Free Dark Truth by Mariah Stewart Page A

asked from behind a large polished oak desk.
    “We wanted to get some reports on an old case.” Nina spoke up, having been prodded from behind by Regan.
    “How old?” the officer asked.
    “Sixteen years,” Nina said without blinking, as Regan had instructed her.
    Look him straight in the eye, and act as if you expect your request to be fulfilled,
she’d told Nina.
    “The name of the case?”
    “The People of Maryland versus Stephen J. Madden,” Nina said.
    “You a reporter?” A voice from behind startled both women.
    “No,” Nina said as she turned around.
    There was something vaguely familiar about the man who stood in the doorway. Dressed casually in Dockers and a sport jacket, he was tall and fair-haired, with broad shoulders and cynical pale blue eyes. Cop’s eyes, Regan told her later. Eyes that had seen just about everything.
    “May I ask why you’re interested in that case?” he asked as he came closer.
    “May I ask what business it is of yours?” Nina replied.
    “Just curious, that’s all,” he told her.
    “Detective Powell, you had a call from the medical examiner on the body that was fished out of the river over the weekend.” The uniformed officer handed the man in the sport jacket a note.
    “Thanks.” He tucked the paper into his breast pocket and turned back to Nina. “Was there anything in particular you were looking for in regard to the Stone River Rapist?”
    Nina noticeably flinched.
    “We’d like to see all the files.” Regan stepped forward. “Actually, we’d like a copy of them.”
    “You’d have to come back for that.” The uniform opened the top desk drawer and took out a slip of paper. He handed it to Nina, saying, “Just fill this out. Then, when we locate the files and have someone who has the time to copy them, we’ll give you a call.”
    “We don’t mind doing the copy work ourselves,” Regan told him.
    “We don’t hand over our files to the general public, ma’am. If you want the files copied, it has to be done by a member of the police department. Right now, we’re a little busy. But if you’ll fill out the form, we’ll call you when they’re ready, and you can come in with a check and pay for your copy.”
    “It doesn’t look like I have much choice, does it?” Nina muttered and began to fill out the form.
    “If there’s something in particular you need, I’ll be happy to help you if I can,” the detective told her.
    “You have good photocopy skills?” Nina asked.
    “Good as anyone else’s,” he told her. “But in this case I do have an advantage.”
    “What’s that?” Nina asked.
    “I was there,” he said.
    “You were . . . ?”
    “There when they arrested Stephen Madden, yes. There when they found his last two victims. So you can understand why I’d be curious as to why someone is taking a look at the case now, after all these years.”
    “Stephen Madden was my father.” Nina’s chin rose just slightly, as if defying him to comment.
    “I see.” He appeared to study her for a long moment. “I thought there was something familiar about you.”
    She raised a questioning eyebrow.
    “The day your father was arrested, you fainted in the lobby of the building that housed the English department.”
    “I did.” She nodded slowly. She’d all but forgotten. “How did you know that?”
    “I’m the cop who caught you on the way down.”

E ight
    Wes Powell had remained hidden behind his dark glasses for the long moment it took him to place Nina Madden. In retrospect, he realized that, in all likelihood, he’d not have recognized her as the panicked young woman who’d collapsed in his arms on that cold February afternoon in 1989. That girl had had long black hair, deep green eyes that had been filled with terror, and the look of innocence about to be lost. The woman who stood before him now wore an air of maturity, of authority. The hair was shorter, the innocence long gone, but the eyes were the same. Deep green, long black