve into a crooked smile like she’s remembering something. “He was quiet back then, kind of a weirdo but incredibly smart and nicer than most of the other guys. Guess I should’ve been nicer to him back then, huh? I could be flying high in the billions right now.”

Ouch.

My jaw tightens at her words, and I struggle to connect her description with the stunning, self-assured man I know now. It’s hard to picture Damien as Michael, the awkward kid, but I nod to show her that I’m paying attention and absorbing what she says. “Are you certain?”

She nods. "Yeah. The second I saw him on TV, I knew he was Michael from the home. Those eyes and that jawline are unforgettable even if he pretends otherwise. I don’t blame him,” she says, laying her palm over his photo. “I hide my past from the people I know too. No one needs to know my mom was a junkie.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” I nod and set that information aside for now. “Does anyone else seem familiar?”

She nods, tucking a thick red lock behind her ear. “Oh, wait, this is Zeke. He was like an amateur photographer back then, always taking candid shots that he’d sell in exchange for chores or keeping my mouth shut about curfew violations.” Her smile is wistful, and I wonder more about her time at Hope House.

“Was he a good guy?”

She nods eagerly. “Yes. He was great and trust me, after a few months in the system you learn to identify them easily.” Her gaze flicks back to the photos and she points out a few other guys, but other than Zeke none of them are victims. Yet. “Sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

I hurry to comfort her. “You’ve been extremely helpful, Miss Kinney, I assure you.”

Her green eyes widen in fear. “Am I safe?”

I can’t deceive her, so I merely shrug. “The only victims so far have been male, so we have no reason to think you are at risk.”

Laurel swallows hard and nods. “Okay, that’s reassuring. Thank you. Is there anything else?”

I shake my head. “Do you recall anything else from your time at Hope House?”

“Not really. There weren’t many girls at the group home, so I mostly kept to myself until the social worker came to tell me that my parents had finally gotten their act together. Again.”

I slide more photos across the table. “Are you familiar with any of these women?”

Her gaze lands on Jane, Sara and a few others but she shakes her head. “I saw them around, but we were all too afraid to really get to know each other.” Laurel points to a girl in the photo. “That girl right there is Jane, Michael, or Damien’s sister. She was very artsy. Liked to do crafts and paint.” Her phone chimes and she leans back with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I need to pick up my twins from daycare.”

I nod my head, jotting down notes from her interview. “Thank you, Miss Kinney. You've been a big help. If you can think of anything else, please give me a call. No matter how small or seemingly insignificant a detail, it might be incredibly helpful.”

She nods and licks her lips. “Wish I had more. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thank you for coming forward. It’s been really hard to get people to even admit they lived there.”

“It wasn’t exactly the best place to admit you lived in, especially back then. I know they saved me from my parents for a while, but it was a shit hole.”

“Thank you for all your help,” I say and stand to open the door.

Laurel rises, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ve got to run. They charge me for every minute I’m late. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

Laurel’s not the first person to imply that there was more going on at Hope House than the paperwork shows and I’m not sure what to do with that information. What does it mean?

Systemic neglect and abuse or neglected kids lashing out at the system that didn’t actually look out for them?

I need to uncover the truth. She’s the first one to identify the man in the picture as Damien, and I wonder how many others will confirm it.

Regardless of where it takes me.