“I didn’t do this.”
“I know.” Her instincts wouldn’t be that skewed by a few hot kisses and helpful deeds. Looking away from him, she let her gaze wander across the docks. A time-worn industrial scene on the best of days, the mismatched collection of warehouses, cranes and container yard weren’t any more inviting with the dusting of snow.
“We have to find her,” she said to herself. “I won’t let some faceless terrorists win.” She exited the car, grateful she’d opted for sturdy denim trousers and a thick sweater for working at home today.
The grim expressions on the responding officers’ faces told her they hadn’t come up with anything positive, but she asked for the status anyway.
“Nothing new.” Detective Calloway slid a dark look toward Riley. “What’s he doing here?”
She found it interesting that Gadsden hadn’t called ahead with a warning that Riley was with her. “He’s not responsible for this,” she said in an unyielding tone. “He can also verify if the item that implicates him is in fact his.”
Calloway scowled at Riley. “Come on then. It’s over here.”
She watched every nuance of Riley’s body language for stress and found none. He was either very good at hiding his reactions, or absolutely oblivious to the risks. Despite her belief in his innocence, they had to follow the evidence.
The detective held the hammer, enveloped in an evidence bag, in front of Riley’s face. “It has your name on it, O’Brien.”
Abby continued to watch for an indicator that Riley was lying about any of this. He didn’t even flinch as he manipulated the hammer inside the bag until his name showed. “Every temp worker in town has used one like this at some point this week. It’s company issue.” He handed it back. “Name or not, that isn’t mine.”
He didn’t need to start lying now. “Your name is right there on the handle,” she argued.
“Sure is,” he agreed. “But that isn’t how I write my name.”
“What?” She and the detective took a closer look at the same time.
“Compare it to the tools in my truck and you’ll see. Someone else wrote my name there.”
She nodded at Calloway. He called over to Gadsden for a quick picture and count of the hammers in Riley’s truck. When the picture proved Riley was correct, she sighed, relieved and frustrated. She appreciated the confirmation of his innocence, but they weren’t any closer to finding Mrs. Wilks.
“What now?” Calloway wanted to know.
“We talk to the folks who reported the abandoned vehicle.”
With a nod to Riley, she invited him to tag along as she posed her questions to the workers on-site. No one had been spotted coming or going from the vehicle. There were a few cameras on the docks, which had helped her bust the drug runners, but Mrs. Wilks’s car had been placed in a blind spot.
“On purpose,” Riley observed as they walked around the area. “They did a sloppy job trying to frame me,” he added.
She looked down the docks. The company he worked for was renting space in the warehouse farthest from the water. It was the largest but also offered better security and more parking. “What are the cameras like at your warehouse?”
“Are you kidding?” Riley pushed his hands into his pockets. “With all the negative attention, the boss added his own closed-circuit system. Says it’s the first time he felt like he had to.”
“Does everyone on the team know that?”
Riley shrugged. “I think so, but can’t say for sure.”
She walked back to where Calloway was overseeing the arrival of the tow truck for Mrs. Wilks’s car. “Let’s get the video from the warehouse where Riley works. Maybe we’ll identify who tossed the wallet at the Dumpster.”
Calloway hustled off to do as she requested. The only thing left to do was examine the car and she wanted to get that done before it was towed to the impound lot. Abby’s gut twisted, but she couldn’t avoid the inevitable. She told herself the odds of finding anything her officers had overlooked were slim to none, but she had to try. She owed it to her neighbor.
“Come on,” she said to Riley, handing him latex gloves. She had no desire to do this alone. Let the department—hell, the entire town—speculate, but she needed his support right now on a very personal level.
Mrs. Wilks was more than a neighbor, she’d become a dear friend. Based on the latest trash in Abby’s in-box, the man tormenting her had targeted and kidnapped Mrs. Wilks solely because she and Abby were friends. With every step, the burdens got heavier. The symbolic vandalism. Calder. Her shovel used against one of the vandals. Filmore and the fire.