He waited until Rory’s car pulled out of the drive. It was just dark enough outside that he didn’t worry about being seen by the neighbors as he opened a window and climbed into the house.
In and out. This shouldn’t be hard.
All he needed was her research, find out what she knew and leave. Fifteen minutes later, he held her file on Julie’s murder and began to leaf through it, looking for anything that might incriminate him. Page after page of research. Dates and times. Newspaper articles. Meeting times for interviews. Nothing. Disgusted, he dropped the file back on her desk.
A shoe box on the bookshelf held the letters Julie had written. A rubber band held the lid in place. When he pulled it off, it snapped, flying to some corner of the room. He didn’t bother to retrieve it. Where else? He shoved the box back on the shelf. What was he missing? The laptop he’d taken from her desk at work had yielded nothing. The same for the flash drive. He picked up Julie’s file again. It can’t hurt to double check. Maybe she doesn’t have anything. Maybe… wait… where are the interviews?
The file wasn’t as complete as he originally thought. The interviews were missing. An business envelope taped to the inside of the folder, labeled Pictures, was empty. There wasn’t a police report.
Then he remembered watching her leave, thinking that she must be one her way to an interview since she had her saddlebag on her shoulder. God dammit. He slammed his fist against the wall. She must have it with her.
He’d have to come back.