“You’re talking about a piece of paper, like an adoption certificate?”
“Yes. Maybe.” Becca sighed. “I guess what I’m saying is that I never felt like I had someone who would stay with me, no matter what I did or said. That I could really let my hair down and be myself without doing something to scare them off. That they were committed to me, for life. That I was cherished. Loved.”
“You didn’t get that from Elise and Buck?”
“Almost, but no. I turned eighteen, and their responsibility to me was done. They’ll always be there for me if I need them, but at the time, I sensed an urgency to move on so they could make room for another child. They never came out and said that. At least, not in so many words, but it was there.”
Kait opened her mouth to speak, but Becca held up a hand to stop her.
“I fully support their desire and encourage them to help as many kids as they can. They’re such good foster parents, and I’ve always known that I’d have to share them. That meant I needed to step up and take care of myself, the way I did when I lived with my mom.” Childhood memories came flashing back, and she shook her head. “It’s so weird when I think about it. As a little kid, I took care of Mom and did things no kid should have to do. Then Elise and Buck freed me from that, and before I knew it, I’d graduated from high school, turned eighteen, and I was basically on my own again.”
Kait scooted closer. “I thought you and Elise had that whole mother/daughter thing going on.”
“We do in a sense. I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s weird I guess, but we see each other so often mainly because I work with foster kids.”
“So the girl—Jane Doe. How does this all relate to her?”
Becca didn’t have to think about that. Not with memories of Molly overwhelming her today. “She was alone, Kait. All alone.” Tears formed in Becca’s eyes, and she swiped them away. “No one to call out to when she was abducted. No hope that a parent would move heaven and earth to find her. I can feel what she must have been feeling, and my heart aches for her.”
Kait circled an arm around Becca’s shoulder. “I may not be your parent, but if you ever disappeared, I’d never stop until I found you.”
“I know. You proved how tenacious you are when you tracked down Rhodes after he killed Abby.” Becca smiled and decided to move on. Kait had lost her twin sister, Abby, to a bullet from her brother-in-law, Fenton Rhodes’s gun. But she hadn’t lost her entire family, and couldn’t possibly understand the hole in Becca’s heart. The ache to belong. In some regards, she’d always hoped that falling in love and signing a till-death-do-us-part certificate could fill that hole, but after leaving Molly, Becca didn’t deserve happiness.
Her phone rang, and she dug it from her pocket.
“Taylor,” Becca answered enthusiastically, glad to give up the gut-wrenching topic.
“I thought you’d like to know that the hard drives have been imaged,” Taylor responded. “I’ll get started on reviewing them and let you know if I find anything.”
“I’ll be back in the office in less than an hour to help.”
“Okay.” Taylor sounded disappointed. “See you then.”
Becca disconnected the phone and stood up. “That was Taylor. I have hard drives to review for my credit card fraud investigation so we should get going.”
Kait got up and stretched. “Are you sure you want to go back to work after this? I caught what Taylor said, and it sounded like she was willing to handle things for you.”
“I’m not going to shirk my responsibilities just because Van Gogh is back.” Becca started down the trail.
Kait caught up. “I know you won’t shirk your responsibilities, but maybe this is the time to step back for a moment and recover from today’s shock.”
“Like I said, I’m good.”
Kait grabbed Becca’s elbow. “You’re not really going back to the office to talk to Sulyard, are you?”
“No, you convinced me not to,” Becca said, her mind already on her next steps.
She had to keep things together. Keep her focus. Not make anyone question her judgment, as Kait was hinting at, or she’d lose the job she’d worked so hard to earn. She would work the credit card case this afternoon because that was what she was being paid to do. But once she got home tonight, she’d dig out her files on Van Gogh and find a bargaining chip she could use to force Vance to involve her in the investigation.
She squared her shoulders. “I will find a way to get on the investigation.”
“And just how are you going to justify that? We’re computer experts, sweetie. This case has nothing to do with technology.”
“Everything in our world today has to do with computers. I’ll find a connection.”
“And Sulyard? How are you going to get around the personal connection you have to the case?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll find a way.” She crossed her arms.
“Say you do get past Sulyard’s objections. That still doesn’t mean Vance will let you get involved.”
“Why not? With his team’s workload, he should be happy for the help.”
“Help from an unbiased person, yes. From you? No.”
Becca tightened her arms. “I will work this case, Kait. Once I set my mind on something, I don’t back down. This won’t be any different.”
Except it will tear my heart apart. She kept that thought to herself. No one needed to know that. No one.
THE SUN SLIPPED BELOW the trees, leaving the clearing with an eerie red glow in the background. It was fitting for the gruesome scene, Connor supposed. They’d hauled the portable klieg lights up the path, and they now shone a bright white light on the area, perhaps eliminating a bit of the horror. Perhaps.
Dr. Williams had arrived hours ago and was working with Dane to unearth the second body. She’d revealed the pelvis, which she said confirmed they were looking at another teenage girl. So Vance called in Lucky, the cadaver dog, and his handler Glenna Dexter.
Glenna let Lucky off his leash, and he loped across the clearing. Suddenly, he stopped, put his nose to the ground and resembled a vacuum cleaner. His gait slowed a few times, pausing to sniff more intently, then he moved on.
He suddenly flipped on his back, then got up and followed a trail.
“He’s got something,” Glenna said.
“Then why’s he still moving?” Connor asked. He’d never seen a cadaver dog at work, and to be honest, he was a bit skeptical about what the dog might find.
“The scent isn’t always the strongest over the actual body.”
Connor’s skepticism flared. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you think about it,” she said patiently, as if she’d explained the same thing to law enforcement officers a hundred times. “Scent can percolate down hills and gather in low spots. Animal burrows can make the scent more accessible, too. And scent can travel along vegetation roots, particularly tree roots. Where these roots surface, the scent is stronger.”
Totally weird, if you asked him. “Then how do you know when you’ve hit on a body?’
“Lucky will tell us. Just give him time.”
Lucky sniffed, sending puffs of air rising into the fog before he turned around several times. Connor thought this was the sign, but Glenna stayed put, watching, waiting. Lucky moved away, then came back to the low spot filled with a clump of plants that were different from the surrounding area. Lucky never looked at Glenna, just kept moving.
He suddenly stopped, turned in a circle again, then made a muffled sound. He sat and peered at Glenna. She pulled a stake from her bag. “We have the first one.”
Connor was skeptical, but he’d seen Glenna’s professionalism and was starting to believe in her and Lucky.
“I’ll just mark the spot, then give Lucky a br
eak. He’ll move on in a minute.” Glenna strolled toward Lucky, who continued to sit at attention.
Vance came up from behind him. “Anything?”
“Yeah, Glenna thinks Lucky hit on a body. She’ll continue working across the clearing.”
Vance gave a grim nod. “Guess Dr. Williams is gonna have her hands full.”
Connor didn’t respond. What could he say, with another potential body waiting for confirmation?
“Marcie called. Jane Doe One’s prints were a bust in AFIS.”
“So we won’t get an ID the easy way, then,” Connor said, wishing the FBI’s fingerprint database had returned a match for the girl. “With our forensics basically nonexistent at this point, it’s too bad Marcie didn’t have anything else to offer.”
Vance started pacing, a hand planted at the back of his neck, his fingers white with the pressure. He was thinking something through, and Connor wasn’t about to rush his lieutenant into speaking. So he waited patiently, staring over the macabre crime scene as he did. Vance pulled his phone from his belt holder and Connor heard him talking with their captain, laying out the situation. But when Vance brought up Becca, Connor could hardly believe his ears.
Moments later, Vance shoved his phone back in the holder and faced Connor. He made strong eye contract, his hand still clamped on his neck. “The pressure to solve this case in a timely manner is already off the charts. It’ll require resources we can ill afford to pull from other cases. Shoot, we’re tapped out before we’ve even begun. We’ll need additional resources.” He dropped his hand. “No offense to the quality of Dane’s forensics work, but it would be good to get an FBI evidence recovery team out here, too. I think we should bring Agent Lange in on this case.”
Connor clamped his jaw to keep his mouth from falling open.
“As you said,” Vance continued. “She’s the expert, and we could use her help getting us up to speed on Van Gogh.”
“She’d be a consultant, then?” Connor clarified.
“Yeah, something like that. The captain is running it up the flagpole, but I don’t think we’re ready for a full joint taskforce at this point. I’d like to keep her on through the investigation. She can prevent us from wasting time on leads that have been exhausted in the past. I’ll set up a morning meeting with her supervisor to get the ball rolling.”
“Sounds good.” Connor’s gaze moved back to Lucky. No more than ten yards from the first flag, he flipped on his back then moved into the circling behavior again.
Connor pointed at the dog. “Looks like another hit.”
Vance mumbled a curse. “I’ll get Sulyard on the phone right now.”
“The sooner the better,” Connor said and couldn’t help wondering how many more flags would be stuck in the ground before the night was over.
Chapter Eight
REGINALD COULD NO longer abide the smell of bleach, but at least the work in his home basement was done. Not that he really thought it was necessary. He’d been so careful with the latest girls that the odds of the police locating him were next to none. And, of course, he’d left no connection to Molly or the other delightful girls from the past year either. Still, his mother had taught him to be cautious.
“And you’re still helping me, aren’t you Mother?” he said, glad that though she’d passed on, she was still listening and helping him.
He’d struggled the day she’d died. But then he’d developed such a strong longing to cleanse additional girls, he was sure it was his mother directing him. She’d since told him otherwise, but without her here to physically hold him back, he’d begun his work in earnest. He remembered her disapproving smile and a vision of her appeared in front of him.
“Remember, Lauren,” she said, a sour pucker to her lips.
“Lauren,” he repeated. “You’d be so proud of me, Mother. I’m very close to having Lauren in the fold again.”
“Don’t be so certain the funeral will bring her out of the woodwork, Reginald,” she cautioned. “You must keep investigating on your own to find her, in case she fails to make an appearance.”
“Yes, yes of course. I thought of that, Mother. Really I did, but I’ve been too busy cleaning. I’m finished, though, and I’ll get right to it.” He blinked hard and she disappeared. For a moment, he wondered if she had actually been standing in front of him. But that was craziness talking and he was far from crazy.
He hurried up to his office and sat behind his computer to search out details about Molly’s life. After all, she was his only lead to Lauren. Thank goodness he’d become a pro in IT, so he shouldn’t have any trouble digging up information that wouldn’t easily be found. Computers had always come easy to him. He’d started honing his skills after the fire. There wasn’t much else for a boy whose face looked like a patchwork quilt of lumpy Playdough to do. He could still hear the kids when he’d gone back to school. Every day at recess, they’d call out in singsong voices, “Icky Zwicky. Icky Zwicky. Touch his face, if you dare, it will make you sicky.”
His mother took pity on him after that and home-schooled him. She’d let him spend his free time immersed in computers, probably due to her feelings of guilt over the fire. Still, it had taught him skills to survive in this world without ever having to leave his house where people stared and pointed. As a bonus, he’d amassed a fortune, hacking and selling data right under the noses of local law enforcement.
He ran his fingers down a long, prominent scar on the side of his face. The touch reminded him of his mother, tenderly applying antibiotic cream on his burns. He smiled as thoughts of the most horrific and yet best time in his life came flooding back.
He was eleven and she’d locked him in a closet in their rundown apartment so she could go to the market and be assured he wouldn’t get into mischief. It had been a common practice for her. He’d wanted to go with her to the store, but she told him that since his father had left them, it was one of the few times she could be alone. He understood. He liked time away from her, too. And the closet wasn’t bad. Not with Billy there beside him.
But that day was different. An electrical fire had started in the attic. Advancing rapidly, it had slithered across the ceiling above. He’d panicked, but Billy had kept him calm. Under Billy’s direction, Reginald had pulled down a shirt and tied it around his mouth, then covered his hands with his shoes for protection and huddled in the corner. His clothing—his favorite jeans and shirts on the shelves above—caught fire, falling on him like blazing raindrops. He’d batted the largest pieces away with the shoes, but the fire continued to rain down on him. His head would be a burning mass for brief moments, then he’d find relief after he’d brush the burning material away. But more continued to fall. The pain grew intense. He nearly passed out as smoke filled the space. He could feel his life slipping away. At least the pain would have stopped.
But then he heard the firefighter’s voice. “Fire department. Call out.”
Reginald had screamed, his throat dry and painful as if he’d swallowed a box of razor blades. The door suddenly wrenched open, and he was rushed to the hospital. His mother told the police he must have locked himself in the closet. With her standing over him, he confirmed it. They were skeptical and questioned him alone. But Mother had told him long ago that the authorities would take him away if he told them about her teaching and discipline. So he’d lied, and there was nothing the police could do.
After that, Mother had tended to him. Gently, sweetly singing while caring for his wounds as if he were a newborn babe. Until he’d healed. Then it all stopped, and they resumed the training. Now, here he was, a full-fledged disciple with years of work lying ahead of him. He’d better get going.
He snapped his chair forward and looked at Molly’s credit report. He hoped to track back her movements and see where they might intersect with Lauren. Molly had recently moved back to Portland and had one other address
in Maine, with a reported occupancy date of 2000.
“So you ran all the way to Maine,” he said. “Didn’t you know your flight was futile?”
“Why?” Billy asked. “She already knew you were a loser for letting her and Lauren get away. Why would she think you’d be able to find her in Maine?”
“I’m not a loser,” he shouted at Billy. “She just underestimated my abilities.”
“What abilities?” Billy asked.
“I tracked her down, didn’t I?”
“Um, not really. You found a girl on social media who looked like she needed to be cleansed. Turned out she was Molly’s daughter. I’d say that was more of a coincidence than any skill.”
Reginald ignored Billy and opened a picture of Haley. She was a beautiful girl, just coming into her own. The spitting image of her mother as a teen. She was like Molly in other ways, too. Flashing her picture all over the Internet. Blatantly flirting with boys, with men. All men. Dirty men who would corrupt her. Reginald knew their motives, knew why they wanted to connect with her. He had other ideas, but first, he’d had to deal with Molly.
“It may have been coincidence that I found her, Billy, but what I did with the knowledge was pure genius,” Reginald said and waited for Billy’s comeback.
There was no response.
“You’re quiet because you know I’m right,” Reginald said. “Haley was the perfect bait. What a good mother Molly was. Promising to meet me instead so I’d leave her daughter alone.”
Molly had been so blind. He had no intention of leaving Haley alone. Not with her indecent behavior. She needed him. But Molly hadn’t understood that. Maybe she did now, in the afterlife.
Haley would, too, after Lauren was his, once again. Then he could cleanse Molly’s pretty little Haley and any other girl who flaunted her body on the Internet.
BECCA SUCCEEDED IN quickly reviewing the hard drives, even with her mind wandering to Van Gogh every few minutes. The trick she’d learned as a kid came through for her again. It had worked when her mother was drunk in the next room, the latest man visiting. And it had worked in all of the various foster homes she’d been in, with too many kids and no solitude. She simply used the “five more” rule. Five more minutes of reading. Five more minutes of homework. Five more minutes of reviewing. She could do five minutes. Easy-peezy. Then another five minutes and on and on until she’d completed her task.
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