Who wants another sneak peek of THE COLD CASE? The next installment in The Billy Jo McCabe mystery series will be released this weekend, but you can read Chapter 2 now!

Chapter 2

Mark sat in his Jeep, the engine idling, taking in the white cargo van and storage unit.

Of the fifty storage lockers on the island, he knew only two were used legitimately for storing personal effects, one by a family man who couldn’t part with anything, including the rusted-out ’75 Gremlin that had been his first vehicle, stored under what he suspected were boxes and boxes of memorabilia anyone else would have thrown out, and the other an old-timer who was a hoarder and had been ordered to clean out the aisles of garbage that filled his house.

If anything, Mark had learned that storage lockers held the kinds of things people couldn’t keep at home.

He was at a loss for words after realizing the Roche Harbor police department had a locker in which to store police case files, which should never have been handled by anyone who wasn’t a cop. The van driver was yet another friend of the chief, Bill Burke, the son of someone who delivered goods on and off the island.

Burke didn’t have the authority to handle the personal, private, and confidential case files the average person was never meant to have access to. Mark just sat there with his takeout coffee, counting the twenty-five boxes as the young driver stacked them one after the other into that storage locker.

Case files were never willingly turned over to the public, though he knew police departments and DAs loved to cite exemptions. Yet there he was, staring at a young man who had no link to the department, whom the chief had tasked with shoving boxes of old cases, closed and cold, into a locker anyone could access. Worse, no one else had any idea the chief had ordered this done.

He dragged his gaze over to the passenger seat and the file he hadn’t bothered to tuck back into the box. Instead, he had sat at his desk, reading the two pages over and over while watching the young delivery guy carry boxes of files out the front door.

The only interviews regarding the missing toddler, Gabriele Martin, were conducted with a bitter ex-wife and a former business partner, both of whom pointed the finger at the father.

The body was never found.

The father was charged and convicted.

The case was closed.

He had to be missing something. Maybe there was more to the file, to this case. He was starting to think that Carmen may have led him right to the file. The woman knew more than she was letting on.

He heard the rattle of the storage locker door and looked back over to the chief’s family friend, who padlocked the unit, climbed in the van, and pulled away. He wondered what any good defense lawyer would do with this kind of information.

Apparently, he still hadn’t learned to look the other way.

Maybe that was why it seemed to him more and more every day that the line between the good and the bad guys wasn’t as clear as he’d once believed.

He should go back to the station. What was he doing with this case, anyway? It was closed. The man was in jail. The contents of the file were likely lost.

That thought had him pulling out his phone, scrolling through his contacts, and dialing. He heard the ring, and then she answered.

“Billy Jo McCabe.”

How long had it been since he’d talked to her?

“Hey, it’s Mark. You have time for a coffee?” He could hear rustling in the background, maybe paper. She had to be at work still.

“Coffee? I’ve had enough for today,” she said. There it was, the type of snarky response he thought they were past.

“Fine, then I’ll have coffee and you can just listen. I want to ask you about a case.”

“An open case? Who?”

He took in the file, wondering if she’d think he was crazy. “Not recent. Listen, are you at the office?”

“For another half hour.”

“Then I’ll be there in five,” he said, then hung up before she could say anything else, tell him no, or avoid him just because she could.

He started his Jeep and pulled back out onto the rural island road. Nothing was around, even just outside the downtown area, around the corner, and up a hill. Then he was pulling up in front of the agency and parking beside a brand-new Nissan Rogue. He knew it was Billy Jo’s and wondered when she’d tell him that her dad had footed the bill for the car.

He knocked on the locked door and then spotted her in black slacks and a loose baggy brown cardigan. She flicked open the lock, and he took in her unsmiling face, the freckles, the blue eyes. Their awkwardness seemed to linger.

“You didn’t say what case this was about on the phone,” she said, so he held up the file, and she shifted her gaze to it, then back to him. She inclined her head. “Come on in.”

He followed her back and heard another lady on the phone. Billy Jo gestured to a room with dim lights, a couple of chairs, and a navy sofa. He wondered if this was where families and kids sat.

“So what’s the secrecy, and who is the case about?” She closed the door and pulled her cardigan in front of her as she sat down in the chair.

He knew the source of her unease now, all those layers she’d unwillingly pulled back, allowing him to see the deep scars she’d hidden from everyone, that vulnerability. But he’d seen it, and he knew she wished he hadn’t.

He held the file out to her. She hesitated only a second before reaching for it and taking it. She opened it on her lap and flipped the two pages, and he could see her confusion.

“A toddler on the island, Gabriele Martin. Her parents went through a nasty divorce. Says there the father took her in the midst of a bitter custody dispute and killed her so the mother couldn’t have her. The parents’ names are Brice and Nia.”

“And what are you looking for, exactly?” she cut in quite sharply. He could see her confusion when she looked up to him. “This is sad. A kid’s dead, and the father is in jail, so what more do you need?”

“Can you just look in your system and see if a complaint was ever filed about them—maybe about the father, the mother, or anything about the baby? It’s just a hunch I have.”

“You’re serious?” she said. He swore Billy Jo had mastered that heavy gaze better than anyone.

“Clearly. I can tell by your expression that you think this is a long shot, but come on, just humor me. Was a complaint filed? Anything in the system about this family?”

She hesitated only a second before turning in her chair and tapping the screen of her computer. “So tell me, Mark, what is it you’re really looking for? What is this really about? There’s a tragic ending to this story, but it has ended.”

“Maybe,” he said. She hadn’t turned to face him, and he found it easier to talk to her back.

When she swung around, he didn’t miss the alarm in her expression. Her eyes reached out to him. “What’s really going on, Detective?”

He found himself shrugging. “Just doing my due diligence, is all. Humor me. Anything there?”

She shook her head. “No official reports or investigation under that name. So level with me. This is more than routine curiosity.”

If he could level with anyone, he knew it would be Billy Jo—maybe. “Look at the file, a closed case with two pages and very little information. Doesn’t it seem odd to you that that’s all there is to the case? A couple interviews, open and shut. A little toddler disappears, and the dad is arrested and charged in a matter of days, yet there’s no body. How did she die? All that’s in there is that the mother and a former business partner pointed the finger at the father, citing a custody dispute, saying the father had uttered threats that he’d rather see the kid dead than with the mother. No other suspects.”

She was still giving him everything as he sat there on the sofa. There was a tap on the closed door, and she lifted her gaze when it opened and a dark-haired woman leaned in.

“What is it, Pam?” Billy Jo said. Even to him, she sounded rather short.

“Excuse me, but Grant called to let you know that the Turner kid is going to have to be moved again.”

Billy Jo seemed so on edge. “I just placed him with the Lewises. What’s the problem with where he is?”

Mark leaned his arm over the back of the sofa and took in the exchange between the women.

“Seems he has too many medical needs,” Pam said. “They don’t have time for a weekly trip to the mainland, and they said you didn’t tell them about that. They said although he’s a nice kid, they didn’t sign up for this.”

He thought Billy Jo swore. “That’s such bullshit. The Lewises were well aware of his medical condition and his needs. Fine. Tell Grant I’ll handle it.”

Pam looked his way, then stepped out and pulled the door closed. Mark didn’t say anything, because he could see her frustration by the way she touched her hand to the bridge of her nose before looking over at him.

“Tough case?” he said.

She shrugged. “Oh, just a part of the job I never expected to have to do, convincing foster parents to take a kid. It seems more and more sign up wanting the paycheck without being inconvenienced in any way. Like, he’s a kid. Seriously, I wonder how any of these kids are ever supposed to turn out okay. You know, when I got into this business, I had that starry-eyed naivety, believing there were so many good people out there, looking to really make a difference, and I just needed to find them and…”

He wondered for a moment if that was really what this was about. “I take it you don’t anymore.”

She leveled her attitude his way. “No, long gone. Worse, it feels at times as if I’m selling my soul. There’s always that something, like they only want a kid they can park in the corner and not have to deal with. Other than that…”

He was pretty sure that was pure sarcasm. For a moment, he considered what she had to deal with, and he didn’t have a clue what to say.

She let out a sigh and then turned in her chair. “You know, Mark, it sounds like you’re trying to open a case no one wants opened. The father was convicted, and he’s in jail. Is it because of the lack of detail in the folder here? I can see it being an issue, but maybe it was lost or misplaced or destroyed. You said there was no body. Are you thinking there’s more here?”

What was he supposed to say? Yes and no. Why was he feeling as if Billy Jo wanted him to leave it alone? “All I know is that file is incomplete, and the former detective, Singer, conducted what looks like an ineffectual, sloppy investigation. There’s nothing open and shut about that case. Where’s the body of this little girl? How did the father kill her? How the hell did any judge convict him based on this? I’m just not comfortable with the way this was suddenly closed. I

guess I was hoping you had something in your system, like social services investigated a complaint, just something I could use to fill in all the holes I see here.”

She was shaking her head, and he didn’t think she was listening, just reading the file. Her brow furrowed, and she frowned. “There’s a name underlined here, Carla Nevitt. I know her.” She looked up and held the paper out to him.

He reached for it, seeing the note he’d seen on the last page. “You mean the notation calling her Crazy Carla.”

She shrugged. “Carla has a way about her, but I’d say she’s anything but crazy. If I were you, I’d talk to her. Maybe she knows something. People can be cruel sometimes with the labels they toss out.” She closed up the file and held it out to him.

He wondered if her off expression was because of everything she was dealing with or if she was just tired.

“What exactly are you doing, Detective?” she said. “Are you thinking the girl isn’t really dead? Is that what this is about? Are you looking for her, looking to stir something up? Because I have to tell you, I don’t know anything about this case, and the last thing I want is more sleepless nights, knowing the kid has been abused for years or was dumped somewhere.”

She just had to say the one thing he hadn’t allowed himself to think about.

“I’m just trying to dot the Is and cross the Ts, find out why a detective did such a sloppy job on this case. One thing I do know is when you’re trying to find someone missing, it helps to know where that person started. So I’m starting with you, here. Family trouble is usually noticed by DCFS. You said there’s nothing, so I’ll talk to the mother, the business partner, and do all the due diligence my predecessor didn’t. Maybe I’ll fill this file with all the details a closed case should have.” Mark made himself stand up, holding the file, looking down at Billy Jo, who didn’t pull her gaze from him.

“Carla isn’t crazy, Detective. Start with her. I haven’t been here long, but I’ve had time to get to know the types of people here, the kinds who need services and see a side of the island no one else does. Carla is a good person, though maybe a little wacky and eccentric when she’s off her meds. I shouldn’t be telling you that, but if she knows something, if she saw something…don’t automatically dismiss it.”

He put his hand on the knob and pulled the door open, then looked back to the young woman he knew so well, who was more complicated than anyone he’d ever met. “Thanks,” he said. “If you need a hand with anything, you know where I am.”

She looked away and stood up, and he knew that was the end of anything personal. She wasn’t going back to that vulnerable spot he’d seen her in. “If you run into any problem with Carla, let me know. I’d be happy to tag along.”

He gave her a nod, then heard her pick up the phone as he strode out of the office. He tapped the file against his leg, and all he could do was wonder why the previous detective hadn’t put any meaningful notes in the file to justify why a man had been convicted, why the case had been closed although no body had been found.

Yeah, sloppy was an understatement. Maybe he should take a closer look at this Detective Singer.

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