I collected our order and walked back to where Detective Sawyer was sitting. Up close, the files were partially visible, edges peeking out from manila folders. As I suspected, there were crime scene photos scattered among the reports. I recognized the wallpaper of Alfred Thorne’s living room, that particular shade of dated cream, the angle taken from the doorway looking in. I set a cup down within Detective Sawyer’s reach and took a seat across from her, sliding a small plate in her direction.
“And what’s this?” she asked, eyeing the donut sitting on the paper napkin like it was going to bite her.
“Something sweet, to help you focus.” When the detective remained silent, I added, “Strawberry glazed. Your favorite, right?”
That got a reaction—a flash of amusement that she immediately smothered. “Kind of creepy that you know that.”
“Naomi told me,” I said with a small shrug.
“I figured.”
“So youdon’twant it, then?” I reached across the table to take the plate back, but her hand shot out before I could.
“Now, don’t be putting words into my mouth, Hayes. Give it here.”
I released my hold, settling back into my chair with whatfelt like a small victory. Sugar and caffeine—sometimes the simplest offerings were the most effective.
She picked up the donut, examining it for a moment before taking a bite.
“Working on the Thorne case?” I asked, keeping my voice conversational, trying not to appear too invested.
“Yep.”
“Got any new leads?”
“Nope,” she said, licking a streak of pink glaze from her thumb. “Whoever the killer is, they’re good.”
Most people would have sounded frustrated, but not Detective Sawyer. The gleam in her eyes gave her away. Beneath all the exhaustion and strain lurked a familiar glint of excitement—a quiet thrill she couldn’t quite mask.
She flipped a folder closed, but not before I caught a glimpse of another photo—a young woman with dark hair and pale skin. It took a moment for recognition to set in.
“Does it have anything to do with Linda Fell?”
Detective Sawyer raised an eyebrow at the question. “Why do you ask?”
“Just making conversation. I spend most of my day with people who don’t talk back, and while that makes them excellent listeners, they don’t really offer much in return.”
Detective Sawyer huffed out a breath that might have passed for a laugh on a better day. “Fair enough.”
“So, you think these two are somehow connected, then?” I tried to steer us back to the topic at hand.
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? On the surface, there’s no obvious link—different ages, different backgrounds, different social circles. Thorne was a retired teacher, widowed for the last fifteen years, spoken of fondly by his neighbors.Fell was a waitress with a record, an addict for a boyfriend, and two kids in foster care. And yet.… ” She tapped her finger against the rim of her cup, seemingly lost in thought.
When nothing else followed, I hummed. “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Detective.”
I kept my expression neutral, offering her nothing more than polite interest. Inside my head, however, I was already filing Linda Fell away for closer scrutiny.
“I always do.” She finished off the last of her donut, and a lone pink sprinkle continued to cling stubbornly to her lower lip.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” I said, starting to stand. “Let me know if you need anything from my end.”
“Thanks, Hayes. And thanks for the coffee, too.”
The stray sprinkle could be called insignificant by any reasonable standard, and yet, it was impossible to ignore. The urge to reach out and brush it away made my fingers twitch.
“You can call me by my name, you know,” I told her, instead.
Detective Sawyer finally swiped a thumb across her lip, her expression remaining unimpressed. “Oh, it’s gonna take more than a few donuts for that.”
