The Cave

by Amanda McKinney

  “That your girl liked to party—heroine and fentanyl in her system.”

  “Wow, seriously?”

  “Yep. You know it takes, like, one grain of fentanyl to kill you.”

  She nodded, and glanced at the detective, who was glancing at his watch.

  “Thanks, Adam.”

  “Adam, I think I’m going to make you call me Mr—”

  Click.

  Arbuckle crossed the room. “Well?”

  “Jennifer had heroine and fentanyl in her system.” She watched the detective’s eyes widen, before shaking his head and laughing a humorless laugh.

  “Died of a drug overdose. Oh my God, the DA’s going to love this.”

  A part of her wanted to say she was sorry, wanted to say she understood how many man hours had gone into the investigation already, to only get thrown on its head.

  He stared at her for a moment. “I’ve never been in their shoes, but I’m thinking an overdose would be a hell of a lot easier to stomach than someone murdering their daughter.” He stuck out his hand. “One step closer to closure for Jennifer’s family. Thank you, Dr. Hart.”

  She smiled just as the lab door opened and Sam slinked inside as if she was entering a snake pit. “Dr. Hart, your seven-thirty…”

  The detective pulled his hand away, nodded, then strode out of the lab, and Sadie mentally crossed one thing off her to-do list.

  “I’m soooo sorry. He just barged in.” Sam hurriedly crossed the room.

  “It’s okay. All part of it.” She began gathering her things.

  “As if you needed that this morning.”

  Sadie froze, turned like a ballerina on a music box, and zeroed in on the magazine rolled in Sam’s hand.

  Shit.

  Sam’s face pulled into a tight frown as she lifted the magazine.

  “Is that Ozark Digest?”

  “Yeah…” she nodded.

  “Unbelievable. I don’t know how they included it in this print. It just happened.”

  “It’s on a few of the blogs too.”

  “I know.” She closed her eyes and shook her head, her stomach churning. The headline KT Crime Labs heir splits with “neurotic” anthropologist girlfriend after unwilling to commit would forever be burned into her brain—and the punching bag in her gym, for that matter.

  “Surprised there hasn’t been a company-wide email out yet.” Sadie glanced at her inbox.

  “No, not yet.”

  “I was joking.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Sam closed the inches between them and lowered her voice. “I mean, do you think they’ll fire you, Sadie? Will Evan have you fired? Because if so, I know a good lawyer…”

  It was the same thought that had been running through her mind since she’d read the first headline as she’d settled in for her morning coffee. She’d almost thrown up all over her duvet. She knew, in her heart, there was a definite possibility they’d find a reason to let her go. She was a fool to think that kind of thing didn’t happen in the corporate world.

  She was a fool for sleeping with the billionaire owner’s son.

  Idiot, idiot, idiot.

  It was a serious lack of judgment. A serious slip up, that seriously made her question her sanity. What had she been thinking?

  She was better than that.

  She was better than this.

  Screw the blogs, screw the headlines.

  And screw this conversation.

  “Well, life goes on either way, I guess. I’ve gotta get to my meeting, Sam…”

  “Okay, well, listen, I won’t let the gossip run rampant, okay?”

  Yeah, right.

  “I’ll stick up for you, and I’ll let you know what everyone’s saying.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Sadie grabbed a stack of folders from the counter.

  “Uh, do you… uh… need a new lab coat? You smell like Dunkin’ Donuts.”

  At least she didn’t smell the way she felt—like shit.

  “No, I think there’s spare ones in the bathroom. Thanks, Sam.”

  “Okay, well, let me know if you need anything.”

  With that, Sam left Sadie standing in a puddle of coffee and misery—and almost late for her meeting.

  After pressing print on a few documents, Sadie ran to the bathroom and slipped out of her coffee-covered lab coat, frowned at her stained—destroyed—silk blouse, then pulled open the cabinet only to discover there were no extra lab coats in the bathroom.

  You have got to be kidding me. She slammed the cabinet closed and released a hysterical cackle, because at that point there was nothing else to do. She put her hands on her hips and stared in the mirror…

  Her gym bag!

  Sadie turned on her heel, ran out of the bathroom, grabbed her gym bag and frantically sifted through the contents. Black leggings, an inappropriately low-cut tank top, and—yes!—a T-shirt!

  She yanked it out while running back into the bathroom, ripped off her blouse, then slid on the T-shirt, and looked in the mirror.

  I like big bones and I cannot lie.

  The back read:

  KT Crime Labs

  Body Farm

  “Oh… My… God.”

  The world was officially against her.

  After wiping down her arms with paper towels, she gave herself another look, cocked her head, then knotted the bottom of the shirt at the hip. Cute? Hip? Horrific? She stepped back—well, it was going to have to do. She yanked her shoulders back, then gave herself a manly thump on the chest before darting out the bathroom.

  You got this, Sadie.

  By the time she gathered her printouts and sprinted down the hall, she was exactly two minutes late to her meeting.

  With a quick inhale, she pushed through the conference room doors.

  The chatter stopped as all eyes dropped to the kitschy T-shirt.

  Sadie bit the inside of her cheek and walked to the head of the table, and she wondered if they were staring at her because of her wildly inappropriate meeting attire, or because they’d never seen a female scientist before.

  The thought gave her the kick in the ass she needed.

  She was always game for a challenge.

  “Morning, gentlemen,” she said, tipping up her chin.

  Her boss, Ronnie Sharp, director over the Bones Unit, stood, and after giving her a cocked expression that she wasn’t sure was about her late arrival or her T-shirt, or perhaps both, he made the introductions.

  “Gentlemen this is Dr. Sadie Hart, our forensic anthropologist. Sadie has recently accepted an offer to lead a new project we’ve started that re-opens notable cold cases. We’re hoping a fresh set of eyes along with continual advancements in technology will help solve these cases that have gone unlooked at, for decades in some cases. Sadie graduated top of her class at the University of Tennessee, is a member of the American Board of Forensic Anthropology, has headed up dozens of excavations, and travels the country giving lectures on forensic anthropology.” Then, with a sarcastic tone, he said, “Sadie also enjoys mochas, long walks on the beach, and Sir Mix A-Lot, apparently.”

  A few snickers around the room as she cut a side-long glance at her boss.

  He continued, “Sadie, this is Special Agent Miller and Special Agent Brown with the FBI, and Sheriff Andrew Dunn, with Carroll County.”

  “Pleasure to meet you all,” she said, looking around the room as Ronnie took his seat next to Special Agent Miller who hadn’t looked up from his cell phone since she’d taken her place at the head of the table. His demeanor was as stiff as his navy button-up with iron lines down the sleeves and the razor-perfect edges of his freshly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. Miller was a stark contrast to his counterpart whose faded, wrinkled pinstripe was rolled up at the elbows, suggesting he’d already had a hell of a day, and didn’t give a shit about appearances. Brown was younger than Miller, with fine lines beginning to form along a tanned face and eyes with a hint of steel from spending too many hours a day hunting evil. A former military m
an, she guessed, and kind of cute if she was being honest. Across from the agents sat Sheriff Dunn, a walking stereotype with a handle-bar mustache perfumed with the mint-flavored snuff that sat snuggly in his front pocket.

  Hell of an audience.

  “As Dr. Sharp just mentioned, I’ve been working extensively on re-opening cold cases and using new technology to bring those cases back to life, and hopefully close them, and provide closure to the victims’ loved ones. This includes cold case 7327, which is why we’re here today.” She slid a thumb drive into the computer and clicked on the projector.

  “As you all know, I’ve determined the bones you submitted are from a young, Caucasian boy, age range ten to twelve years old, with a height of fifty-four inches. Estimated TOD is between thirty and thirty-five years ago.” She walked across the room and flipped off the lights as all eyes followed her every move. Then, she clicked on the projector and opened the crime scene photos where the bones had been found a week earlier. “Per the case file I reviewed, this was the location of the grave, correct?”

  “That’s right. In a field, in the lower delta of the state. Very remote area.”

  “And there are no missing boys in the area that match this profile at, or around, the TOD?”

  “That’s correct.”

  She nodded. “So based on that information, or lack thereof I should say, I ran a stable isotope analysis on the bones.”

  “Stable… what?”

  “Stable isotope analysis. This type of test is a relatively new development in forensic science. There are two types of isotopes, radioactive and stable. Radioactive isotopes decay over time and become untraceable, whereas, stable isotopes do not decay and remain at the level they were when the victim died.”

  “And how does this help us?” Agent Miller asked.

  Sadie clicked a few keys on the computer and brought up an image of stable isotope ratios. “Isotopes are everywhere, in everything—soil, water, air, everything. As we age, the tissues in our body constantly replace and renew, and the isotopes that are in the food we eat, water we drink, and air we breathe become a part of our tissues, including our bones. When the body dies, radioactive isotopes decay, while stable isotopes stay at the exact level as when the person took their last breath. This is where I come in.”

  She clicked another slide. “You can see here, there are many different kinds of isotopes, but for bone analysis, we typically look at carbon, nitrogen, hydrogen, and oxygen isotopes. Carbon and nitrogen help us understand the dietary signature of a victim—what he or she ate, drank. For case 7327, his carbon levels were notably elevated, with the nitrogen levels being abnormally low. This tells me that the boy was most likely a vegetarian, with possibly a significant amount of fish in his diet.”

  Eyebrows raised around the room.

  She continued, “Now, this is where things get fun. Or, interesting I should say. With hydrogen and oxygen levels, we can determine where the victim lived in the last years of his life by analyzing the isotopes in the water he drank, then, comparing that to the precipitation of various geographic locations.” She clicked to a picture of a map. “Based on the amount of oxygen isotopes in the boy’s bones, I can determine that 7327 grew up on, or near, the ocean, or lived there recently.”

  “What?” The sheriff leaned forward.

  She nodded. “I thought this was interesting, too, considering the bones were found hundreds of miles from the ocean.”

  “So, our boy is a vegetarian pre-teen who possibly grew up on the ocean.” Agent Miller scribbled on his notepad.

  “I’m not finished.” Sadie held up a finger, then clicked to a map of the US, a red circle around the Gulf of Mexico. “So, with the information I had—Caucasian male, between the ages of ten to twelve, around fifty-four inches in height, residing near the ocean—I did a search in NamUs, the database for missing and unidentified persons, pulled a list of names, and then I narrowed that list down by the estimated time of death, which cut the list in half. Then, I looked at which of those missing boys lived near the ocean and zeroed in on the areas closest to the Arkansas Delta. I came up with forty-seven names.”

  “Holy shit…” Agent Brown’s eyebrow arched.

  “Not done,” she said, feeling a rush of renewed energy. “During my search, I came across the name Josiah Macon. Does this name sound familiar?”

  Head shakes around the room.

  She clicked on a black and white mug shot. “That’s Josiah Macon, otherwise known as the Bike Killer, who’s serving three life sentences in Texas for the raping and murdering of three young boys, ages ten, ten, and twelve.” The room was dead silent. “So, I did a search of missing boys in the locations where Macon is said to have stalked his victims and found the name of a Blake Paulson.” She clicked to a photo of the poster that had been plastered around the boy’s hometown thirty years earlier. “From there, I asked one of our guys to create a facial reconstruction based on the skull.” She clicked to the picture.

  Her boss grinned with pride, as Agent Miller’s, Brown’s, and Sheriff Dunn’s mouths dropped.

  The facial reconstruction photo and the actual photo of Blake Paulson were a mirror image.

  “Then, I checked out the family of the missing boy, and bingo, they’re vegetarian.”

  A solid five seconds of dead air ticked by until—

  “Holy. Fucking. Shit.” This from Agent Brown.

  Her boss turned to her, “Unbelievable work, Dr. Hart.”

  “Dr. Hart,” Agent Miller stood and extended his baseball-glove sized hand. “I’ll remember the name.”

  After Sadie handed out her official report, Agent Miller and Agent Brown left the room to take calls, with Sheriff Dunn following while pulling the snuff from his pocket.

  “Nice job,” Ronnie said, as he picked up his coffee from the table. “And, hey…” he leaned in. “Try not to worry about it.”

  Her stomach hit the floor. “Try not to worry about what, exactly?”

  “You know… the Evan deal.”

  The Evan deal. Fumbling for words, she felt the heat rise to her cheeks, which her boss apparently noticed because he changed the subject.

  “Ah, one more thing before we head out. Any update on case 7370?”

  “Uhhh…” her brain scrambled to recall whatever case he was talking about as she tried to ease her racing pulse. Her freaking boss had read the blogs about her failed relationship with the owner’s son.

  Geez.

  She was humiliated.

  “You know, the woman that was recovered by Otter Lake around Berry Springs?”

  She blinked. “Oh, yeah, sorry.” The images of a woman’s skeleton found in an exposed shallow grave flashed through her head. A father and son had discovered the bones at twilight while fishing five months earlier. Like nothing short of a scene in a horror movie, they’d edged their boat through the weeds along the shoreline, only to discover the arm and half a human skull breaching the mud as if trying to dig out of its grave. Rumor had it the boy didn’t speak for two days, and if Sadie had to guess, didn’t sleep for much longer than that.

  “No, nothing more than was in my final report. All bones accounted for except for one molar. Two fractures just above that, on the maxilla, suggest blunt force trauma.”

  “Indicating a homicide.”

  “Right, that, and the fact the woman was buried in an unmarked grave.” Sadie remembered the details, perhaps because the woman was estimated to be around the same age as herself, or maybe it was because not a single person had come forward with any information, and not a single family had claimed the bones. The case went cold and was added to Sadie’s long list of cold cases. Five months later, the woman still had no ID. And that didn’t sit well with Sadie. A life cut short, wasted, forgotten and honored by no one. No vigilance, no funeral, no respect.

  It was as if she were a ghost.

  Local and state law enforcement had done everything they could to put a name to the bones, causing the local gossip to
run rampant. Some said she was part of a coven of witches rumored to live in the mountains, some said she was an escapee of a local mental health facility—who confirmed no missing residents—and some even suggested the bones belonged to a discarded science experiment courtesy of aliens. It had been five months and people still talked about the bones found at Otter Lake.

  One thing was for sure, someone knew something. Someone buried her body.

  Someone was hiding something, and as long as the gossips deemed the young woman worthy of conversation, she still had a chance for justice.

  “What makes you ask about it again?”

  “Had a voicemail from Sheriff Crawly about it.”

  “Does he have an idea who she was?”

  “Not sure. You can ask him about it when you see him later today.”

  “Later today where?”

  “At the excavation in Berry Springs. He’s the one working the case of the bones found in Crypts Cavern. Lots of skeletons in Berry Springs, apparently.” He scratched the top of his head. “Crotchety fella…”

  “Crotchety?”

  Ronnie’s phone rang. “Gotta get this. Good luck today. Be careful driving in the mountains.” He put his hand on her shoulder in a way that made her cringe. “Might be good to get out of here for a couple days. Let everything die down.”

  Die down.

  As Ronnie left the room, Sadie was left thinking about the young woman whose identity consisted of the numbers 7370, and she made a mental note to ask the “crotchety” sheriff if he’d made any advancements in the case.

  Because if there was anything being a forensic anthropologist had taught Sadie, it was that all secrets come to light sooner or later.

  Chapter 4

  Griffin glanced over his shoulder as he reached for the door marked ‘Janitor.’

  “Morning, Griff.”

  He quickly pulled his hand off the knob. “Morning, Sam.

  “Good luck on your dig later today.”

  “Thanks.” He lifted his cell phone, pretending to be checking his texts as the front desk receptionist sauntered down the hallway.

  Phew. That was close.

  One last look behind him and he slid past the door and closed—and locked—it behind him.