by Jen Blood
Jack smiled back, not bothering to argue the point. “You don’t think he’s going to make it, then? Reaver,” he clarified. “Not Oswald.”
“I’m not sure. He hasn’t given up yet—that’s something. I was able to spend some time with him this morning, and that was good. I get the sense he’s actually had some training, it just got lost under all the trauma Nancy’s put him through. Plus, God knows what he went through before. I wish Bear would pay a little more attention to him.”
“I thought Reaver was his pet project,” Jack said, surprised.
“So did I,” Jamie agreed. “Any other time, he wouldn’t have left that dog’s side once we got him over to the island. Now, though… I don’t really know where his head is. I mean, I know he’s busy. We’re all busy, and it’s true he’s taken an awful lot on with this. Still, something’s off with him.”
“He’s been distracted?” Jack asked.
Jamie laughed shortly. “You could say that. He hasn’t been the same since Ren left, but the last few days…” She hesitated, as though weighing whether to say more. Jack waited in silence.
“The other night, he never went to bed,” she said finally. “I got up to wake him when I got the call about Nancy, and he hadn’t been in his room.”
Jack tensed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. He glanced at Jamie, whose gaze was locked on the world passing by outside her window.
“Do you have any idea where he was?” he asked after a moment.
“No,” she said. “He was on the island when I called him. Said he’d been talking to Ren on the phone. My guess is that he was with the animals.”
She was lying—he knew it immediately, though he had little experience with Jamie’s lies. She was usually honest to a fault.
“Mm,” Jack said noncommittally.
Silence fell between them. A minute passed, then two. When she still didn’t speak, he glanced at her again. She was relaxed, her head tipped back slightly against the headrest.
“Jamie?” he said quietly.
No answer, apart from her even breathing. He smiled at the realization: their first date, and she’d fallen asleep after barely half an hour on the road.
They were nearly to Augusta before she stirred, her voice a low murmur with an unmistakable edge of distress in there.
“Leave him alone,” she said—or at least, that’s what Jack thought she said. It was hard to tell, exactly. “Get away from him. Please.” She whispered a name, and Jack’s chest tightened. No, Brock. Please, no.
“Jamie,” Jack said. He scanned the road ahead for a place to pull over, and did so with barely a warning turn signal. The car behind blared its horn as it roared past, but Jack paid no attention.
With the car in park, he twisted in his seat to look at her. Her forehead was furrowed as though in pain, every muscle tensed. He didn’t touch her, afraid that he would frighten her that much more. Instead, he tried to bring her back with his voice alone.
“You’re all right,” he said, keeping his tone even. He knew the power of nightmares all too well. “You’re safe, Jamie. Bear is safe. Everything’s all right.”
She awoke with a start, her body jerking convulsively. Only then did Jack risk what he’d wanted to do from the start, laying a gentling hand on her arm as she gradually found her way back to the land of the living.
“You were having a dream,” he said, his voice still soft. “That’s all it was. You’re safe.”
“I… Brock was…” She bit her lip to keep from saying more, disoriented.
“He’s gone, Jamie. It’s over.”
She surprised him with a harsh laugh, now fully awake. The protective armor once more in place. “Yeah. Sure it is.”
He shifted his hand from her arm to her face, pushing the hair back so that he could look at her. He studied her a moment in silence, noting the furrow that still remained in her forehead. The tension in her body, despite the fact that the nightmare was over. But maybe that’s where he was wrong.
Maybe for Jamie, the nightmare wasn’t over at all.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a moment, searching her eyes.
She shook her head. Moved away from him. He let his hand drop. “No. I’m fine. You should get back on the road—you’ll be late.”
“Sophie will wait.”
“She doesn’t have to.” She managed a smile that Jack was sure was meant to be reassuring. It fell well short of that. “Seriously, Jack. I’m okay. It was just a dream.”
When it was clear that she wouldn’t say anything more, he put the car back in drive and returned to the road.
“Do you still hear his voice? Brock’s?” Jack asked, after several minutes of silence. They were just down the road from the crime lab now, traffic picking up now that they were in Augusta.
“Sometimes,” she said briefly. He glanced at her. Her eyes were closed, a sheen of sweat on her face. Jack lay a hand on hers and squeezed, and she turned to meet his gaze.
“Do you have a headache? You don’t look well.”
“It just shook me a little bit,” she said dismissively, trying for a smile. “That’s all. Bear was gone… Brock was there.” She shrugged. “It was just a dream, Jack.”
A few minutes later, he turned into the parking lot for the Maine Crime Lab and found a spot easily enough, since it was a sunny Friday afternoon. No doubt, most everyone in the building was taking a long weekend. Jamie started to reach for the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. She turned to face him once more.
“Have you considered talking to someone? About the dreams, or his voice, or…” He trailed off, uncertain where to go from there.
She laughed briefly. “Right. That conversation would go great, I can hear it now. ‘Who does this voice you hear belong to, Ms. Flint? How do you know this man?’ What do I tell them? I’m hearing the voice of the man who got me pregnant when I was fifteen? My kidnapper, later in life. The man I k—” She stopped. “The man who made me what I am today, for better or worse?”
“You made yourself what you are today,” Jack said evenly. “You did it in spite of Brock Campbell. You made something amazing.” He studied her face, the contours and the depth. “You are amazing, corazón.”
She smiled faintly. “Corazón,” she repeated. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that today.”
He pushed an errant lock of hair behind the delicate shell of her ear. “Does it bother you? Me calling you that?”
“No,” she said. She studied him intently, her head tilted just slightly. He was caught in brilliant blue depths. “I like the way you say it. It sounds…” she searched for the word. “…sexy. And reverent, both at the same time. Like you’re talkin’ dirty in church.”
He actually laughed. “And that’s a good thing?”
“It has its place,” she confirmed.
Silence fell once more. She made no move to leave the car.
“How’s your head?” he asked after a while.
“It’s fine.” She smiled at his clear skepticism. “Really. Jack, I swear. I’m okay. I appreciate the concern, I really do. But it was just a dream. You should get in there, Sophie’s waiting.”
Chapter 13
SOPHIE AND THE MEDICAL EXAMINER had already been hard at work for a while by the time Jack got there. Jamie begged off actually going into the lab, and instead settled in a cramped office Sophie showed her to, pulling a Kindle from her bag.
“You’re sure you’re all right here?” Jack asked before leaving her.
“I’m fine, Jack.”
“I won’t be long.”
“Oh my God.” She laughed. “Will you go? I’m okay.”
He left her, albeit reluctantly.
“Your friend didn’t want to come in with you?” Sophie asked when he joined her.
“No. She’s not feeling well.”
“Just as well,” she said with a shrug. “This may not be as bad as the last case we worked on together, but it’s
still not for the faint-hearted.” She eyed him a moment, then handed him scrubs and a mask. “It is strange, this habit you have of bringing beautiful women with you to the bone yard.”
The last time he’d seen Sophie on a case, Erin Solomon had been with him—at Erin’s insistence. Ultimately, she hadn’t fared well. He was grateful that Jamie had elected to sit this one out.
“What do you have so far?” he asked, in lieu of a reply.
She led him to a vast, stainless steel exam room, where four gurneys had been rolled out, a body on each of them. An autopsy had already been performed on Nancy Davis, her Y-incision now closed and her body draped.
The two skeletal remains were set out on separate gurneys, the bones carefully laid out to make up two nearly whole skeletons.
Another woman, this one considerably taller and broader than Sophie, joined them.
“Jack, this is Dr. Anna Fuller, chief forensic pathologist here. She’s in charge when there’s more than just bones we’re dealing with. Anna, this is Jack Juarez.”
“It’s good to meet you,” Jack said. He moved forward for a handshake, but paused when the doctor held up gloved hands. He stepped back. “Thank you for letting me get a look at this.”
“No problem,” Dr. Fuller assured him. “We’re always fans of inter-agency cooperation here.”
Jack shot Sophie a sharp glare. She was standing just behind the pathologist, and subtly raised her finger to her lips, effectively shushing Jack. He grimaced. This was definitely not what he had intended. Still, it had gotten him a lot farther than his P.I. license would have. Rather than setting the doctor straight on his status with the FBI, Jack kept his mouth shut.
“Shall we, Agent Juarez?” Dr. Fuller said, gesturing to the bodies. Jack nodded, and followed her into the room.
“Do you have cause of death on Nancy?” he asked first, as the pathologist led him to that body.
“We’re waiting for the tox results—that’s a week to ten days, at least. It looks pretty cut and dry, though. Despite the heart attack, it appears she ultimately died of blunt force trauma.”
“Heart attack?” Jack asked, surprised.
“Yes. She had a fairly major cardiac event, and likely would have died of that if she hadn’t gotten help quickly. Her assailant either was unaware, or was unwilling to wait for nature to take its course.”
“So she was attacked,” Jack translated.
“Absolutely,” Fuller agreed. “It happened fast, if that’s any comfort.” Dr. Fuller threw the light on a couple of light boxes, illuminating a set of x-rays. “Point of impact was here,” she said, indicating the center of a spiderweb of cracks on the film. “He hit hard enough to drive the skull into the brain, causing an acute subdural hematoma. It may have taken her a little bit of time for her body to fail, but brain death was virtually instantaneous.”
“And this couldn’t have been accidental?” Jack pressed. “Perhaps she fell while she was having the heart attack.”
Fuller pursed her lips, eyeing the films. “There’s always the odd chance,” she admitted. “Unlikely, though. The angle means she would have had to fall on her head, basically. I’m not sure how that could have happened, particularly given the position of the body when she was found. No—it’s more likely that an assailant came up behind her, and smashed her in the head with something.”
“Any idea of the murder weapon?”
“My bet’s on a fireplace poker.” She switched on another light box, this one containing photos. Fuller indicated a close-up of Nancy’s head, after the blood had been washed away and the hair shaved off. “See this,” she said. She pointed to a jagged impression next to the wound. “I have a poker like this—the end shaped like an arrow. The full impact would have fallen on the barb of the arrow. This impression here would be from the tip.”
Jack didn’t bother hiding his confusion. He wasn’t surprised when Dr. Fuller went to the other side of the room and produced a long, cast-iron rod with an arrow at the end. She held the instrument aloft for Jack to see, running her hand along the jagged barb that tapered up to the glistening tip.
“If I were bringing this down heavily, the first point of impact would be the one with the most force behind it. That would be here, unless someone was to throw this straight on like an arrow. During impact, the second point to hit would also make a mark. In this case, that would be the tip itself.”
She took out a clay human skull and, with more glee than Jack had been prepared for, brought the poker down heavily on the unsuspecting victim. Jack moved forward the moment it was safe, studying the subsequent impression in the clay with interest.
Dr. Fuller was right: the poker was a near-perfect match.
“Did the police find anything like this on the scene?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Fuller said. “But I understand they’ve got a lot to sift through.”
“That’s an understatement,” Jack said. “And the other bodies?” he asked, including Sophie in the question. Up to this point, the forensic anthropologist had been on the sidelines, watching Dr. Fuller with clear interest.
“Why don’t you take over, Sophie,” the pathologist said.
“Thank you,” Sophie said, with a smile. “Don’t mind if I do.” She walked to the first disarticulated skeleton. The bones had visible gnaw marks, the skull still missing. Jack felt his stomach lurch unexpectedly at the sight.
“This one has been dead a long time—very long. Ten, maybe twenty years. Could have been longer. I’m running some tests to get a more precise date.”
“Any idea of identity?”
“Nothing specific. I can tell you he’s male. Between thirty and forty years old. No skull means no dental records; no tissue means no tox screen, no DNA, no fingerprints.”
“So you don’t know who he is, or how he died,” Jack guessed.
“Sadly, no. He broke his right femur when he was younger, and it never actually healed right. My guess is he probably walked with a limp. Beyond that, though, I can’t tell you much.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure the police will keep looking for that skull. They’re bound to find it eventually,” Jack said. He didn’t sound convinced, most likely because he wasn’t. “What about the other one?”
“I can tell you a little more about her,” Sophie said immediately. “Female, twenty-two years old. She was in good health, probably raised with some money—there was some fairly expensive orthodonture, nice teeth.”
“Any line on ID?”
Sophie frowned. She went to a steel file cabinet in the corner and took a folder that was lying on top. Wordlessly, she opened the folder, removed a photo, and handed it to Jack.
The young woman was pretty, with a wide smile and sparkling green eyes. Freckles. Red hair. Jack turned the photo over, and paused at sight of the name scrawled in blue ink.
Frances, Age 22
He shook his head. “Frances?”
“Frances Craig,” Sophie said. “Her parents reported her missing three years ago in Chicago. No leads turned up, and she’d been distant for a while. They figured she just ran off with someone.”
“Did she?” Jack asked. He definitely got the sense Sophie knew more; she was just waiting for the big finish.
“According to the police report, her friends said she’d been dating someone quite a bit older than her. Funny looking little guy, an insurance salesman who lived in Philadelphia.”
Jack’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “You’re telling me this was Fred Davis’s girlfriend? The one who left a note and left him three years ago?”
“It appears so. Though I’m thinking that bit about the note isn’t quite so clear cut now.”
“Not so much,” Jack agreed. “Cause of death?”
“Looks like she fell—there’s a skull fracture, and the radius is broken. That’s consistent with someone putting their hand out to catch themselves. I’m thinking she may have fallen down the stairs.”
“Or she may have been pushed
?” Jack asked.
“Definite possibility,” Sophie agreed.
He sighed, and turned his attention to the final body. Dr. Fuller was working on the corpse, scribbling notes in the margin of a typed report. She looked up when Jack approached.
“You ready for this one?” she asked.
“As ready as I’m going to be,” he said. “What have you got?”
“White male, twenty-six years old.” She handed him a file, her mouth fixed in a frown. “ID was easy on this one—he’s got quite the record.”
Jack opened the folder. A black and white mugshot was paper clipped to the upper right corner of several sheets of paper, a young white male staring back at him with hard eyes. “Ray Billings,” he read aloud, then scanned the charges. Two counts of domestic violence, one of grand theft auto, and several animal cruelty cases related to a dog fighting ring in Mississippi.
“Any idea on the connection?” he asked. The animal abuse was his first guess, though he had no idea how this man might have ended up in Nancy’s basement.
“No clue,” Fuller said. “He was due for a court date a few weeks ago and never showed up—there’s an arrest warrant out for him. Based on insect activity and the degradation of the body, I’d say he had a good excuse for missing that date, seeing as he was dead at the time.”
“How long?” Jack asked.
“Not long,” Fuller said. “Two months, maybe three.”
“And no one reported him missing?”
She shook her head. “You saw the report. I don’t think anyone was crying when he didn’t show up to dinner. His girlfriend had a restraining order out against him, and it looks like he didn’t have any family—was in and out of the foster care system most of his childhood, before he quit that and headed straight for jail.”
Jack went silent, considering all of this. Three victims in the basement. Had Fred’s girlfriend threatened to leave him, and he’d snapped and killed her? It was just as likely that Nancy had done it, but Jack found it hard to imagine that Fred wouldn’t have suspected something when the woman supposedly left a note and vanished without a trace. And then there was the other body—the man who had been in that basement for decades. Who was that? And where in hell was the man’s head?