Again, Amanda noted how he’d used the word “disappeared.” It was like he still wasn’t willing to accept responsibility for his role in Crystal running away. “Why did the cops bring her in?”
“She was caught smoking weed. It could have been worse,” Leila said.
“Worse?” Henry snapped back. “She was twelve, Leila.”
Leila shook her head. The tension in the room was tangible.
“You mentioned that Crystal had started acting out once the nanny came into the picture?” Amanda asked, hoping to regain control of the conversation.
“It started with her talking back to her teachers and picking fights with other kids,” Henry said.
“Was that how she broke her left arm?” Amanda asked.
Leila looked at Henry. Her brows down, lips pressed.
“Crystal never broke any bones,” Leila said. “I would have remembered that. Does that mean that this girl you found isn’t Crystal?” Her voice cracked.
“But why would this girl—if it’s not Crystal—have her pin?” Henry’s forehead compressed, and a deep groove formed between his eyes as he looked at Amanda for an explanation.
Amanda found herself discouraged. It seemed their Jane Doe wasn’t Crystal Foster, and now they had to figure out how she came into possession of Crystal’s pin. Not to mention, by their involving the Fosters, Amanda felt an obligation to find out Crystal’s fate. “Mr. Foster, I can’t say yet—I don’t know. But I’m so sorry we weren’t able to give you an update on your daughter.”
“No. You can’t just leave. You need to find out what happened to her… where she is.” Henry’s eyes filled with tears as he pleaded.
“We’ll do all we can to find Crystal.” Amanda refrained from making a promise, but she’d do whatever she could to deliver closure to the Fosters. And she was feeling a touch hopeful. After all, if the pin had made its way to Dumfries, it was possible Crystal had as well. But now, in addition to stopping a potential serial killer, they had another missing girl to find.
Twenty-Seven
Amanda and Trent left the Fosters considering where their new knowledge left them. Crystal had, it seemed, crossed paths with Jane Doe at some point. But when and where?
“How did she get the pin?” Amanda’s question tumbled out, and Trent glanced over at her as he drove. “It just seems that our victim and the Fosters’ daughter have to be connected…” Her words tapered off, but her mind was spinning like mad. It was as if the link was right there, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. She thought about what little she knew about Crystal. It appeared she’d run away because of the all-too-common teenage longing for freedom and thinking she could do better on her own. Physical abuse couldn’t be confirmed as they didn’t have Crystal’s body in the morgue, but her parents had been too busy to be a part of her life. She had acted out, a well-known ploy for getting attention. Acted out… Crystal had also fallen in with a bad bunch of kids. Probably associates who understood her, who were close to her— “The card at the memorial,” she blurted out. “The one signed off with C and the doodle of the dragonfly. The Fosters said that Crystal loved dragonflies. Was Crystal a friend of Doe’s? And, if so, did Crystal give Doe her pin? And were they friends for a long time? It’s a long shot, but maybe a friend she also ran away with?”
“You think so? The pin was worth a lot. Why would she give it away? And don’t you think the Fosters would have said something if their daughter’s friend ran away too?”
“Who knows what happened on the streets? But the Fosters were too busy to notice their own daughter, let alone know her friends. Probably.” The tiny crack of doubt sank in her gut like a boulder. Either way, she wouldn’t forgive herself if she didn’t try. “Turn us around. Take us back to the Fosters.”
They’d only gotten a couple blocks away, so hopefully Henry would still be there.
She twisted and looked out the back window as if that would get them there faster.
Trent turned them around and pulled into the Fosters’ drive just as Henry was getting into his Jag. He stopped, one leg in his car, and stepped back out when he saw them. His brow was furrowed, and he had his cell phone to an ear.
Amanda got out of the department car and went to him, Trent in step with her.
“I’ll call you back.” Henry pocketed his phone. “Detectives? I thought you said it wasn’t Crystal. Did you change your mind?”
Amanda shook her head. “I’ve got a question for you.”
“Sure.”
“At the time Crystal ran away, did any of her friends also go missing?” It was a shot in the dark, but one worth taking. As her father always told her, it was better to ask the questions and get nowhere than fail to ask and miss the mark.
The front door opened, and Leila stepped onto the landing. “What’s going on?” Her body language was stiff, and she crossed her arms.
Amanda walked to her, and Henry followed, though it felt to Amanda like she was leading him to the execution chair. But this wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have the neighbors overhearing.
“I’m just wondering if any of Crystal’s friends also ran away around the same time she did?” Amanda said.
“The Lynches,” Leila said.
Amanda had expected some denial and protest. “The Lynches? And they are…?” She looked from Leila to Henry, who wore a quizzical expression, like he had no idea.
Leila leveled at glare at Henry. “You really that out of touch?” She turned to Amanda. “The Lynches lived a few doors down. They had a daughter named Ashley. Two nights after Crystal ran away, Ashley’s mother came to our door looking for her daughter. She said her daughter was here for a sleepover. First time I’d heard of it. And she certainly wasn’t here. Before that night, I’d never met Mrs. Lynch. I’ve never met their daughter.”
“But you’d seen them around before?” Trent asked.
“Sure. I’m not blind, but it’s not like I ever paid them any real attention.” Leila huffed out a deep breath as if agitated she had been placed in a position in which she felt the need to defend herself. She looked at her husband and jutted out her chin. “Detective Robbins asked us about Ashley Lynch. You really don’t remember?”
He flushed but said nothing.
Robbins must have been the detective assigned the missing person cases. They hadn’t gotten that far before heading to Washington. Amanda pulled up the picture of Jane Doe on her phone again and held it for Leila to see. “Do you think that could be their daughter?”
She shook her head. “Honestly, as I said, I never met her or paid the family any real attention.”
“Did Crystal ever mention having a friend named Ashley?” Trent asked.
Leila looked at him. “No.”
Amanda wasn’t taking that as confirmation. From the picture the couple had painted of their family life, she’d probably been optimistic that they could have named any of their daughter’s friends. But Amanda’s gut instinct about returning to the Fosters’ seemed like it might pay off. “Do the Lynches still live just down the street?” Amanda looked left and right, taking in the other gorgeous houses around them, but would guess, based on Leila’s use of the past tense, the Lynches had moved on.
“They live in Michigan now.” Leila shrugged and added, “From what I’ve heard.”
“Which house did they live in?” Amanda asked, and Leila flicked a finger down the street and described the house. “Okay, thank you for your time.” Amanda turned back toward the department car, and as she and Trent were walking away, the Fosters were in a heated conversation with arms flailing wildly in the air. It ended with a slammed door in Henry’s face at about the same time Amanda and Trent got into their vehicle.
“They obviously hate each other,” Trent said as he pulled out of the driveway.
“There’s a lot of rage, that’s for sure. And blame.”
“What made you think that Crystal ran away with a friend?”
She thought she’d explained it already, bu
t she’d elaborate anyhow. “Crystal was thirteen. She could have run away alone, sure, but her father mentioned that she was involved with the wrong crowd at school. She got pulled in for smoking weed. These kids probably also felt like they were on the outskirts of society for some reason, not understood. I just don’t see Crystal leaving solo. She was looking for someplace to belong.”
She gestured toward the dash. It was going on eleven thirty. It would take them an hour to get from Washington to Manassas for Fox’s autopsy, but they had a little time. “Just pull over, and let’s see if we can find the Lynches in the system.”
Trent parked at the curb and keyed into the onboard laptop. “The Lynches, Hugh and Sabrina, and, yep, I’ve got a Michigan address.”
“Pull up Missing Persons. Search Ashley Lynch.” She could hardly wait for Trent to do that and for the results.
“She’s here all right. Thirteen at the time, and the report was filed within a couple of days of the one the Fosters submitted on Crystal.”
“The time it took the Lynches to know their daughter was missing and not just at a friend’s for a sleepover,” Amanda concluded. “Is there a picture?” She leaned over to get a better view of the screen. Trent angled it more toward her.
Staring back at her was a younger version of their Jane Doe. It was in the eyes and unmistakable. “It’s her.” She sank deep into her seat. She thought that once she had a name, there’d be a level of relief, but it only made her feel more determined to find the girl justice. “We need to get on the road, but when we finish up at Fox’s autopsy, we’ll dig into Ashley’s Missing Persons report and see what the investigating detective had to say. Then we’ll go from there.”
After the situation with the Fosters, there was no way she’d be reaching out to the Lynches until she was absolutely positive the body of the young woman lying in the morgue was indeed their daughter.
Twenty-Eight
Amanda and Trent stepped into the morgue and found Paula Jeffery in a smock, wearing a helmet—the face shield down—and a bone saw in hand.
“You started without us.” Not a question. If Jeffery was getting ready to cut, she’d already conducted an external examination. Amanda was appalled. An ME of Jeffery’s experience would know that detectives preferred to be present from the very start of an autopsy. This was just one more indication that Jeffery thought herself above law enforcement.
The ME gestured a hand toward a clock on the wall that was housed behind a metal cage. “You are late.”
Amanda read the time. “You said you’d be starting at one. It’s five minutes after.” They’d grabbed a quick bite to eat, but then ran into an accident on the highway that had resulted in lane closures, delaying them.
“Yes. Late.” Jeffery pursed her lips.
“What have you already found out?” Amanda went the diplomatic route. The ME would have started earlier than one to be at this stage of the autopsy, but accusing her wouldn’t do Amanda or Trent any favors.
Jeffery lifted the face shield and set the saw aside. “I scraped under the deceased’s fingernails and found epithelia.”
“I want that fast-tracked at the lab.” If it went through the process and garnered a hit, they could be reaching the finish line faster than expected.
“Yes, it is all a priority,” Jeffery said drily, and Amanda wasn’t sure if she was being snide and sarcastic or serious. The ME added, “And it only helps if the killer is in the system. However, if the skin cells are from her killer, he would probably have obvious scratches on his face, neck, arms, or hands. Think any possible exposed skin. That could help you ID him. Well, once you find him.” The ME opened Fox’s jaw. “I also took a close look at the mutilation. The edge is clean, not jagged.”
“So the killer didn’t hesitate?” Trent asked.
“It could also mean that the victim didn’t fight the killer while he was cutting out her tongue.”
Amanda leaned a little closer to the body. “Then she was dead at that time?”
“No,” Jeffery dragged out. “You may recall me saying at the scene that, given the amount of blood loss, her heart would have been pumping. No doubt in my mind she was alive.”
“Then, she was given a type of paralytic,” Amanda concluded.
“Not necessarily, but something that would have subdued her.”
Amanda’s phone rang, and the ME pinned her with a nasty glare. Amanda checked caller ID, and it was Malone. “I’ve got to take this.” She stepped away and answered.
“It looks like one of the canvassing officers yesterday might have gotten you a lead,” he said.
“Why so late coming in?”
“Just listen to me.”
“I’m listening.” And she was, but she was also watching Jeffery rolling her eyes. When Malone finished sharing his news, she updated him on the Fosters and told him that there was reason to believe Jane Doe was Ashley Lynch, originally from Washington.
“Nice work. She has a name now.”
“Seems so, but I better go. I’m at Fox’s autopsy and getting stink eyes from the ME.” She ended the call and returned to Jeffery and Trent. “Do you have any more observations to share about the mutilation? Do you think the clean cut is also the result of the killer knowing what he was doing with a knife?”
Jeffery stared at her like she was waiting for an apology for her interruption. She’d be waiting forever. Eventually, the ME said, “Most certainly. Cool under pressure, if nothing else. The victim may not have been able to move, but she likely would have been conscious and watching him.”
That thought sent chills through her. Brandon was probably spot-on when he warned her about this killer. He was a true psychopath. Cutting out Shannon’s tongue while she watched him… She couldn’t imagine the horror that poor woman had experienced in the last few moments of her life. Seeing a man come at her mouth with a knife and feeling—
Amanda stopped her musing there. Hopefully, the drug’s effects also numbed pain. Regardless, Shannon would have been powerless, trapped. Amanda swallowed roughly. “Do you know what kind of knife was used?”
The slightest of nods. “Based on the stab wound, I’d say it was a Bowie knife with an eight-inch blade. The same weapon was likely used to sever the tongue.”
“A Bowie.” Trent stepped closer to the table. “Very sharp. Very large. Commonly used by hunters.”
Amanda regarded Trent. Was her partner one? But this revelation was telling about their killer.
“For fear of repeating myself, that’s not a small knife,” Trent said. “It would have taken skill not to slice into her cheeks.”
Jeffery leveled her gaze at him. “Well, based on where the tongue was severed, the killer would have pulled it outside of the mouth, then cut.”
“Yeah, I guess that would have made it easier.” Trent looked away from the ME.
Amanda pointed toward the stab wound in Fox’s abdomen. “At the scene, you weren’t sure if this was the cause of death. Now?”
Jeffery moved down the body and held her gloved hands around the wound. “I’m still of the same line of thought. While the penetration of the knife had been deep, I don’t believe it was fatal.”
Amanda gazed upon Shannon’s face and spoke to the ME. “Was it the drug she was given that killed her?”
“In probability and why I’m going to rush the lab on tox results. Hopefully, we’ll end up looking at a matter of hours rather than days before we get results.”
“Please let me know the findings the minute you do.”
“You’ll be the third to know. After the lab and me.”
“Just one more thing before you start,” Amanda said. “Is there any indication that Shannon Fox was raped?”
“No evidence of any sexual activity.” Without another word, Jeffery lowered the face shield of her helmet again and retrieved the bone saw from the table. She got to work on the cadaver. Amanda and Trent hung back as Jeffery proceeded with the Y-incision, cutting into the rib cage, and then pr
ying it open. She collected samples of tissue and blood and put them in vials. They stayed until about three thirty before heading out.
On the way back to the car, Amanda turned to Trent. “We’ve really got to stop this son of a bitch.”
“Goes without saying.” He smiled softly at her, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes.
“Rideout told us that it took a lot of determination for the killer to strangle Doe—I mean, Ashley Lynch.” She’d gotten in such a habit of calling her Jane Doe, now her real name was having a hard time sticking. Or maybe it was because as long as she was assigned a label, Amanda could better handle her emotions. “Possibly a lot of hatred,” she amended. “Now Jeffery has described Fox’s wound as deep—so without restraint. Did he feel hatred toward her? He did mutilate her.”
“I’m telling you. He was angry she called nine-one-one.”
“Right. Now Jeffery also described the killer as cool under pressure. And he cut out her tongue while she watched.” The thought was horrifying, but some light came with the second murder. “Our killer has shown versatility in murder methods and also that he can act quickly. Two people in two days. In the same neighborhood no less. And I bet that’s where he really messed up.”
“Now you’re losing me.”
“That was Malone who called me. One of Fox’s neighbors, a Chris Ingram, told Officer Wyatt that he saw a jogger the morning of her murder. It might be nothing, but it’s a lead we need to follow.” She proceeded to tell him the man’s address. “Malone’s forwarding over a copy of the interview. We’ll read it and pull Ingram’s background before we knock on his door. But you get us there.”
They got into the car, and she read the interview while they drove the thirty minutes back to Dumfries. At least there were no delays this time.
Twenty-Nine
Amanda was probably starting to hinge too much hope on this eyewitness account about an early-morning jogger panning out, but a detective couldn’t be picky as to what leads to follow. Every one needed attention like loose threads on a sweater. Though when applied to an investigation, one wished for a string that, when tugged, ripped apart an entire seam. Real effect and consequence. Sadly, finding them was the tricky part.
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