“I don’t suppose you have a good picture of him.”

“No clear shot of his face. He wore a hoodie and seemed aware of the cameras.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and promised to have their meals in a few minutes. Spencer sipped his soda, watching as Jordan felt for her straw, opened it, and put it carefully in her cup.

Spencer had first taken note of Jordan the moment he saw her in the courtroom. After the bail hearing, it had been a pleasure to watch her walk across the courthouse parking lot. As she moved with confidence and purpose, he had found himself admiring her ass. If her life were not in one hell of a transition, he might have asked her out.

“Do you have a picture of Emma Powers?” she asked.

“I do.”

“Our waitress notices the details, so she might have seen Emma.”

“That’s the hope.”

She pulled her straw up and down in her cup, crunching the ice. “I had Avery drive me by the house where I was attacked.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I hoped being there would jog my memory.”

“And did it?”

“Right before he hit me, I smelled cigarette smoke. No aftershave. He moved so fast.”

Spencer imagined the killer wrapping up Casey Andrews and pausing to have a cigarette while he watched her suffocate. “The forensic team found two cigarette butts by the back door outside.”

“I should have been more careful.” She sounded weary. “I didn’t save Casey, and I’ve not only ruined a career I love, but my life is never going to be the same.”

“You will find ways to adapt, Jordan.”

“I don’t want to adapt,” she said. “I resent the hell out of all of this.”

“You must pivot and find another way to serve the law.”

The waitress returned to the table with their meals, setting Jordan’s plate off to her left. The move struck him as careless.

“Ma’am,” he asked as he pushed the plate closer to Jordan. “Did you work the afternoon shift here the day before yesterday?”

She reached in her apron pocket, removed silverware wrapped in paper napkins, and placed both in the center of the table.

“Worked a double the last two days.”

Spencer opened the photo of Emma Powers on his phone. “Was she here?”

The waitress studied the image. “I’ve seen her in here before. She’ll stop in for coffee after she’s worked a long shift. Nice gal.”

“Was she here two days ago?” Spencer repeated.

“She might have been. It was real crowded, and we were understaffed. Several folks came in the front door, saw the line, and left.”

“Does the diner have security footage?” he asked.

“We have cameras,” she said. “But you’ll have to ask the manager if they’re working.”

“Who’s the manager?”