by Karen Rose
“Just today.” It was supposed to have been tomorrow, but having been away for two weeks, Daniel was next in the barrel for an assignment. When this call had come in, his boss had called him back in early. He stuck out his hand to the sheriff. “Sheriff Corchran, I’m Special Agent Vartanian, GBI. We’ll provide any support you request.”
The sheriff’s eyes widened as he shook Daniel’s hand. “Any relation to . . . ?”
God help me, yes. He made himself smile. “I’m afraid so.”
Corchran studied him shrewdly. “You ready to be back?”
No. Daniel kept his voice level. “Yes. If it’s a problem, I can request someone else.”
Corchran seemed to consider it and Daniel waited, keeping his temper carefully locked down. It wasn’t right, wasn’t fair, but being judged by his family’s deeds was his reality. Finally Corchran shook his head. “No, you don’t need to do that. We’re good.”
Daniel’s temper settled and again he made himself smile. “Good. So can you tell me what happened? Who discovered the body and when?”
“Today was our annual Cycle Challenge and this road is part of the course. One of the cyclists noticed the blanket. He didn’t want to lose the race, so he called 911 and kept cycling. I have him waiting at the finish line if you need to talk to him.”
“I’ll want to talk to him, yes. Did anyone else stop?”
“No, we got lucky,” Ed Randall said. “We had an undisturbed scene when we got here and no crowd watching—they were all at the finish line.”
“That doesn’t happen very often. Who was first on the scene from your department, Sheriff?” Daniel asked.
“Larkin. He lifted only a corner of the blanket to see her face.” Corchran’s stony face flinched, a telling sign. “I immediately called you guys. We don’t have the resources to investigate a scene like this.”
Daniel acknowledged the final statement with a nod. He appreciated sheriffs like Corchran who were willing to bring in the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. So many were territorial, viewing any GBI involvement as . . . a swarm of locusts descending on their town. Yes, that’s how the sheriff of Daniel’s hometown had put it only two weeks ago. “We’ll work with you in whatever capacity you choose, Sheriff.”
“For now, take it all,” Corchran said. “My department is at your disposal.” His jaw squared. “We haven’t had a murder in Arcadia in the ten years since I’ve been in office. We want to see whoever did that go away for a long time.”
“We do, too.” Daniel turned to Ed. “So what do you know?”
“She was killed somewhere else and dumped here. Her body was found wrapped in a brown blanket.”
“Like a shroud,” Daniel murmured and Ed nodded.
“Just like. The blanket appears to be new, it’s some wool blend. Her face was beaten badly and there was bruising around her mouth. The ME can give you more on that. There’s no sign of struggle down there and no footprints up or down the slope.”
Daniel frowned and looked down into the ditch. It was a drainage ditch and the water ran down to the storm sewer about a hundred yards away. The sides were smooth mud. “Then he must have walked through the water to the storm sewer, then up to the road.” He considered it a moment. “This bike race. Was it widely publicized?”
Corchran nodded. “This is a big fund-raiser for the local youth clubs, so the boosters put flyers in towns fifty miles away. Besides, we’ve had this race on the last Sunday in January for more than ten years. We get bikers from up north who want to ride where it’s warmer. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“Then he wanted her to be found,” Daniel said.
“Daniel.” The ME techs came over the crime scene tape. One of them went straight to their rig and the other stopped next to Ed. “Good to see you back.”
“Good to be back, Malcolm. What do you know?”
Malcolm Zuckerman stretched his back. “That it’s going to be fun getting the body out of that ditch. The incline’s steep and the mud’s slick. Trey’s gonna jerry-rig a crane.”
“Malcolm,” Daniel said with exaggerated patience. Malcolm was always complaining about his back or weather conditions or something. “What do you know about the victim?”
“Female, Caucasian, mid-twenties most likely. She’s been dead about two days. Cause of death appears to be asphyxiation. Bruising on her buttocks and inner thighs indicates sexual assault. Her face has been beaten with a blunt object. Don’t know what yet, but it caused significant damage to her facial structure. Nose, cheekbones, jaw are all broken.” He frowned. “The beating of her face may have been postmortem.”
Daniel lifted a brow. “So he wanted her to be found, but not identified.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’. I’m betting we won’t find her prints in the system. There is a pattern of bruises to the side of her mouth, could be from her assailant’s fingers.”
“He held his hand over her mouth until she smothered,” Corchran muttered, his jaw clenched. “Then pounded her face to pulp. Sonofabitch.”
“That’s what it looks like,” Malcolm said, sympathy in his voice, but a weariness in his eyes Daniel more than understood. Too many bodies, too many sonsofbitches. “We’ll get more once the doc does the examination. You done with me, Danny?”
“Yeah. Call me when you do the autopsy. I want to be there.”
Malcolm shrugged. “Suit yourself. Doc Berg will probably start after Three-M.”
“What’s Three-M?” Corchran asked as Malcolm went back to the ME rig to wait.
“Morgue morning meeting,” Daniel told him. “That means Dr. Berg will probably start the autopsy at nine-thirty or ten. You’re welcome if you want to watch.”
Corchran swallowed. “Thanks. I will if I can.”
Corchran looked a little green and Daniel didn’t blame him. It wasn’t easy to watch the MEs do their thing. The sound of the bone saws still made Daniel queasy after years of autopsies. “That’s fine. What else, Ed?”
“We got shots of all the area around the body and on both sides of the ditch,” Ed said. “Video and still. We’ll search this side of the ditch first so Malcolm won’t destroy anything getting her out of here, then we’ll set up the lights and search the rest.” He waved at his team and they headed over the tape. Ed started to follow, then hesitated before drawing Daniel aside. “I’m sorry about your parents, Daniel,” he said quietly. “I know there’s nothing I can say. I just wanted you to know.”
Daniel dropped his eyes to the ground, caught off balance. Ed was sorry Arthur and Connie Vartanian were dead. Daniel wasn’t sure he could be. Some days Daniel wasn’t sure his parents hadn’t brought a large measure of their doom on themselves. Simon had been evil, but his parents had enabled his brother, in their own way.
The people Daniel felt truly sorry for were Simon’s other victims. Still . . . Arthur and Connie had been his parents. He could still see them lying in the Philadelphia morgue, dead at the hand of their own son. That hideous picture mixed in with all the others that haunted him, awake or asleep. So much death. So many lives destroyed. Ripples.
Daniel cleared his throat. “I saw you at the funeral. Thanks, Ed. It meant a lot.”
“If you need anything, you know where to call.” Ed gave Daniel’s shoulder a hard clap, then followed his team. Daniel turned back to Corchran, who’d been watching.
“Sheriff, I’d like to talk to Officer Larkin and have him take me down to the body the same way he approached earlier. I know he’ll do a thorough report, but I’d like to get his memory and impressions straight from him.”
“Sure. He’s stationed down the road, keeping curiosity seekers back.” Corchran radioed Larkin and in less than five minutes the officer had joined them. Larkin’s face was still a little pale, but his eyes were clear. In his hand he held a piece of paper.
“My report, Agent Vartanian. But there is one other thing. I just remembered it when I was driving back here. There was a murder just like this not far from here.”
Corchran’s brows shot up. “Where? When?”
“Before you got here,” Larkin replied. “It was thirteen years ago this April. A girl was found in a ditch just like this. She was wrapped in a brown blanket, and she’d been raped and suffocated.” He swallowed. “And her face had been beaten in, just like this.”
Daniel felt a chill race down his spine. “You seem to remember it clearly, Officer.”
Larkin looked pained. “The girl was sixteen, same age as my own daughter at the time. I don’t remember the girl’s name, but it happened outside of Dutton, which is about twenty-five miles east of here.”
The chill spread and Daniel clenched his body against a shiver. “I know where Dutton is,” he said. He knew Dutton well. He’d walked its streets, shopped in its stores, played Little League on its team. He also knew that evil had lived in Dutton and had borne the Vartanian name. Dutton, Georgia, was Daniel Vartanian’s hometown.
Larkin nodded as he put Daniel’s name with current events. “I expect you do.”
“Thank you, Officer,” Daniel said, managing to keep his voice level. “I’ll look into it as soon as possible. For now, let’s go take a look at Jane Doe.”
Dutton, Georgia, Sunday, January 28, 9:05 p.m.
Alex closed the bedroom door, then leaned against it, drained. “She’s finally asleep,” she murmured to her cousin Meredith, who sat on the sofa in the adjoining sitting room of Alex’s hotel room.
Meredith looked up from her study of the pages and pages of the coloring books four-year-old Hope Crighton had filled since Alex had taken custody of her niece from the social worker thirty-six hours before. “Then we need to talk,” she said softly.
There was concern in Meredith’s eyes. Coming from a pediatric psychologist who specialized in emotionally traumatized children, this only intensified Alex’s dread.
Alex sat down. “I appreciate you coming. I know you’re busy with your patients.”
“I can get someone to take care of my patients for a day or two. I would have been here yesterday had you told me you were coming, because I would have been sitting on the plane right next to you.” There was frustration and hurt in Meredith’s voice. “What were you thinking, Alex? Coming down here all by yourself. Of all places . . . here.”
Here. Dutton, Georgia. The name made Alex’s stomach churn. It was the last place she’d ever wanted to come back to. But the churning in her stomach was nothing compared to the fear she’d felt when she’d first looked into Hope’s blank gray eyes.
“I don’t know,” Alex admitted. “I should have known better. But Mer, I had no idea it would be this bad, but it is as bad as I think, isn’t it?”
“From what I’ve seen in the last three hours? Yes. Whether her traumatizing event was waking up to find her mother gone on Friday or the years that came before that, I can’t say. I don’t know what Hope was like before Bailey disappeared.” Meredith frowned. “But she’s nothing like I expected her to be.”
“I know. I’d prepared myself for a dirty, malnourished child. I mean, the last time I saw Bailey, she was really bad, Meredith. High and dirty. Track marks on both arms. I’ve always wondered if I could have done something more.”
Meredith lifted an auburn brow. “So here you are?”
“No. Well, maybe it started that way, but as soon as I saw Hope, all that changed.” She thought of the little girl with the golden curls and Botticelli angel face. And empty gray eyes. “I thought for a moment they’d brought me the wrong child. She’s clean and well-fed. Her clothes and shoes were like new.”
“The social worker would have given her clean clothes and shoes.”
“Those were the clothes the social worker took from Hope’s preschool. Hope’s teacher said Bailey always kept a clean set in Hope’s cubby. They said Bailey was a good mom, Mer. They were shocked when the social worker told them Bailey had disappeared. The school director said Bailey would never leave Hope alone like that.”
Meredith lifted her brows. “Does she suspect foul play?”
“Yeah, the preschool director did. She told that to the cops.”
“So what do the cops say?”
Alex clenched her teeth. “That they’re following every lead, but that junkies disappear every day. It was a standard ‘leave us alone’ response. I couldn’t get anywhere with them on the phone. They just ignored me. She’s been gone three days and they haven’t declared her a missing person yet.”
“Junkies do disappear, Alex.”
“I know that. But why would the preschool director lie?”
“Maybe she didn’t. Maybe Bailey was a good actress or maybe she had a good spell of sobriety but went back on the juice. For now, let’s focus on Hope. You said the social worker told you she’d been coloring all night?”
“Yes. Nancy Barker, she’s the social worker, said it was all Hope had done since they’d taken her from the closet.” The closet in Bailey’s house. Panic began to well, as it did every time she thought of that house. “Bailey still lives there.”
Meredith’s eyes widened. “Really? I thought it would have been sold years ago.”
“No. I checked the property records online. The deed’s still in Craig’s name.” The pressure in Alex’s chest increased and she closed her eyes, focusing on quieting her mind. Meredith’s hand closed over hers and squeezed.
“You okay, kid?”
“Yeah.” Alex shook herself. “Stupid, these panic attacks. I should be past this.”
“Because you’re superhuman,” Meredith said blandly. “This place was the site of the worst disaster of your life, so stop beating yourself up for being all too human, Alex.”
Alex shrugged, then frowned. “Nancy Barker said the house was a mess, piles of trash on the floor. The mattresses were old and torn. There was rotten food in the fridge.”
“That I would expect from a junkie’s house.”
“Yes, but they found no clothes for Hope or Bailey. None. Clean or dirty.”
Meredith frowned. “Based on what the preschool said, that is surprising.” She hesitated. “Did you go to the house?”
“No.” The word shot from Alex’s lips like the crack of a bullet. “No,” she said more evenly. “I haven’t. Yet.”
“When you do, I’ll go with you. No arguments. Is Craig still there?”
Focus on the quiet. “No. Nancy Barker said they tried to locate him, but nobody’s heard from him in a long time. I was listed as the emergency contact at the preschool.”
“How did the social worker know where Hope went to pre-school?”
“Bailey’s coworker told her. That’s how they found Hope—Bailey hadn’t shown up to work and her coworker was worried and went to check on her during her break.”
“Where does Bailey work?”
“She’s a hairdresser, apparently in a pretty upscale salon.”
Meredith blinked. “Dutton has an upscale salon?”
“No. Dutton has Angie’s.” Her mother used to go to Angie’s every other Monday. “Bailey worked in Atlanta. I got the coworker’s phone number, but she hasn’t been home. I left messages.”
Meredith picked up one of the coloring books. “Where did all these come from?”
Alex eyed the stack. “Nancy Barker found one in Hope’s backpack. She said Hope was staring into space, but when she gave her the coloring book and crayons, Hope started to color. Nancy tried to get her to draw on blank paper, hoping Hope would tell her something through her pictures, but Hope kept grabbing the book. She ran out of coloring books early last night and I had to pay the bellboy to go to the store and buy more. More crayons, too.” Alex stared at the box that had held sixty-four crayons, when new. It now held fifty-seven—every color except red. Every redlike crayon was gone, used down to a half-inch nub.
“She likes red,” Meredith observed.
Alex swallowed hard. “I don’t even want to consider the implications of that.”
Meredith lifted a shoulder. “It may mean nothing
more than that she likes red.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No.”
“She’s holding a red crayon now. I finally gave up and let her take it to bed with her.”
“What happened when she ran out of red crayons last night?”
“She cried, but she never said a single word.” Alex shuddered. “I’ve seen thousands of children cry in the ER, in pain, in fear . . . but never like that. She was like . . . a robot the way she cried—no emotion. She never made a sound. Not a word. Then she went into what looked like a catatonic state. She scared me so badly that I took her to the clinic in town. Dr. Granville checked her out, said she was just in shock.”
“Did he run any tests?”
“No. The social worker had told me she’d taken Hope to the ER after they found her hiding in the closet on Friday. They ran tox screens and titers to check her immunization record. She’s had all her childhood immunizations and everything else was in order.”
“Who is her family doctor?”
“I don’t know. Granville, the doctor here in town, said he’d never seen Hope or Bailey in ‘a professional capacity.’ He seemed surprised Hope was so clean and well cared for, as if he’d seen her dirty before. He wanted to give her a shot, to sedate her.”
Meredith’s brows lifted. “Did you let him?”
“No, and he got a little huffy, asking why I’d brought her at all if I didn’t want him to treat her. But I didn’t like the idea of drugging a child if you don’t need to. She wasn’t violent and there seemed no danger of her hurting herself, so I didn’t want her drugged.”
“I agree. So all this time Hope never said a word? Are we sure she can speak?”
“The preschool says she’s very talkative, big vocabulary. In fact, she can even read.”
Meredith looked taken aback. “Wow. She’s what, four?”
“Barely. The preschool said Bailey read to Hope every night. Meredith, none of this feels like a junkie abandoning her child.”
“You think foul play, too.”
Something in Meredith’s voice rubbed Alex wrong. “Don’t you?” she demanded.
