Truth in the Bones

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Truth in the Bones Page 13

by Vickie McKeehan


  “That’s all we ever wanted was to make a difference. But it’s disheartening to learn they’ve upped their resources in other states, other countries.”

  The sting of that news still hung in the air as they loaded up the car to head home. They were bone tired from the long day. But they still had a baby to feed and get to bed. These were the best things about her life, normal, ordinary chores that didn’t seem like chores at all. She could touch and feel and appreciate these things because it was everything she’d ever wanted. And everything she never thought she’d have.

  Eleven

  Monday evening

  Bainbridge Island

  Storm clouds, blue-black and ominous, were building to the west. After a windy ride on the ferry, by evening, the trio had settled into the farmhouse again, safe and snug from the winter cold that seemed to hold on and not want to let go. While the storm battered the old house with its ferocious kick of arctic wind, Skye hoped the old girl could take the punishing gale force just like the mortar and stone had taken it for decades without bending or breaking.

  She hoped that was true now because on the boat ride over they’d agreed that tonight would be about family. There would be no mention of murder, no listing a suspect’s maybes, and no dredging up past cases. There would be no talk of serial killers, no bringing up his methods, and no deciphering his next steps.

  They would shut off their cell phones and prepare for a quiet evening at home sans distractions.

  “I’ll get a fire going in the fireplace,” Josh offered, unlocking the front door.

  “Sounds great, but I’m getting out of these clothes and into something a lot more comfortable. And Sierra’s diaper needs changing.”

  As the wind raged and rattled the windowpanes, she headed upstairs, hefting the toddler on her hip. She made her way into the nursery, trying not to think about the location of the Maldonados’ Chevy. After bundling the baby in a warm lavender pair of pajamas she went into the master bedroom to change her own clothes. She stretched on a pair of aqua yoga pants and a long-sleeved white tunic sweater, and again did her best not to think about the topic she’d agreed to avoid—the Cross-country Killer.

  After dressing, she scooped up her daughter and tickled her belly. “What do you say we get something to eat and fill up our tummies. On a chilly night like tonight let’s make us a beef stew.”

  “Stew,” Sierra repeated.

  In the kitchen, she threw together dinner while Sierra played with her blocks and Josh sat in the corner catching up on his emails from work.

  While she broke up lettuce into a bowl for a salad, thunder rumbled overhead. She turned on the radio for the latest weather information. “How about some of those artisan rolls you like?”

  “Nah, takes too long to make,” Josh noted as he set the table.

  “Not if I pop them out of a bag from the freezer it doesn’t. Label says they bake in seven minutes,” she promised, reaching over and turning on the oven to preheat.

  Thunder boomed again, this time so loud it shook the house. Sierra looked at her dad and started to pout. Before he knew it, the pouting had turned into full-blown waterworks.

  As Atka began to make a fuss, Josh scooped up the baby to comfort her. “Aww, it’s okay, honey. It’s thunder, thunder goes boom that’s all. It won’t hurt you. Daddy won’t let it.”

  “She’s a little cranky,” Skye determined as she patted Sierra’s back. “Someone’s had a long day. We’ll be lucky to get her fed before she falls asleep.”

  Heavy rain began to come down in what seemed like buckets, battering the roof on the old farmhouse.

  “Daniel Cree used to call this a gully washer,” she went on, trying to talk to Sierra in a calm voice and get her mind off thunder. “Rain helps the flowers grow, baby. You like flowers. Daisies need the spring rain to blossom.”

  “Let’s put on some music,” Josh suggested, going over to the iPod on the counter and opening a file folder with rainy day songs for toddlers.

  Once the sing-song started, Sierra calmed down.

  Skye dished up the stew, took the rolls out of the oven, and got out the dressing for the lettuce.

  They sat down at the table while outside the bad weather ruled. When a tired Sierra started dropping her food over the side, it was time to clean her up and get her to bed.

  The baby was practically asleep before they could finish her bedtime story, a tale about spending the day at the beach.

  After the house grew quiet with no active toddler running about, they cleaned up the kitchen dishes and retired to the living room for some solitude.

  Josh put on a stack of long-playing vinyl records from his stash he’d hoarded since high school, and hoped Etta James and her contralto could soothe away the stress from the day.

  “Ah, I love her voice. Talk about a woman who overcame a tough upbringing to succeed, but Etta’s right up there with Maya Angelou.”

  He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

  “If I have the energy. Help me up.”

  He tugged on her hand, his arms moving around her back and neck. They slow-danced their way around the room. When the song changed to a livelier tempo, it didn’t matter. They were already caught up in the romance.

  “I wish I’d lit candles for the occasion,” Josh whispered in her ear.

  “You know I don’t need that kind of stuff. Besides, I already know where this is headed. Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

  “I’ll cut the music and the lights and meet you upstairs.”

  “That should give me time to put on something sexy.”

  He tilted his head and grinned. “And you know what? I don’t really need that kind of stuff, either. But it gives me a nice visual once I get you upstairs and strip you naked.”

  She smiled back. “Then make sure you don’t take all night.”

  He made the rounds from front door to back, checking the locks on windows and every door that led outside. In the mudroom, he went through the same routine, making sure the deadbolt worked.

  An uneasy presence he couldn’t explain stuck with him as he mounted the back staircase to the master bedroom. He went down the hallway to Sierra’s room, again checking the windows and making sure everything was okay there. He took a moment to stand over his daughter’s crib to check her breathing and watch her sleep. Confident everything was fine, he closed the door and finally made his way into the master.

  Skye sat on the bed cross-legged, lathering her skin with lotion. “What took you so long?”

  “Just locking up.”

  “I did that already.” She patted the side of the bed, shivering a little for effect. “It’s cold in here, but I promise to warm you up. Is it still raining?”

  “Pouring.” Maybe the rain was why he was so wired. He toed off his shoes, then yanked his shirt over his head. The jeans came off next. Once he was down to his bare skin he could verify how chilly the room felt and dived under the covers.

  Skye scooted over, meeting him halfway. She took his mouth. “You’re edgy. Why?”

  “I was, but not anymore. My focus lies elsewhere.” He ran a hand up her thigh. “Yeah. Elsewhere.”

  As the weather outside continued to get worse, they made slow, gentle love to the sound of rain beating against the glass. They forced out thoughts of serial killers, banishing the evil from this special time that belonged only to them.

  Twelve

  Tuesday morning

  Artemis Foundation

  The Artemis Foundation and Ander All Games had office space in the same high rise in downtown Seattle. While the gaming company Josh owned took up the entire top floor, Skye made do with considerably less room on the third floor.

  Skye’s office digs might be crowded. But there was no such thing as too many volunteers. The little kitchen might be cramped. When people tended to hang around the coffee pot too long, the area could no doubt become packed. And with a toddler and a dog on board there was no question the office environment ten
ded toward laid-back.

  But Skye loved this place because of what it stood for—hope. When everyone else had failed, the hope was that the Foundation could do what no one else could—find missing children. There was a chance to solve murder cases and focus on bringing peace of mind to family members who’d waited years for answers about what happened to their kids or loved ones.

  She didn’t have a large staff beyond Lena Bowers and Judy Howe. Lena’s participation had occurred long before the woman had started dating Travis.

  But these days since Travis and Lena were almost inseparable, Skye got the couple duo as a bonus. Travis had always been willing to drop what he was doing and help in a pinch. That attitude had doubled as his involvement with Lena had deepened. Other volunteers, like Leo, Reggie, and Winston, wandered down from their cubicles upstairs as Skye needed them.

  For the past year and a half while Skye had focused mainly on motherhood, Lena and Judy had taken turns stepping in to fill almost every role Skye had done by herself. The two women coordinated and organized searches. But Skye still showed up three days a week just to keep her fingers in the pie.

  She’d trained both women to make sure all legal steps were followed and records were kept up to date. Sightings—any calls fielded about missing teens—were usually sent directly to the police. But if Skye suspected a crime had been committed, the child or teen was taken out of the runaway category and treated differently within the system that Josh had set up for internal use only.

  The Foundation faithfully handed off any tips to law enforcement. If that didn’t work out and the cops were still insistent that the teen had simply left on their own, Skye and Josh followed up on the leads themselves, hoping they’d locate the missing person alive. In a worst-case scenario, the tip would lead them to a kidnapper or a killer.

  Not much had changed in that regard over the years since the Foundation had been up and running.

  While Judy was a relatively new friend to Skye, she’d known Lena for more than ten years, long before the woman had become Travis’s girlfriend. As close as the two were, during Skye’s pregnancy, they’d bonded even more during it.

  Skye recalled every encouraging word and sage piece of advice Lena had handed out and been willing to share.

  “Never underestimate the power and determination of a mother,” Lena had told Skye the day Sierra had come into the world. “It’s that first deep connection to your child that makes a mother fight tooth and nail when anything goes wrong.”

  Skye had responded the only way she knew how. “You’re my role model. I want to be a supermom like you someday.”

  “I don’t think I ever thought of myself as a supermom. I’m not even sure what that means. Although if it included being there for my boys, cheering them on at baseball and basketball games and taking them to Cub Scout meetings, then yes, I guess every mother who does that would qualify. It’s what I know in my heart these mothers of missing children go through every day. It’s the same tenacity I felt when my oldest boy died in Afghanistan. I wouldn’t stop until I’d learned the truth about what happened to him and how he died. I had to know and I didn’t give up until I found out the details. You already know a mom doesn’t give up on her children. Ever. That’s why you search for these lost kids, day in, day out. You’ve had the instincts of a mother all along and just didn’t recognize that special strength inside you.”

  Skye had hugged her friend that day, long and hard. It’s what she’d needed to hear. “And that’s why you were right to adopt Zoe. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

  “Experience. I knew it would be okay because I’d already raised boys. I went into adopting Zoe with my eyes wide open, knowing the girl comes with certain challenges. But with her mother and the woman’s boyfriend completely out of the picture now, Zoe is a totally different kid. She goes to school without complaining, always has her nose in a book. Hard to believe, I know. In fact, she loves to read so much, she brings home a ton of books, so many the bookcases in Jason’s old room are bulging with the novels she picks up at garage sales. She grumbles about doing homework. But then what normal kid doesn’t?”

  Skye sent her a warm smile. With her own mom gone now for more than a dozen years, Lena had been like a mother figure, someone Skye could turn to for advice about bringing up Sierra.

  She looked across the room to where Lena and Judy shared a desk, heads bent, digging through police reports, and wondered how she’d ever gotten so lucky. These women were her rock-solid support system.

  “Are you daydreaming?” Josh asked when he brought her a freshly brewed cup of coffee from the fancy brewing system they’d bought last Christmas. He set the cup down on the break table.

  Skye’s lips curved up. “Caught me in the act. Actually I was.” She bobbed her head toward the pair of women in the next room. “Do you realize how overwhelmed we’d be right about now without those two stepping up the way they have? Either one or both is here five days a week. The only thing they won’t do is patrol the streets at night.”

  “Until four in the morning? Who could blame them? No one’s gonna be as dedicated as you were in that department. Not ever.”

  “You mean crazy.”

  “That, too. I understand where you’re coming from, though. Judy may never be ready to go that far, although she’d like to. There’s something inside her that wants to dish out a little payback every now and again. And Lena, Lena has a personal life now. But yeah, I do know how fortunate we are to have so many people we can call in a pinch. Not everybody has that.”

  He leaned against the counter, hesitating to say what was on his mind. “I wanted to talk to you about something. Was it just me yesterday or did you get the sense that Emmett might be holding something back from us?”

  “I got that, yeah. The flattery thing was a dead giveaway. We’ve known the guy two years now and he’s never been one to fawn over anyone. What do you suppose it is he’s hiding?”

  “Instinct tells me he’s keeping something back about each crime scene. But we’ve looked through the photographs and nothing out of the ordinary jumped out. If he’s holding back, I don’t understand what his motivation is.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. If he wants our help why wouldn’t he approach this with full disclosure? But did you notice a hesitation from Harry when we mentioned the air search for the car? I’m getting the feeling that neither man is one-hundred-percent vested in this serial killer pursuit. Why is that?”

  “Definitely weird.” Josh sat down at the little break table and opened his laptop. “What bothers me the most is the fact that Emmett is relying on us to find this guy. Our manpower. I’m wondering if there’s no actual investigation going on at the FBI.”

  Skye’s mouth fell open. “Wow. Could that mean we’re on our own?”

  “I think so. FBI analysis is one thing, it’s what alerted Emmett and Harry to this guy. But it isn’t unheard of for them to take a wait and see attitude. If we can’t find him soon, they’ll likely go on to some other case and leave us hanging.”

  “Well…that’s just…unacceptable.”

  When Sierra toddled into the kitchen, Skye picked up her. “Are you ready for lunch, baby girl?”

  Sierra nodded her head up and down. “Wunch.”

  “We brought applesauce and yogurt with us and a boiled egg. How’s that sound?”

  “I’ll get her sippy cup and the milk,” Josh offered.

  They got Sierra settled at the table and watched while the toddler enjoyed her food. As much as they wanted to steer the topic to a brighter subject, Skye couldn’t let it go.

  “If Emmett knows there’s no real investigation at the FBI, he should’ve said so. It’s kind of dishonesty and I don’t like that.”

  “Let’s not burn our bridges just yet. Maybe it’s out of his control. Cutbacks and diminished manpower happen all the time. Could be the case here.”

  “But Harry and Emmett brought this to us. We were minding our own business. Now we’re kn
ee-deep in questions about some homicide in Nevada.”

  “Following up on the Ebert case outside of Henderson, I discovered the neighborhood was hit with a series of burglaries running up to the night the family was murdered.”

  “So it’s possible the killer is using the burglaries to find the weapons.” Skye tapped the side of her chair. “Maybe I was wrong about the insurance company angle. Maybe the guy doesn’t find out who’s on medication from a computer. Maybe he gets his information directly from the source, medicine cabinets, nightstands, rummaging through dresser drawers, and perusing the stuff out on kitchen counters. He picks his targets the old-fashioned way—he spies on what they do and how they live until he’s ready to make his move.”

  “I like that theory.”

  “There’s just one thing wrong with it. We haven’t figured out yet what he does that makes the ‘missing man’ theory stick. Take what happened to Christy. He made her get dressed. He stuffed her backpack with a few clothes to make it look as though she’d taken off. They left in the family car. All things consistent with Christy killing her family and running. We aren’t seeing the whole picture just like the cops didn’t.”

  “You’d think something would trigger a suspicion at the crime scene. Christy’s remains is our only hope to uncovering the truth about this guy, something solid, something that leads us to who he is. If we could only get them to do an air search and locate the car.”

  “When you think about it, his plan is actually brilliant. The killer gives the cops a built-in suspect and they automatically buy into it without question. The heat is off him and he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder every time a cop pulls up behind him at a stop sign.”

  “Wouldn’t it be great if the guy got pulled over for a routine traffic stop? Some people just get lucky that way. I wonder what kind of activity was going on in the Maldonado neighborhood before the murders. Who was on patrol that night? I’ll get Winston or Reggie to delve into that.” Josh looked at his watch. “I have some stuff I need to take care of in my office. How about if I take Sierra to work with me?”

 

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