All the Colors of the Dark — Chapter 227

227

Saint drove forty-five minutes to an apartment complex so soulless it called her back to her first days as an agent.

As with the Eli Aaron hunt, Himes had her on temporary reinstatement, gave her access to everything they had and told her to use what she needed.

She did not need much.

Cooper lived alone, the place devoid of life. His clothes hung on an open rack. A single sofa in front of a single window that overlooked a parking lot, the blinds drawn, but light glowed through and lit the man who

regarded her without interest.

“You’ve had a rough time,” Saint said.

He was tall and slim, and his face carried the kind of symmetry that should have given him confidence as he went through his statement once more. She checked it against the original, found he hadn’t strayed.

“I don’t have anything on you, no background. Nothing,” she said. The prison office was overrun, Warden Riley’s line so busy his secretary pulled the plug.

He spoke of a staid life, had a decade working in public libraries before he took the job at Hannington. No wife or kids, no mention of the preceding years.

“There’ll be more questions. You should get a lawyer,” she said, as she stood to leave. He stood with her, polite as she headed toward to the door.

It was as she turned that she saw it.

A single photograph beside the bed.

She crossed to it, struck by the likeness of the dark-haired girl. Saint picked up the small gold frame, the only show of life in the place.

Like a forgotten memory.

Or a reminder.

She studied it intently, so faded it was hard to place detail, the full lips and green eyes so familiar.

Saint looked at him again, then stepped toward the door. “I’ll be seeing

you, Mr. Cooper.”

“Actually, Cooper is my first name.”

Saint turned.

This time he met her eye and smiled. “My surname is Strike. My name is Cooper Strike.”

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