Web of Secrets (Agents Under Fire) (14 page)

“And if dental doesn’t pan out?” Becca asked.

“We can most likely extract DNA from the bones or hair. If the girl is in CODIS, then we’ll have an ID.”

Becca was glad they had the option of searching the national DNA database, but the only way the girls would be in there was if they’d been convicted of a crime serious enough to warrant the cost of DNA processing, or if they were a victim of a crime involving DNA. “The odds of that are slim, though.”

“True,” Dr. Williams said. “We can also analyze their hair to determine the part of the country where they’ve most recently been living and that would allow you to better search for missing girls outside our immediate area.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Becca said. “How does it work?”

“Basically, everything we eat or drink ends up in our tissues, and hair is no exception. It’s like a linear tape recorder and acts as a timeline of where we went and when we were there. Recent developments allow us to narrow down regions of the country based on water. So, if one of these girls is from outside our immediate area, we can discover that through her hair. But another caution. This technology is new, not widely used, and it’s pricey. I can call in a favor and try to get the test done for free. If not, cost will make it a last resort.”

“Interesting stuff, Doc,” Connor said enthusiastically.

She nodded. “And of course, we can test for drugs, hair dye, etc., in the hair as well. It won’t give us an ID, but it will help us determine manner of death.”

“And if none of this works?” Becca asked.

Dr. Williams looked at the girl again. “Facial reconstruction is a possibility. We could have a forensic artist recreate their face in clay, then make a sketch that we could publicize. If we have any calls, we can then use dental records to make a positive ID.”

“All of that will take time.”

“Yes. Weeks. Maybe months. But I do have some good news for you, too. We can easily ID Jane Two.”

“How?” Becca asked, excitement starting to build.

“Let’s head back over there, and I’ll show you.”

They stepped past the curious students and stopped by Two.

“Of these three, I venture to say she has been here the shortest amount of time. And”—Dr. Williams dropped to her knees—“she has something the others don’t.” She pointed at a shiny object.

“She had a knee replacement?” Becca’s voice shot up.

“Yes, and before you ask,” Dr. Williams continued. “It’s very odd for a young girl to have an implant like this. But she has signs of inflammatory bone erosion, so I suspect she had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. The important thing here, though, is that the medical device is registered. I’ve given Marcie the information so she can call and find out the girl’s identity.”

“Talk about burying the lead, Doc.” Connor smiled.

His shifted his gaze to Becca, and she felt the same satisfaction that was displayed on his face, but she tamped it down. There was nothing good about how these poor girls died.

Still, they were going to find out who this girl was. That was a start. But there were still three other girls to identity and potentially three more from the nineties that they needed to locate before the investigation was over. And one of them could be Molly.

Chapter Fifteen

WHAT A GOOD IDEA. A perfectly wonderful idea. What better way for Reginald to determine if he should call the police about Molly’s body than to watch them at the trail. To snap pictures of them coming and going like little worker ants from the trailhead and see if he could learn anything about their investigation.

He heard voices in the distance. A woman’s and a man’s. The woman’s voice danced around his brain, searching for recognition. He zoomed his camera in and waited to see the face that went with the melodic voice.

She stepped into view. His camera auto-focused and the image cleared. He fell back in shock. Could it be? Yes!

He sat up straight. Zoomed in closer. His heart fluttered. It
was
her. Lauren.

“Like it’d be that easy,” Billy said. “This nonstop focus on finding her has you imagining it.”

Had he imagined it? He blinked hard and stared. She stopped to talk to the police officer, and Reginald zoomed in tight on her nose. There, at the bridge. The tiniest of bumps where she’d fractured her nose as a kid.

Praise, be, it was her. Lauren!

He started snapping shots, his finger pressing as if his life depended on the speed. A shot every second maybe more. His mind raced. What was she doing here? Had the police brought her in to consult on the case?

He studied each and every inch of her. Tall. Muscular. Lovely long hair. Eyes, those whiskey-brown eyes he remembered so well. He wished she’d focus on his area so he could see them even better.

Oh, happy day. She was back. He found her. He really had.

“Mother, do you see? It’s her. Lauren,” he whispered.

“You fool,” Billy said. “Getting so excited when it could just be a girl with a broken nose.”

“No,” he whispered. “I know her voice. Her movements. I know her!”

She turned, and his mouth dropped open. She wore a navy windbreaker with FBI in big bold yellow letters across the back. Was she an agent? Had his little Lauren gone into law enforcement? No. The guy she was with must have lent it to her. But wait, he had a PPB crest on his jacket.

“Thanks a lot, Agent Lange,” the uniformed cop said as he shook her hand. “I appreciate it.”

Agent Lange. Her name was Lange. She was an agent. He wanted to lurch from his hiding spot. Run to her, hold her, and question her all at the same time. But he couldn’t give himself away. He couldn’t even risk following her. Oh, but it was so hard not to.

He would go home. Let his fingers do the work for him. He’d search the Internet, scour it, actually. Do everything he had to do to prove that fine-looking woman strolling toward a black SUV was Lauren.
His
Lauren. If ever he needed his best hacking skills, this was the time.

Hold on, Lauren. Hold on.
He blew a kiss in her direction.
I’m coming to rescue you.

“I’M SO OUT OF MY element here,” Connor said, as he swung his truck into the Medical Examiner’s parking lot. “Usually we have a time and cause of death, as well as the vic’s ID by now, so we can move forward. But it just seems like we’re in limbo, waiting for bone analysis and soil tests to get started.”

“We can only work the leads we find.”

He swiveled to look at her. “You seem awfully complacent about this.”

She arched a brow. “Trust me, no one wants Van Gogh found more than I do. But we have to accept that the science in this case is going to take some time. Maybe Marcie will be able to gives us Jane Doe Two’s name and we can work on that lead.”

He wanted to believe her, but there was an underlying tension that made him question if she really was dealing with this as well as she professed. “You’re right. Hopefully Marcie will have something actionable for us.”

They got out of his truck and didn’t speak as they walked inside. Maybe Becca was thinking about the graves. He sure was. He’d seen death before—many times—but he’d never seen a body reduced to bones. Three young girls, their black eye sockets staring up at him and imploring him to find their killer.

He stifled a shudder and held the door for Becca. She stopped for a moment, then squeezed his hand.

“We’re smarter than Van Gogh, and we’ll catch him.” She peered up at him, her eyes soft with sympathy and understanding.

Never had he wanted to draw a woman into his arms as much as he did at this moment, even more than at the crime scene yesterday. He wanted to forget about the time. Forget about the place, about the horror they’d witnessed, and pull her close. Right there on the main steps of the ME’s office.

“Connor.” Marcie’s voice came from the lobby breaking the moment. “And Becca.” She looked from one to the other then got a big smile on her face. “Of course. Why didn’t I see it before?”

“Excuse me,” Connor said. “See what?”

“You two are perfect for each other. Straight-laced goal-setting Becca with fun-loving Connor. You two balance each other perfectly.”

Connor’s mouth dropped open, and Marcie’s smile widened. She linked her arm in Becca’s and started through the lobby. Connor vaguely heard them chatting, but he was too focused on the way Becca moved to listen. He’d always been interested in her, but right now, he had a heightened sense of the fluidity of her body. An athlete, she didn’t waste a single movement. Her legs were toned and firm, the pumps with spiked heels making them look even more so.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, too, Connor?” Marcie asked as she glanced over her shoulder.

Connor pulled his gaze free and nodded. “Coffee would be good.”

They swung through a breakroom, and Connor grabbed a cup then loaded it with sugar and cream. Becca took hers black. They both sipped as they walked.

Marcie was right—they
were
opposites. He knew people always said that opposites attracted, but back when he’d been a patrol officer, he’d seen those opposing qualities cause a
lot
of intense drama. Someone always got hurt. So he’d tried to date women with like-minded thoughts, ones who’d been comfortable and compatible. Women like Gillian.

Is that what you want in life? Comfort? Or do you want the fire that a life with Becca could offer?

Besides, being comfortable with Gillian had simply made it easier for her to cheat on him. Maybe she was bored. He didn’t know. He’d never given her a chance to explain. Instead, he’d just broken off their engagement.

They entered Marcie’s office, and Becca crossed those long, long legs. He ran his gaze from the shiny black pump dangling from her foot, up the toned calf to the hem of her skirt. Perfection. He glanced at her face. She continued to sip her coffee and was oblivious to his watchfulness. She was having no trouble focusing. Why couldn’t he?

Get your mind back in the game, man.

He straddled a chair and put his gaze squarely on Marcie. “So you’ve completed Jane Doe’s autopsy?”

Marcie nodded then scowled. “Since I know your first question will be cause of death, I’ll start by telling you that she was strangled. The ligature marks indicate he used wire.”

Connor saw Becca wince.

“Just like the girl from the nineties. Is the time of death still the same range you noted at the site?” Connor asked.

“I’ve narrowed it down, and I’d estimate three days. I’d like to give you a more exact date and time, but with the body having been buried, everything changes.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. Marcie was usually unflappable, but Connor knew her well enough to know something about this girl’s death had hit her hard.

“Have you found anything to provide an ID on that older case, yet?” Marcie asked them, changing the direction of the conversation.

Connor shook his head.

“Maybe I can help with both of them, then,” Marcie said. “I’ll request the records from her autopsy and compare them with this one to see if there are any additional similarities.”

“How long will that take?” Becca asked.

“We didn’t keep computer records sixteen years ago, so the files will have to be pulled from storage. I’ll put Tim on it. If he’s his usual acerbic self over there, they’ll bump up the request just to get rid of him.” She laughed, but it was forced.

Connor forced an equally unfelt smile. “We just came from the scene where Dr. Williams filled us in on the other girls. You’ll continue to coordinate with her, right?”

“Yes. If I thought I could be helpful, I’d be right there digging alongside her.” She reached for another folder. “The good news is that I was able to obtain an ID on the girl with the knee implant.” She slid the folder to Connor.

He scanned down the report. “Allie Fields. Age fifteen. She lived on the east side near Westmoreland.”

He pulled his crime-scene sketch from his notes and jotted Allie’s name on the grave where they’d located her. The act seemed so final, as if he was sealing the poor girl’s fate. But he hadn’t. That was sealed the day she’d gone missing.

BECCA TOOK THE sidewalk to the Fields’s pricey home and rang the doorbell, then stood back. As the lead on this investigation, Connor would handle the death notification. As far as Becca was concerned, that was a good thing. She was too involved in this case to do it. Besides, she had no experience in delivering such difficult news.

A regal woman with graying hair pulled back into a bun opened the door. “Can I help you?”

“Mrs. Fields?” Connor asked.

“Yes.”

He took out his shield and displayed it.

“Oh . . . oh . . . oh no. This is about Allie, isn’t it? Is she?”

“Her remains were located yesterday. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Connor’s words sounded harsh, but Becca knew the first thing an officer learned in making a death notification call was to let the person know right up front that their loved one had died, so they didn’t hold out hope.

A strangled cry came from Mrs. Fields’s mouth, and she wobbled. Becca gripped the woman’s elbow and steadied her with an arm around her back.

“Can we come in and ask you a few questions?” Becca asked, mainly so she could help this poor woman sit down before she collapsed.

Allie’s foster mother nodded half-heartedly, her eyes glazed with pain and anguish. She was already in a state of shock. Becca escorted her through an open foyer with expensive furnishings to a large family room with colorful designer touches. Becca felt as if she’d been teleported into one of Nina’s decorator magazines.

Mrs. Fields sat on the edge of the gray sofa, her back straight, her manicured hands clasped in her lap. “Where are my manners? Can I get you anything to drink?”

Her reaction might have seemed odd to some people, but it made perfect sense to Becca. The woman was obviously close to a breakdown, but falling back into her comfort zone by offering refreshments kept her from losing it.

“No, thank you.” Becca sat across from Mrs. Fields. “When was the last time you saw Allie?”

“Five months ago,” she said, the tears coming faster now. “We had a fight. We’d discovered she’d been using drugs. For some time, actually. She had juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, and she said the drugs were the only thing that relieved her pain. I believed her, but my husband Fred didn’t. He gave her an ultimatum. Check in to rehab or leave. I thought he was being too harsh, but that’s Fred. He’s a cut-and-dried no-nonsense kind of guy. He thought I let Allie get away with too much because of her health issues. So he put his foot down.” She turned and looked at the foyer. “The last time I saw her, she was walking out that door. She never came back. Never will come back.” Mrs. Fields broke down sobbing, and her gaze darted about the room.

Becca pulled out the tissue packet she’d thought to add to her pocket and handed it to her.

“I didn’t tell Fred, but I tried to look for her.” The woman fumbled with the packet and finally freed a tissue to dab at her eyes, smearing her mascara. “A couple of street kids in Portland recognized her, but I never found her.” She looked back at Connor. “I suppose she overdosed.”

“We’re still looking into drug use,” Connor said vaguely. “But I’m sorry to tell you, we believe she was murdered.”

“Murdered?” She wrapped her arms around her waist and started rocking. “Oh, no. No. No. No. My poor, sweet baby.” Her gaze flew to Connor’s. “Did she suffer? Please tell me she didn’t suffer. With her health issues, she already had so much pain and suffering in her life. ”

Becca knew Connor couldn’t offer such an assurance, so she jumped in before he had to tell the distraught mother the truth. “How long was Allie gone before you reported her missing?”

“Gone?” She looked startled, as if she hadn’t remembered Becca was in the room. “I wanted to call when she didn’t come home that first night.” A soft smile played on her face then evaporated. “I remember when she ran away as a child. She’d just come to live with us as our first foster child.”

“Was she still in the foster system or did you adopt her?” Becca asked.

“Her mother wouldn’t allow adoption, so we were never able to do so.” She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. “But we’ve had her since she was four, so she’s more ours than hers. Now she’s . . .” She wrenched her hands together and looked so lost.

“Do you have other foster children?” Connor asked.

She shook her head and relaxed her fingers. “After Allie was diagnosed with JRA, we knew she’d need special care, so we decided to direct all of our efforts to her.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Connor said. “Why foster, when you could have adopted?”