Free First Born by Tricia Zoeller Page A

forgetful.”
    “Maybe it’s denial. She can’t accept suicide because that would mean somehow she ignored the warning signs,” Lake offered.
    Caldwell shook his head. The crime scene revealed a busy woman who was in the middle of writing the next book in her bestselling children’s series. She had just started the promotion of the current book. “I’ll keep pouring through Sinclair’s internet history, email, and phone records trying to find any evidence of her getting her ‘affairs in order’ so to speak.”
    Caldwell stretched his cramped legs and arched his back in the chair. He couldn’t decide if it was the case making him tired or the five miles he ran that morning. “Lieutenant, you know they’re related?”
    Lake took a sip of his protein drink and winced before putting it back down. “Marx and Sinclair?”
    “Yeah. I pulled out the Marx file. His research work with Dr. Hitomi was on PTSD. Inderal is one of their trial medications.”
    Caldwell looked up at the timeline they had drawn on the board. Lake had organized photos of the victims on either side.
    “That’s why I want a full victimology report on Moore, Miller, Sinclair, and Marx.
    Finally. “We’re looking at this as a homicide then?” Caldwell asked.
    “No Simms, we’re sitting under these nasty vents in here just waiting for our hair to set.” Caldwell smirked.
    Lake walked over to the board. “Tiny’s reviewing the Marx evidence to see if there are some similarities. Forensics submitted some hairs retrieved from Sinclair’s clothing to the GBI lab. Until those come back, we aren’t closing the Sinclair case. We’re keeping her place sealed. I can’t ignore the chain of events here.”
    Caldwell got up to stand next to his boss. He stared at Lily Moore. Homicide continued to work in conjunction with the missing persons division, but Lily Moore’s trail was running cold. “Perhaps she wasn’t the paranoid basket case we thought she was.”
    Lake’s whole body stiffened. “We found nothing in Marx’s car. No evidence of foul play. No fingerprints present other than Marx’s.”
    A rap at the door interrupted the tension that was building between the two of them.
    Ernie Gates entered, his jaw working overtime on a piece of nicotine gum.
    “How’s that for timing?” asked Lake raising one eyebrow to Caldwell.
    “S’up Gates?” Caldwell asked.
    “How’s it going, Simms?” Gates chuckled at the officer and gave him a slap on the upper arm. Caldwell felt the jolt, but winced inside.
    Gates took a seat while the two detectives wrote a few more notes on the board on the wall next to Lake’s desk. When they turned to sit down, Gates was rocking back in the chair while picking at his cuticles.
    “Whatcha got?” Lake asked, leaning back against his desk. Simms went to sit across from Gates. The office was small. With the three men together, it was darn right uncomfortable.
    “Lucy is frantic. Ricky is distracted, which isn’t that unusual for him. He’s a male bloodhound, they’re more inclined to be ADD,” he said.
    It’s like he’s talking about his nine-year-old twins. Caldwell refrained from teasing him; the man took his hounds seriously. Plus, even though Caldwell had two inches on him, Gates had more bulk. The fifty-year-old was six foot and fit. Gates had retired from the Decatur Police Department ten years ago and started his work with scent hounds. Now his partners were two bloodhounds, Ricky and Lucy. Having found his true calling, he contracted with the APD on a regular basis.
    “They got a hot scent around the Ansley Park area on one particular street, but they keep doing a loop. We’ve gone door-to-door in this area. A Larry Jones, her co-worker, lives on that street. He was her manager so she dropped things off at his house all the time so it’s possible that Lucy is picking up an old scent,” Gates speculated. He rubbed his gray flat top.
    “I interviewed both residents, Jones and Harding,”