by Lisa Gardner
“Jacob Ness was here,” Flora spoke up, her voice perfectly toneless. “We met his father today, Walt Davies, and he took us to the abandoned shack where Jacob first held me eight years ago.”
“Walt Davies?” Sheriff Smithers roused himself in disbelief. “He’s Ness’s father?”
“He grows microgreens,” Flora said.
Keith covered her hand with his own.
Kimberly stared at the whiteboard beside her. For the first time, she realized she hadn’t written anything down. Because it was that kind of debriefing. So much information, so little that made any sense.
“Okay, let’s take this point by point. Jacob Ness does have ties to Niche.” Kimberly uncapped the dry-erase marker and wrote Jacob’s name across the top of a column. Then she added Ghost Guests as a column head. Then Mountain Laurel B&B, where she drew multiple lines down for Martha Counsel, Mayor Howard, Male UNSUB, and Cook.
Flora was staring at the table. She didn’t just look ragged, Kimberly realized. She appeared shell-shocked. The adrenaline of her momentous discovery had faded, and now the woman was crashing.
Keith did the honors. “Yes and no. Walt is Ness’s father, but he claims Jacob and his mother disappeared forty years ago. Walt didn’t even know if they were still alive. Then, one night, Jacob shows up in a local tavern and introduces himself to Walt. That was right after Flora’s abduction—so, around eight years ago.”
Kimberly nodded, and added a timeline to the board.
“According to Walt, if Jacob had been in town before then, Walt didn’t know about it.”
“Walt’s a recluse,” the sheriff said.
Kimberly got his point. “Meaning Jacob could’ve been in town before without Walt’s knowledge.”
“Jacob took Walt to where he was holding Flora,” Keith said. “An abandoned cabin in the woods. That’s why no one’s been able to find it before. It’s not a registered property at all.”
Kimberly added abandoned cabin beneath Jacob’s name. She’d never even considered such a thing. But given Keith’s point that Niche was perfectly situated as a distribution point, well, abandoned cabins in the woods would also make excellent meeting sites for handoffs.
“Did Walt know what Ness was driving?”
“An old truck. It had a dump sticker, so a local vehicle.”
Kimberly frowned. Jotted away. “Borrowed or owned?”
“Unknown. Walt claims he objected to what Jacob was doing. He even came back to rescue Flora. But Flora and Ness were already gone.”
Sheriff Smithers spoke up. “You believe him?”
Keith was slower to reply. “I think so. But Walt . . . he’s definitely a character.”
“Did he know anything else about Jacob? Where he’d been for the past forty years, what he’d done?” Kimberly asked.
“Walt claimed they didn’t get into the details. He was too taken aback at seeing his son after all these years to ask many questions.”
“But he was sure Jacob was his son?”
“A man knows his own blood,” Keith said solemnly.
Kimberly glanced at Flora. The woman’s face was completely expressionless, though at least Kimberly now understood why.
“Walt took you to the cabin where Flora had been held.”
Keith nodded.
Kimberly didn’t really need to ask the next question to know the answer. Flora’s face said it all. “And it really was the right place?”
“Shit brown carpet and all,” Flora murmured. She spun her water bottle in her hands.
“Okay.” Kimberly returned to the whiteboard. Though once again, she wasn’t sure what exactly to document. They had a serial predator who’d been in Niche at least eight years ago. Not the same timeline as the four remains they’d discovered, but who was to say Jacob hadn’t been coming and going for years before deciding to personally pay a call to dear old Dad? He’d been born here. He knew Niche, Georgia. They had their first definitive link. Except . . . where did that leave them?
“When we had Ness’s computer last year,” Keith spoke up, “it was clear he was chatting with others on the dark web. A loner in real life, but an online socializer.”
Kimberly waited.
“Maybe one of those contacts was here. Or, given Ness’s interest in porn, there is some kind of clandestine sex ring in this area. Jacob would pay a visit for that.”
“We’re not choosing between a criminal enterprise theory versus a lone predator theory, we’re saying maybe the lone predator was part of the criminal enterprise?”
“Exactly.” Keith beamed.
Kimberly had to hand it to the computer analyst. It wasn’t a bad theory, especially knowing that Jacob had been networking with other predators.
“But I didn’t see anyone else,” Flora whispered. She sighed, seemed to make the effort to pull herself together. “If Jacob had joined a . . . sex ring . . . why didn’t others come to the basement? Why was it always just him?”
Keith shrugged. “Just because Ness was willing to play well with others for some kind of perceived personal gain doesn’t mean he stopped being himself. Or that he was willing to share his own toys.”
“I’m a toy?” Flora asked.
“You’re the woman who destroyed him,” Keith said softly. “You’re the woman he went to his grave sorry he’d kidnapped.”
Something passed between the two of them. Kimberly found herself looking away. Most of the room seemed to share the impulse.
Kimberly found herself studying the sheriff, then Franny again at the back of the room. Both appeared stunned. The scenarios Keith was describing couldn’t possibly be happening in their backyard. She wondered if they would ever get over the shock.
Especially the sheriff. It was his job to know better. And now Kimberly found herself thinking thoughts she didn’t like. All criminal enterprises required protection. The first logical person to buy off—the county sheriff.
But studying Sheriff Smithers, his haggard features, she didn’t want to believe such a thing, even as she knew it was her job to remain suspicious.
This damn case. Everything was going to get worse before it got better.
Kimberly took a deep breath, waited a second, then cleared her throat, calling attention back to her.
“Before we get too far along with unsubstantiated theories,” she counseled, “let’s talk burial sites. What does the ERT have to report?”
Team leader Rachel did the honors. “We finished excavation of the mass grave today. No new discoveries in terms of medical debris, clothing, anything useful, but Dr. Jackson now has all of the skeletal remains for analysis. We were also able to study the walls of the crude grave. It would appear a tool similar to a pickax was used to hack into the ground, digging a shallow trench. Franklin and Howard also continued the search for missing bones from the first grave. They found dozens of small bones. Some of which, according to Dr. Jackson, might actually belong to a rabbit.” Rachel skewered both of her teammates with a glance.
“I am not a forensic anthropologist,” Harold said archly. He turned to Franklin. “Are you a forensic anthropologist?”
“No, sir.”
“There you have it.” Harold sat back, content with his argument.
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Originally, our plan was to return to Atlanta tomorrow. However, one of the reasons for our, um, current appearance, is that on one of Harold’s side trips, he made a discovery. Harold.”
“I can’t be sure,” the lanky fed said cautiously. “It was end of day, we were headed down, and the lighting wasn’t good. We need to return tomorrow for further examination. Depressions can happen naturally in the woods, of course.”
In the front of the room, Kimberly froze. She already knew what Harold was going to say next. And she was just tired and overwhelmed enough to wish he wouldn’t. But of course,
there was nothing she could do about it as Harold straightened slightly, then announced: “It’s possible—probable, actually—that I just found yet another grave.”
CHAPTER 31
D.D.
D.D. WATCHED AS HER NEW charge carefully checked out the motel room. Bonita, still dressed in her maid’s uniform, appeared exhausted but also curious as she hobbled around the space, running her hand across the queen-sized mattress, opening the closet door, playing with the faucets in the bathroom. D.D. had a feeling the cheap brown lodging was nothing compared to the grand guest rooms at the Mountain Laurel B&B. Then again, Bonita had never been allowed to stay in those rooms. She’d slept in a closet in the basement.
Finally, the girl stopped playing with the lamp, inspecting the alarm clock. She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at D.D. expectantly. She had a tilt to her chin. Defiance, D.D. thought. Or sheer determination not to give in to the terror and fatigue that had to be washing over her.
“Okay,” D.D. said out loud. “I guess I get to do the talking for both of us.”
Bonita nodded.
“First order of business. I think we should get you something to wear other than a maid’s uniform.”
Bonita looked down at her pale blue dress, plucked at her skirt.
“It’s late for shopping, and I have no idea where to go anyway. If you don’t mind looking like a detective, I have an extra BPD T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants you can use.”
Bonita simply gazed at her.
“Speaking for both of us, I’m going to say, ‘That’s an excellent plan, D.D.’ Now if only I had real luggage and not just my go bag.”
D.D. rose out of the chair in the corner of Bonita’s room, which was really Keith’s old room, and crossed through the adjoining door to Flora’s former space. Had Keith and Flora left the connecting door open when they’d stayed in neighboring rooms? Somehow, D.D. doubted it. Keith certainly wouldn’t have minded. But Flora? Only time would tell.
D.D. hefted her black travel case onto the bed. She rummaged through till she found a navy-blue T-shirt and gray sweatpants. When she turned, Bonita was standing right beside her.
“Clean clothes. They’ll be a bit big, but better than nothing. Do you want to take a shower, clean up first?”
Bonita didn’t immediately indicate a reply. She took the clothes from D.D., studying them much the way she had studied the room. Whatever was going on in the girl’s head, D.D. had no idea.
Bonita looked up again. Her dark eyes were so huge in her face. Sad, D.D. thought. Or maybe more like resigned. She had gone from the devil she knew to a complete unknown.
“You’re safe,” D.D. said softly. “I promise you.”
The girl turned and walked back into her room. A moment later, D.D. heard the sound of a shower running.
She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and collapsed on the edge of the bed. Okay, shower and clothes. Food sounded like the next logical step. She could order pizza. Who didn’t like pizza? Then bedtime, most likely. Both she and Bonita were running on fumes. And in the morning?
Good God, she had no idea what she was doing.
She unearthed her phone and dialed home. Alex picked up on the second ring.
“How’s it going?” He sounded cheerful, even happy. In the background came barking. Kiko, playing with Jack. The sounds of family. For a moment, a pang of homesickness swept over D.D. She clutched the phone tighter, and was startled to discover tears in her eyes.
“Hey,” she said at last. Her voice came out rough. Her husband wasn’t fooled for a moment.
“That good, huh?”
“We now have a current murder to go with four cold cases. And some mystery man on the run, and a vanished evil cook, not to mention a possibly endangered young woman, and oh yeah, I have a new project. A teenage girl. She can’t speak or read or write. But I think she knows things that are very important. I think, right now, she needs someone she can trust.”
Pause, as Alex absorbed the news. “How can I help?” he asked at last.
“Do you know anyone at the Academy, or from your own days on the job, who might be an expert in interviewing nonverbal minors?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure that category exists. But what if we break it apart? What about an expert in a nonverbal child, or an expert in interviewing children?”
“I think the nonverbal part is the biggest hurdle,” D.D. said. She took a deep breath, released it. This was good. Alex had always been the calm to her storm.
“What about an expert in autism? Aren’t many autistic children nonverbal?”
“She’s not autistic. She suffered some kind of traumatic brain injury when she was young. It left her without communication skills, plus she has a few other physical issues.”
“But nonverbal is nonverbal, right? The cause doesn’t matter. It’s how to bridge the gap.”
“Fair enough.”
“Hang on. I’m Googling.”
D.D. could Google. But it felt nice to sit here and let Alex do it. She heard a crash in the background, then Alex muttering, “Slow down,” to their son. Based on the ensuing noise, no decrease in activity actually happened, which made it just like usual. God she was homesick. When had she, a proud workaholic, become such a sap? But yes, she’d give anything to be with her husband and son right now.
“Picture boards,” Alex announced abruptly. D.D. pulled herself together, hastily wiping at her eyes. “Or really, apps on iPhones and tablets with pictures grouped by category. Skimming quickly, it sounds like some people who can’t recognize or speak words can still identify pictures. So, just because your girl can’t say ‘apple’ doesn’t mean she can’t point at a picture of an apple.”
“Pictures,” D.D. murmured. She closed her eyes, feeling like an idiot. “Of course. She gave me a drawing of the demon. She can communicate with pictures. How do I get one of these apps?”
“You can order them, but the site I’m on wants you to log in as a speech pathologist or something like that. You know what, start with your smartphone. The emojis on the text screen.”
“Which are already grouped by emotion, object, food, animal. Interesting.”
“Then load up on paper and markers. I know you can’t draw.”
D.D. nodded. She didn’t have an artistic bone in her body.
“But maybe she can,” Alex finished.
“That makes sense. At least it will get us started.” She tilted her head, considering. “How do you conduct a forensic interview of a minor utilizing only pictures? First, you have to establish competence. Give me an example of a truth. Give me an example of a lie. Then there’s the matter of not leading the child, meaning I can’t ask yes-or-no questions. Again, how do you do that when pictures are the only form of communication?”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, love. Now you are going to need an expert. But remember, there’re many ways to use witness testimony. Maybe, given the limitations, conducting an interview that meets the highest legal bar of court testimony is impossible. But she’s hardly the first witness who, for whatever reason, can’t. A judge might still be willing to accept yes-or-no answers from a nonverbal witness as adequate grounds for, say, a search warrant. Something of that nature.”
“Which might lead us to evidence we can use in court.” Okay. D.D. was starting to get a plan together in her mind. “How’s the home front?” she asked wistfully, just as another crash sounded in the background.
“Pretty much the same as always,” Alex observed.
“Sorry I’m away for so long.”
“You kidding? Quality time with the wild child? I’ll have you know Jack and I have perfected our burps and moved on to farts. Be glad you’re away.”
“Well, when you put it that way.”
“Sounds like you’re onto something major,” Alex said more quietly.
“I think so. Certainly much more than a single cold case involving a single predator.”
“You have a current murder, you said?”
“Last night.”
“In other words, your investigation is starting to spook someone.”
“I think more than someone. I think someones.” D.D. looked around the room the motel owner hadn’t wanted them to be staying in anymore. For a reason she couldn’t explain, the hair prickled at the back of her neck. “Whatever’s going on here, I think it’s been going on a long time, maybe even longer than fifteen years. And it’s not Jacob Ness. Or at least, not just Jacob Ness. It involves this entire community in one way or another. Town this small, even those who claim they don’t know, know something.”
“They just haven’t wanted to see,” Alex finished for her. “Except now there’s a squad of outsiders, poking the bees’ nest.”
“Exactly.”
“Be careful,” he warned.
“Always.”
“Come home safe.”
“Always.”
“Love you.”
They said their goodbyes. D.D. ended the call. But she still found herself studying the shadows in the corner of the room and shivering.
* * *
—
SHE HATED TO LEAVE BONITA alone in the room. She didn’t want the girl to come out of the bathroom and feel abandoned. But D.D. needed some info, and hopefully supplies, from the reluctant motel owner. She found him seated behind the counter. He appeared to be studying his cell phone, but D.D. was positive he’d registered every sound of her footsteps coming down the hall.
Someone didn’t want the taskforce staying in town. Mayor Howard was in county jail. Which left . . . Bonita’s mystery demon? Someone even higher up the food chain? D.D. was not prone to nerves, but she’d give anything to have Flora’s new toy—that butterfly blade—tucked in her pocket right now.
