Ties That Bind

Chapter 31

MADISON FLICKED HER PEN, bouncing it on the edge of the desk. "How can there be nothing?" She referred to the DMV database. No match for a Honda with the letters AVL in the plate. She had hoped at least her chances were good enough to get something.

"Try expanding the year."

"You must think I'm slow." She cocked her head to the side and smiled.

"Well..."

Her eyes narrowed. "Already have. Nothing."

"Well, those girls didn't sound one hundred percent confident. It's possible they got a letter wrong. Remembered the wrong order."

Madison sighed and clicked on her keyboard broadening the search to include all Honda models. "Now we'll have to wait on that."

"Richards go home?" Terry asked.

"Yeah, he collected what trace he could from Heather, sent it to the lab. They won't start on it until tomorrow morning. He'll do the full autopsy then."

"Why hasn't Mark started on the evidence?"

"Kidding, right? Baxter's the best and we need the best on this. We can't jeopardize nailing this son of a bitch on a wet-behind-the-ears college grad."

"Whoa, excuse me for mentioning it. Speaking of which, how did our Queen of the Lab manage to escape being pulled in?"

"That I don't know, but I'm thinking you and I could pick up some pointers." She wasn't going to reveal her suspicion—hung over? "Be nice if thoroughly exhausted worked for us." She let out a huge yawn. "Not much more we can do. Why don't you head out? We'll catch up in the morning."

"What about the chief?"

"Let me handle him." Another yawn encompassed her face. "You know what? I'm calling it a day, too."

"All right, well, you don't have to tell me again." Terry rose to leave.

"Oh, one thing."

"Yeah," he turned to face her, his expression serious.

"Seems to me I won another bet. Layton was innocent. Someone owes me forty and a dinner." She smiled at him and held out her hand to collect.

He dug into his pockets. "Sorry, nothing." He started into a run.

Madison yelled out behind him. "I know where you work."

*****

IF ONLY MADISON COULD BE one of those people who could leave their work at work. But she would never know the luxury of that option. How could she allow herself comfort when those affected by murderers cried out from their drug-induced sleep? Answer was simple, she couldn't. She always promised herself that one day she would. But every time she would close a case, another would snuff any sunlight out of that hope. No, she was destined to put them first—the victims, their families. And at this point, she had given up on the illusion that one day she'd put herself first. Since it hadn't happened yet, it likely never would. It's not like she set out to be a type of social martyr, one who sacrificed a personal life for the job. Things had just turned out that way. At first maybe it was her grandmother's encouragement and the fear of displeasing her. But when she realized she brought some comfort to those seeking answers, she knew she was making a difference.

Dropping onto her sofa, she lifted her legs and rested her feet on the table in front of it. It ran the length of the couch. Her grandmother had left it to her and, besides the money, it was one of the few tangibles she had of her. When she let herself dwell on it, the loss tortured her.