Free When the Storm Breaks by Heather Lowell Page B

from that scene and you know it,” Sean said.
    “Yeah, we need another angle. How about Claire’s personal life?”
    Sean flipped through Claire’s file, telling himself he was only doing his job by checking on the veracity of their only witness. “No family, immediate or otherwise,” he read, shaking his head. Family was a grounding force in his life; he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be completely alone in the world. “Her parents were both only children. They were killed in a car crash about eight years ago. No siblings. The only other relative was a grandmother who died a couple of years after the parents.”
    Aidan winced. “I know. That had to be tough.”
    “Yeah.” Sean didn’t like thinking about how tough. “Anyway, Claire is a well-liked and respected account manager for a D.C. software firm. Her colleagues describe her as smart, funny, and a workaholic. They also say she’s a person who’s honest to a fault.” Sean read from his partner’s notes.
    “So this honest, smart, and dedicated woman is sure she knows the killer but just can’t remember why or how,” Aidan said. “Any obsessive boyfriends stalking her?”
    “Can’t tell. The security guard at Camelot’s officebuilding remembers seeing Claire leave alone just before midnight. He offered to call her a cab, but she said she was going to walk to the bus stop. Idiot.” Sean wasn’t sure if he was referring to Claire or the guard who had let a woman go alone into a rainy night.
    “I bet they’ve both learned a lesson,” Aidan said.
    Sean nodded and yawned so hard his jaw popped. He stood up and stretched the kinks out of his neck and back, then turned off his desk light. “I’m beat. I think we’ll have more to go on once we speak to Afton Gallagher and look through her catalogue.”
    “Catalogue won’t do much good if we can’t place any of the guys at the scene of the crime.”
    “You have a better idea?”
    Aidan shook his head. “Any activity on Claire’s ATM or credit cards?”
    “Nothing has turned up on the cards or the purse.”
    “I don’t have a good feeling about that.”
    “Neither do I,” Sean said. He couldn’t describe the unease he felt whenever he thought about Claire’s missing purse. If the killer had taken the bag from the scene, he had her address and keys. “I’m afraid he’ll fixate on the one that got away.”
    “Jesus, I hate the whackos,” Aidan said. “Speaking of which, I’m starting on a rough psych profile of our killer. Assuming the three cases are connected, there’s enough in the forensics reports and victim descriptions to put something together. It’s not going to be a solid profile, but at least we can take a stab at it. So to speak,” Aidan said with a tired smile.
    “Thanks for volunteering, partner. Nobody does the mind-fuck quite like you.” Sean grabbed dark sunglassesand patted his pockets in search of keys.
    “Flatterer. Heading home?” Aidan asked, burying his nose in the files on his desk.
    “I’ll probably grab something for dinner, or maybe go for a run to clear my head. You want anything?”
    “No, go ahead. I’m starting on the profile while the information is fresh. I’ll get something to eat later.”
    “I’ll see you at Camelot tomorrow, then. Eight o’clock?” Sean asked.
    “Not everyone likes to start their day at the crack of dawn. Ms. Gallagher might be a nine-to-five type.” Aidan wasn’t a morning person. He sympathized with those forced to drag their half-awake bodies into the office and be productive on someone else’s timetable.
    “Then we’ll wait for her, maybe take a look around the place. Nice try, though.” Sean departed without a backwards glance.
    He stopped by his favorite Greek restaurant for take-out gyros, returned to his apartment, and wolfed down the dripping bits of meat and pita in record time. Afterward he still felt restless, unable to get the case out of his mind. He fought it for a few hours, then