Rather than give him a yes or no answer, Scarlett pulled one of the photos from the stack of papers and placed it on top for them to see. “A piece of rope had been tied around one of Amy’s ankles.” She pointed to the zoomed-in image.
In the picture, they could see a close-up of Amy’s left ankle and foot. He ignored the macabre color of her skin and focused on the tattered piece of rope still present.
“Best guess,” Scarlett began again, “is someone tied a large rock or cinder block to her ankle before tossing her into the water.”
“A piece of rope doesn’t prove this wasn’t a suicide.” Emmett studied the picture a bit closer. “She could’ve tied herself to a rock or whatever and then thrown herself in.” When Janie winced at the description, he offered a muttered apology. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “You’re not wrong, it’s just . . .hard to imagine, you know?”
“It is,” Scarlett answered for him. “Not impossible by any means, but definitely not the easiest way to get the job done. Especially for a young woman as petite as Amy Weaver. But there’s more than the rope.”
“You see something else that’s suspicious?” Janie leaned in closer to get a better look.
“It’s more what I don’t see,” Scarlett explained, pointing at the skin around the rope with one of her cherry red nails. “If Amy did this to herself, she would have fought against the urge to suck water into her lungs. It’s simply human nature. We’re built to fight for survival. Oftentimes, even if a person’s mind and heart have accepted their fate, the body’s fight or flight reflexes will still kick in at the end.” She brought her attention back to the photo. “There’s some bruising there, but nothing like I’d expect if she were conscious when her body hit the water.”
“You think she was already dead by that time?” Janie’s tone was almost hopeful.
“Either that or she’d been rendered unconscious.”
Emmett considered this a moment. “If she drowned, there’d be water in her lungs.”
“I was just about to check for that, too.” Scarlett began flipping through Nguyen’s other notes. “Here.” She picked up a paper filled with handwritten notes that looked more like a bunch of nonsensical scribbles. Intelligent eyes scanned the information with ease before, “There it is.” She held it up for him and Janie to see. “Dr. Nguyen found no water present in her lungs at the time of the autopsy.”
Janie’s soft gasp sounded loud in the small, quiet room. “That’s it.” She brought her hopeful gaze to Emmett’s. “That’s proof that Amy didn’t kill herself. That she wasmurdered.”
He looked to Scarlett. “Any way we can get a copy of that?”
“I’ll make one for us both.”
She gathered the pages and carried them to a copy machine positioned a few feet away. Once the copies were made and the original folder was back in its rightful place, Scarlett shut the drawer and used her tools to quickly re-engage the lock.
“We should get going before security happens by,” she told them.
He and Janie headed to the door while Scarlett gave the room a once-over. With the office in the same condition it was when they’d arrived, the three left without anyone being the wiser.
“We really appreciate this.” Janie offered Talia’s friend her hand when they got back outside. “You risked a lot just by letting us into the building, let alone everything else, so thank you.”
“No thanks needed.” Scarlett unlocked her fancy car and opened the driver’s door. Her expression softened when she turned and met Emmett’s stare. “It’s the least I can do after what you and your team did to help save Talia.”
“She’s good people,” he spoke of his fellow R.I.S.C. operative’s new wife.
“One of the best.” The woman smiled. “And listen, I hope what’s in that file helps you find the SOB who killed that poor girl. Either of you need anything else, you have my number.”
They watched as she slid behind the wheel and shut the door. With a parting wave, Scarlett put the car in reverse before speeding off into the night.
Minutes later, Emmett and Janie were back inside his car with the file. The drive to the safe house wasspent in near silence as they both became lost in their own hidden thoughts. Janie’s hands were in a fisted ball in her lap, and she kept her focus on the scenery blurring past.
“She must have been so scared.” Her whisper was barely audible above the engine’s gentle roar. “We have to figure out who did this to her, Emmett.” Janie’s gaze fell to her tightly wound hands. “I’d want someone to do the same for me, if I were the one who’d died.”
The sentiment had his right hand reaching across the center console before Emmett even realized he’d moved. He covered her tense fists with his palm and gave them a gentle squeeze.
“You’re not dying,” he nearly growled. “Not anytime soon, you hear me?”
When her blue eyes turned to his, he physically felt the worry in her shadowed stare. It was as if their emotions had somehow become intertwined with one another’s. An unbreakable bond that had solidified itself when he wasn’t looking. A soul-deep connection he couldn’t begin to explain.
Janie was his client, yes. But she was also an amazingly selfless woman with a big heart and a craving for justice.
“I hear you,” she finally responded with a whisper.
