Baby Girl Doe (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 5) (23 page)

I spent the morning poring over Baby Girl Doe’s social services records.
She was the girl I believed had grown up to become Camryn Claymore or whatever her real name might have been. According to the records, the child’s name was Raven Gallagher. Raven started her life as a guinea pig, and it only got worse from there. The stars were most certainly out of alignment the day this child was born. Looking through her file, I tried to imagine myself in her place but couldn’t begin to contemplate the misery she had known. She had been orphaned, experimented upon, and raised in a foster home by an appalling human being, a woman who treated her like an animal. It was no wonder she had grown up to become a deviant. There was no doubt in my mind that she was behind my husband’s abduction and the string of murders that was unraveling before my eyes. I made a list of some of the essential individuals in the case, as potentially connected to Raven.

Bill Alden: presumed biological father, dead from poisoning

Celeste Thax: foster parent, dead from poisoning

Alana Moore: victim, dead

Sarah Fisher: victim, missing and now presumed dead

Ray Claymore: true relationship uncertain, dead, car fire

Joshua Dane: relationship uncertain, under investigation

Camryn Claymore: relationship uncertain, under investigation

Margo Atwater: nurse during military testing, under investigation

“Take a look at this list, Herb. I think Joshua Dane and the real Camryn Claymore are dead too. If that’s true then this woman, Raven Gallagher, has killed at least seven people over a period of roughly a dozen years. We should hear something about the last three names on the list within the hour, and I just got approval to test the train victim’s DNA. Smart money says that the victim is Sarah Fisher and not Alana Moore.”

Ambler scanned the list. “Why am I never surprised when I learn about something like this? It’s frightening when you think about how many serial killers there are walking among us that we don’t even know about. Were you able to get a hold of Smote?”

“Not yet. I tried him three times, but the calls go straight to voicemail.”

Ambler grinned. “If he’s anything like you told me, he’s probably with a couple of women getting himself into a heap of trouble.”

“You mean knocking boots?”

“Nothing quite that elegant.”

I smirked.

One of the more surprising details to come out of Raven’s file was that she was twice questioned by Smote in connection with the murder of her foster parent, Celeste Thax, once shortly after Thax’s death and once several years later. Smote wouldn’t have had any reason to bring up this information before, but now with the possibility of an old murder suspect and Camryn Claymore being one and the same . . . I needed to speak with him to find out why he was never able to make a case against her.

It was barely eight a.m. Smote was officially retired and had every right to sleep in, either alone or in the company of anyone over the age of eighteen. He probably turned his phone off when he went to bed, and I can’t say that I blamed him.

Smote had questioned all of the children living in Thax’s foster home at the time of her demise. I read his report twice, and there was no mention of him suspecting Raven more than any of the others girls. There was a note, which referenced an interview with one of Thax’s former foster kids, a girl named Kim Phillips years after the initial investigation. We were in the process of retrieving those records from the archives. It was the old waiting game—anything current would have been available with the click of a button, but older files and cold cases took much longer to retrieve.

Pulaski raced into the room like a bat out of hell. “Here’s the scoop,” he said. He pulled up a chair and sat down without looking at us. His eyes were on a printout he held in his hands. “All right, Joshua Dane, resident of Schuylkill Haven, Pennsylvania. Twenty-one years old with a list of minor offences in various counties in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York. Mostly penny-ante stuff: minor drug possession, disorderly conduct . . . petty theft.” Pulaski rolled his eyes. “Never did any jail time. Some public service though.”

“Sounds like a lost soul,” Ambler said. “A transient.”

“Yeah. Agreed,” Pulaski said. “Next. Camryn Claymore.” He looked at me pointedly. “I think your hunch was right, Chalice. Forty-four years of age. Last known residence, Rego Park, New York. Last tax return filed in 2010. No police record. We called her last known employer, Coldwell Banker Real Estate. They haven’t seen or heard from her in years. They said she just stopped coming to work.” He handed us a DMV printout of Camryn Claymore’s drivers license as it was originally issued. The picture was of a different woman, a woman who appeared much closer to the stated forty-four years of age.

We glanced at each other knowingly. I posed the question, “Burned or poisoned?”

“Poisoned,” Ambler guessed.

Pulaski flipped the page. “I could flip a coin, but I’m going with burned . . . We ran Raiden Claymore and every possible variation of the name. No one living or dead matches.”

“My God, Pulaski, could you please give me something to work with?” I begged.

“Absolutely. Margo Atwater, the nurse who cared for Raven Gallagher, is alive and kicking and lives nearby in Amagansett. She received an honorable discharge from the Air Force and retired with full benefits. No criminal record.”

“I’ll take that one.” I stood and grabbed my bag. “Address? Phone?”

Pulaski handed me the printout with her information on it.

“Can you do some additional looking into Camryn Claymore and Joshua Dane?”

“I’ll see if I can track them down,” Pulaski said.

I turned to Ambler and raised my eyebrows, asking silently,
And you?

“Camp Hero,” he said. “I’ll get a status on the search for Gus. It’s a massive complex. I hope they’re coordinating the search efficiently.”

I was so focused on solving the case that for a short time I had lost sight of the real mission, recovering Gus. I felt an ache in my chest. “Thanks, Herb. Keep me posted, okay?”

“You bet,” Ambler said, and with that, we all went our separate ways.

“Ms. Atwater? Margo Atwater?”
The woman who answered the door looked to be in her sixties. Her hair was short and dyed in a pinkish hue—likely not purposely chosen. She wore a polo shirt and Capri pants. “I’m Detective Stephanie Chalice. I called.”

“You’re the wife, aren’t you?”

“Yes. It’s my husband Gus who’s gone missing. Can I come in?”

“Well, of course.” Margo said pleasantly and stepped aside for me to enter. “I don’t know how I can help you, but . . . Can I get you something to drink?”

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

She closed the door and led me to the kitchen table. “Are you sure, dear? I make a wicked sweet tea.”

“Tempting but no thanks.”

“Well then, just how do you think I can help you? I don’t see how I’d—”

“Tell me about Raven Gallagher, Ms. Atwater.”

“Raven?” Margo’s mouth opened wide, and I could see that she was searching way back in her memory. Her mouth tightened suddenly, and she reached across the table for a box of tissues. “Why?”

“I know it might be tough for you to make the connection, but there’s a possibility that Raven is one of the persons of interest in my husband’s abduction.”

“No,” she said as if to correct me. “The news mentioned two women, but neither was named Raven.”

“These women might not be using their real names. Please, Ms. Atwater, I need to know everything you can tell me about Raven, and I need to know right now.”

“Oh. Okay. Where should I begin?”

“With Bill Alden. Start there.”

“Bill?” A tear ran down her cheek. “I hope he’s all right. That poor man.”

I wanted to tell her that Alden was dead and likely murdered, but I knew she would’ve gone to pieces, so I bit my tongue. “Tell me what you know . . . please.”

“Do you know about the program that was going on at the Montauk Air Force Base?”

“I’ve been briefed. I spoke with Frank Prescott last night.”

“Frank.” Her eyes glazed over. “How is he?” she asked in a detached manner.

“He appears to be well. Now please, you were telling me about Bill Alden.”

“I met Bill when he joined the program. He was a nice man, but he was always so sad. I’d see him in the hallways and in the testing rooms, and you could just see that he was hurting. I didn’t know if he was always like that or if it was the toll the testing had taken on him. A lot of the subjects couldn’t handle the strain of the experiments and would drop out suddenly.”

Margo paused and her expression brightened. “And then his wife got pregnant and everything changed. He began to walk around with a smile, and he’d stop to make conversation. He was so happy about becoming a father. He was on cloud nine.” Her eyes began to drift. She seemed to be going to another place in her mind, and then her throat tightened. “That only lasted about six months.” She looked into my eyes. “You heard what happened, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

She shook her head sadly. “Tragic, so terribly tragic. He never recovered from the death of his wife and son. It’s an awful thing to say, but he was like the walking dead. The only time he was happy was when he stopped by to see his little girl. I wasn’t supposed to know she was his, but I knew. I figured it out.” She paused, letting loose a deep sigh. “Can you imagine living for those few precious minutes a day when you could see your child?”

“Did he ever tell you why he gave her up?”

“No, but he didn’t have to say. He was a mess, widowed and bereft of his son. The program took a terrible toll on him: terrible headaches, internal bleeding, nausea, and vomiting . . . insomnia too. Especially after Frank Prescott retired. The man who replaced him, Kleeb, was a cruel son of a bitch. He’d do anything he wanted to the subjects. Poor Bill was in a coma when—”

I took Margo’s hands. “When Raven was put into a foster home?”

She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “I tried to stop it. I even thought about adopting her but Kleeb threatened to bring me up on charges of insubordination. I don’t know where that man is today, but I hope he’s burning in hell. He never brought any charges against me but from that day on he made my life a living hell.” She drifted again. “Poor Bill, so sad, so loyal—I don’t think he ever knew that little girl wasn’t his.”

“What?”
My mouth flapped open in disbelief.

Margo nodded. “I don’t think he was the father. He and his wife had tried to conceive for years and years. You think it was a miracle she got pregnant after all that time, and with twins no less? We’re talking almost thirty years ago. Today they can make just about anyone get pregnant, but back then . . . I think that’s why the Lord took her life. Poetic justice, isn’t that what they call it?”

I thought about the bent forks and spoons—Raven had to be his daughter. “I’m not sure you’re right. You think she had an affair?”

“Yes,” she said confidently. “I suspected that she did. I loved that little girl, but when I looked into her eyes, I could see who her real daddy was.”

“Who?” I said as I heard a knock at the front door. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No. I wonder who it is.” She seemed surprised as she stood, walked to the front door, and pushed aside the curtain that framed it. “Frank?” she exclaimed with shock. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. Frank Prescott was standing on the other side.

Frank Prescott looked more surprised to see me than Margo was to see him and far less happy about my unexpected presence in her home.
His head dropped the moment we made eye contact.

His visit also took me completely by surprise. It occurred to me that something said during the previous night’s meeting must have prompted his visit to Margo’s home. But exactly what? I smiled to break the ice. “Colonel Prescott, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

He smiled back, feebly.

There was something off in Margo’s expression as well. I assumed that she would’ve been delighted to see her old acquaintance, but that seemed hardly the case.

“Frank,” she said “What a wonderful surprise,” but reading between the lines her greeting translated more like,
What are you doing here?

“Can’t I drop in on an old friend?” It was a good extemporaneous cover-up story but far from the truth.

“Come in and sit down,” Margo said. “I understand you’ve met Detective Chalice.”

“Yes. I—” Prescott froze dead in his tracks. We were still standing in the foyer with the door open when his face took on a grave countenance. “No. No games.” He turned to Margo. “Did you tell her?”

I had a good idea about what he was going to say. “No. She didn’t tell me anything, Colonel. I’d rather hear it from you.”

We continued into the kitchen where the three of us sat down at the table. “I’m the woman’s father,” he said courageously, “this Camryn Claymore you’re looking for. I was up all last night thinking about it—it’s got to be true.” He turned to Margo with somber eyes. “This is what happens when you don’t tell the truth the first time around.” He swallowed with difficulty and turned back toward me. “Raven Gallagher is my daughter. Gallagher was Caitlin Alden’s maiden name. After I took her into the program I named her Raven because I knew that it was the name her mother had picked for her. Bill made the same request of me but it was redundant. I’ve tried to forget my sin most every day for decades, but I just can’t, and now . . .” He broke down and was on the verge of tears. “This is what happens when you’re weak.”

Prescott certainly wasn’t the first man to ever commit adultery, but after last night’s conversation with Pulaski and me, he couldn’t deny the truth that Camryn Claymore and Raven Gallagher were the same person, the person suspected of multiple homicides and the abduction of a New York City detective. Prescott had engaged in an affair with Caitlin Alden, an affair that led to her death and the death of his infant son, an affair that gave life to a child who had been abused and mistreated her entire life. That reality carried devastating weight, and I could see that Prescott was succumbing beneath its crushing force.

“I have a question.” A spoon was lying on the kitchen table. I picked it up, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. “I found several bent forks and spoons in Raven’s kitchen, and I found a bent fork at Bill Alden’s home.” The spoon suddenly felt malleable in my hands. I watched to see if it would bend but wasn’t quite sure if it did or didn’t. I looked up to see Prescott staring at it with great concentration. The spoon felt weird between my fingers so I released it and let it clatter onto the table. “You too?”

Prescott nodded. He had a sad expression on his face. “That’s why I began studying psychokinetics in the first place. It’s no surprise that my daughter is able to do it as well.”

I had connected Raven with Bill Alden because of their rare gift, but I had assumed too much. The gift was so extremely rare . . . how could I have guessed that Prescott shared the same talent?

“Why, Frank?” Margo asked. “That little girl looked just like you. Why didn’t you come forward and fight for that child? I almost adopted her myself just to get her away from that dreadful foster woman, but the courts dragged it out forever and I couldn’t afford to keep going with it. How could you let her undergo testing for the military? How could you let her go into that awful foster home? Bill couldn’t take care of her. He was hospitalized and in a coma. When he finally came out of it he was more of a zombie than a man. He couldn’t take care of himself, let alone fight a battle to rescue his daughter.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “You saw her almost every day for two years. You knew she was yours and yet you let Bill believe she was his daughter. She had your eyes.”

Trembling, Margo continued, “Is that why you retired at the very first opportunity you had? What happened? You just couldn’t bear to look at her anymore, could you? After you left, that monster Kleeb was unstoppable. He treated the test subjects like animals. That’s why Bill lost his mind.” Her voice modulated and was no longer controlled. “You left and turned your back on both of them. How could you?” she screamed. “How could you? I thought you were a decent man but—” She began to sob uncontrollably.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Prescott explained, pleading with Margo. “Yes, I had an affair with his wife but . . . Bill was so fragile. I thought he would’ve killed himself if he knew his wife had been unfaithful. I watched them both—Raven and Bill—every day. I couldn’t decide if it was better to rescue my daughter or save my friend.” He shrugged. “So I did nothing,” he lamented.

I went to the sink and filled two glasses of water. I needed more information from both of them, and I needed them to calm down so that we could get back to work. But when I turned around . . .