“These people aren’t exactly high profile. There are a lot of fashion models in New York City.”
“Her father is Arturo Casale. He’s the top dog in the Big Three Mafiosi.”
Autumn cocked her head to the side. “The Italian syndicate?”
Hererra rubbed the side of his five o’clock shadow. “One and the same.”
Autumn whistled low, “Could it have been one of his enemies?”
“It’s a possibility. We’re rounding them up as we speak.”
“Taylor, Hererra, over here,” Alex Newman, the unit’s police chief, called them over. He nodded to Autumn with a grave expression on his face, “Especially you, Taylor.”
The hairs prickled on the back of her neck. The two didn’t have a great relationship. Alex Newman didn’t appreciate outsiders’ part in police investigations. Especially a criminal analyst who wasn't part of the police department. He thought they were a nuisance, and their style wasn’t made of police work since it was based on science.
Autumn walked to him, “Sir?”
“We found the eyes,” he gestured to where two other officers stood. A carved wooden box laid open. On top of the felt lining, sat a pair of blue eyeballs. Blood pooled beneath them along with a membrane or nerve from one eye.
Autumn turned away and breathed through her nostrils. She closed her eyes and tried not to remember the past. The smell of the blood was everywhere when he pulled the eyes from those women and the screech they would make when he clipped them—
Her hands came up to cover her ears, and she squeezed her eyelids tight.
Stop it.
“Taylor.”
Autumn blinked her eyes open and put her hands down. She blinked at him, her heart pounding. Newman and Hererra watched her with eagle eyes.
“You good?” Newman scrutinized her from head to toe.
With a firm nod, she glanced at Catarina Casale’s eyeballs, then looked to see what else there was. She noticed an aging newspaper clipping on the side of the wooden box. Autumn picked it up with her gloved fingers and read the headline:
High Profile Lawyer’s Daughter Rescued from House of Horrors.
There were three words highlighted in the article.
Forget.
Me.
Not.
She didn’t need to read the article to know what it was about. She traced the scar on the side of her nose.
An NYPD officer caught Newman’s attention. When he turned away, Autumn slipped the clipping into her pants pocket.
“What was that?” Hererra asked, his eyes narrowed on her.
Autumn blinked at him, “What was what?”
Hererra chuckled. He gave a surreptitious glance around. Diego was also otherwise engaged as he talked to another officer. “Hand it over, Autumn. It’s evidence.”
“Here,” she handed him the box.
“Nice try, Taylor,” he glanced down at the pocket where the hidden evidence lay. “I saw you reading it. What was it about?”
She was about to reply when Newman returned. “We need to finish up. CSI needs to do their thing and Reagan’s on her way.” He motioned to where the box still sat open. “Diego found the box in a small alcove on the bookshelf,” he said grudgingly.
