Page 137 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

“Okay.” I stepped up to the glass.

The woman at the table was young, probably in her early twenties. Her hair was trimmed short, like a man’s, except for the mass of bangs that covered her forehead and fell completely over one eye and covered part of the other. The roots were black but the bangs had been bleached to near white. Her shoulders were hunched forward as her elbows rested on the table, but even with her slouched position, you could tell she had a broad frame. Much bigger than most women.

And she was familiar. Her head was tipped down so I couldn’t get a good look at her face—that damn hair was in the way—but she was familiar. I searched my memory but when nothing came up, I shrugged it off. I probably just found her familiar because I’d seen her on video surveillance.

“Who’s this?”

Matt handed me a manila file. “Nina Veras. She’s number eleven on our list of potential subjects, and I brought her in this morning to ask her some questions about the murder. When I got two different answers to the same question, I stepped out and called you. I’ve got a feeling we’re onto something here.”

I nodded and flipped open the file.

Nina Veras was twenty-two. She worked as a barista at one of the downtown coffee shops. She had no criminal record. No speeding tickets. No parking tickets.

“I trust your gut, so if you’ve got a feeling, I’ll go with it. But, Matt, this girl is squeaky clean.”

“You’re right. She is. But take a look at this.” He handed me another file. “That’s her boyfriend. I pulled it right before you got here. Look familiar?”

The mug shot paper-clipped inside raised the hairs on my arms. With dark eyes and a red bandana tied over his black hair, the man in the photo was wearing a white, threadbare tank top as he glared at the camera and held his identification board. A dog paw print was tattooed on one shoulder. Across the base of his neck were the letters MOB—Member of Blood.

I had no trouble putting his face to a name.

“Samuel Long is her boyfriend?”

Matt nodded.

“Shit.”

Samuel was a known gang member with the Bloods. Him and a couple of his cohorts were currently under surveillance by the gang task force. I scanned Samuel’s file, stopping after the first three pages because I’d seen enough. Vandalism. Theft. Drug trafficking.

All gang related.

Montana had seen an increase in gang activity over the last ten years. Gang transplants from California had come to Montana to stake their claim. Our department had been diligent in making it clear that Bozeman was no place for them, but as the town grew and our resources stretched thin, keeping a handle on their influx had become more difficult.

Nina Veras didn’t look like a murder suspect, but I’d learned over the years to never rule out the influence of a gang. They were masters of brainwashing, trapping kids into their circle so tight not even parents could pull them out.

And if Samuel Long had his hooks into Nina Veras, there was no telling what he’d asked her to do.

“So what’s your plan?”

Matt set the files down on a chair behind us. “I know you aren’t going to like this, but I’d like Simmons to come in and help with the questioning.”

“No.”

“Hear me out.” He stopped me before I could object again. “Simmons is shit at fieldwork, we both know that, but he’s got more documented confessions than any other officer in the BPD. If we’re going to get anything out of her before she clams up, he’s our best bet.”

I blew out an angry breath, rubbing my jaw as I considered Matt’s point. Simmons had a knack in the interrogation room, I’d give him that much. He was able to build trust with his subjects faster th

an anyone else I knew. Maybe it was his pudgy nature—he was far from intimidating—but Matt was probably right. Bringing Simmons in to help was smart.

“Fine.”

Matt clapped me on the shoulder and walked out of observation without another word. Fifteen minutes later, I stood at the mirror as he entered with Simmons on his heels.

“Nina, this is Detective Simmons.” Matt took the chair across from her. “He’s going to be listening as we talk, okay?”

She nodded, her eyes darting to Simmons, before returning to her fingers. She was picking so nervously at her cuticles, one had started to bleed.

I took a seat in one of the chairs and watched as Matt asked some basic questions. Do you remember the liquor store murder five years ago? Can you recall where you were at that time? Every question was answered with a shake of her head. The minutes passed and my hopes of getting Nina to give us any clue as to her whereabouts that day shrank further and further. Her answers were as short as possible and she refused to make eye contact with Matt—who was getting just as frustrated as I was, based on the fists he was making under the table.