by Rick Mofina
Settling back into her desk, Kate’s heart warmed as she looked at Grace, her seven-year-old daughter, smiling from the framed photograph next to her monitor.
We’ve come a long way, baby. We’re survivors.
Less than an hour later, she finished her feature and sent it to the desk.
As she collected her things to leave, her phone rang.
“Newslead, Kate Page.”
“Kate, this is Anne Kelly, with the New York office of the Children’s Searchlight Network. Do you have a second?”
“Sure.”
“Fred Byfield, one of our investigators, said I should call. You’d asked that we alert you to any queries we get that may relate to your sister’s file, no matter how tenuous?”
Kate’s pulse quickened. “Yes, go ahead.”
“We wanted to give you a heads-up about a query we recently received from law enforcement.”
It sounded like the woman was reading from a message.
“All right,” Kate said.
“We were asked to check our files for a piece of jewelry concerning missing white women in their twenties.”
“But that’s routine.”
“It is, but in this case, Fred said that they’re asking about a necklace with a guardian angel charm.”
Kate froze.
Shortly before her death, Kate’s mother had given her and Vanessa each a necklace bearing a guardian angel charm. Kate had described the necklace in the file she’d submitted with missing persons organizations.
“Does it say anything about engraving or an inscription?”
“No.”
“Can you give me more details, Anne?”
“I can have someone call you.”
“Okay, but can you tell me anything more right now?”
“Well, we just got a message that the query went to our national office in Washington to run a search on the item, and, Kate, I’m sorry but it concerns a homicide.”
Kate slid down into her chair.
CHAPTER 6
New York City
Kate’s express train barreled north out of Penn Station.
As she stared into the darkness, her mind raced, absorbing the call about the necklace.
Could it be Vanessa’s?
Contending with the ramifications and questions, she felt a knocking in her heart that turned into apprehension.
Stop it.
Vanessa’s dead. She died twenty years ago. Why do I put myself through this? Why do I cling to the hope that she survived? And now this: a homicide.
The subway platforms blurred by until Kate reached her stop. That’s when her phone rang. It was Nancy Clark, her neighbor, who watched her daughter.
“Hi, Kate, is this a bad time?”
“No. I’m just about home. Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, Grace really wanted to talk to you.”
“All right, put her on.”
The sound of the phone being passed to Grace was followed by “Hi, Mom?”
“Hi hon. What’s up?”
“Mom, can I get my own phone?”
“Oh, sweetie.”
“But all my friends have phones.”
“I’ll think about it. I’ll be home soon. We’ll talk about it then.”
“Okay, Mom, love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Kate touched her phone to her lips and smiled.
What a kid.
Grace was her sun, her moon and the stars in her life. She’d taken to New York City like she was born here. She loved her school, her new friends, Central Park, the museums, everything about the city.
Kate treasured her job with Newslead, given her long road to get to this point. It had taken a little luck and a lot of hard work, but she’d turned a corner professionally and financially.
We’ve got a good life here. They lived in Morningside Heights in a Victorian-era building where she’d sublet an affordable two-bedroom apartment from a Columbia University professor who’d taken a sabbatical in Europe. While walking the few blocks home from the station, Kate checked for any updates from Anne Kelly at the Children’s Searchlight Network.
Nothing.
Kate picked up her mail in the lobby, the place where she and Grace first met Nancy Clark, a retired and widowed nurse who lived alone on the floor above them.
She was so kind and warm she had practically adopted Kate and Grace. They had each other over for coffee and Nancy quickly insisted she look after Grace whenever Kate worked or traveled. Now, outside Nancy’s apartment, Kate noticed the aroma of fresh baking before Grace opened the door.
“Hi, Mom! We made cookies!” Grace hugged Kate then went back to the kitchen table and collected a small tin and her backpack. “Nancy says I can take them home.”
“Okay,” Kate said. “Thanks for this, Nancy.”
“Anytime. We had fun. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
* * *
At home Kate and Grace each had a cookie while settling in before supper. As usual, Grace emptied her school backpack on the coffee table. Kate set aside the mail, fired up her laptop to review emails, then changed into jeans to prepare chicken tacos, rice and salad. Before setting the table, Kate checked her phone again.
Nothing from the Searchlight Network.
“Mom, did you think some more about my phone?” Grace asked while biting into her taco.
“Still thinking on it, hon.”
“Maybe we could look on your computer for a good one?”
“Not so fast, kiddo.” Kate smiled.
After supper, Kate helped Grace with her book report on Horton Hears a Who!
“Mom, who do you like better, the Cat in the Hat or Horton the Elephant?”
“Well, the Cat creates a lot of mischief whereas Horton tries to help people, so I guess Horton, for that reason.”
“The Cat’s a lot of fun, though.”
“Yes, but he leaves a big mess.”
Later, when Kate got Grace into the tub for her bath, Kate’s phone rang. The number was blocked. Kate left the bathroom door open and kept an eye on Grace, who was singing to herself as she splashed. Kate moved down the hall to take the call out of earshot.
“Hello?”
“Kate Page?”
She didn’t recognize the man’s voice.
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“Detective Ed Brennan, Rampart Police, Rampart, New York. I got your name and number from the flyer you’d submitted to the Children’s Searchlight Network.”
Kate caught her breath and tightened her grip on her phone.
“Yes.”
“My call concerns your listing of a necklace your six-year-old sister was in possession of when she was presumed to have drowned after an auto accident in Canada, twenty years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Could you go over the details of the necklace for me?”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Kate cleared her throat.
“A month before our mother died, she gave Vanessa and me each a tiny guardian angel necklace with our names engraved on the charms. Vanessa wanted to trade them, so she wore the one with my name on it and I kept the angel bearing her name.”
“So, except for the engraving, they’re identical?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have the other necklace?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I understand you live in New York City.”
“That’s right.”
Brennan paused as if to choose his words carefully.
“I know this would be very difficult, and I apologize for the imposition, but would you be willing to bring the ne
cklace to Rampart to show us? It might help with an ongoing investigation.”
“Couldn’t I just send you a picture?”
“We’d prefer to see the actual necklace—we might have other questions.”
Kate’s stomach began tightening.
“Can you tell me more about the case, Detective?”
A few moments passed.
“This is confidential,” Brennan said.
“Of course.”
“We’ve found a necklace at a crime scene that fits with the description you gave. However, the engraving is unclear at this point. It’ll need further analysis because it was badly charred.”
“Charred?”
“Unfortunately, it was discovered in the remains of a fire at the scene of what appears to be a murder-suicide. We have a white female in her twenties deceased, who was burned beyond recognition. We’re doing all we can to confirm her identity.”
Kate put her hand to her mouth, then glimpsed her daughter happily playing in the tub.
“You say it’s a murder-suicide, what—what else can you tell me?”
“The male’s identity is also unconfirmed. We’ve not released many details to the public at this point. I am very sorry to put you through this. But we wouldn’t have imposed if we didn’t have reason to believe your cooperation might assist us. Will you be able to bring the necklace to Rampart?”
“Yes. Yes, I’ll be there with the necklace tomorrow.”
After hanging up, Kate got Grace to bed, then called Chuck Laneer’s cell phone. Although Reeka Beck was her immediate boss, and going over her head would create tension, Kate preferred to talk to Chuck about this. They had a good relationship going back to Dallas when she’d told him about Vanessa’s tragedy.
“That’s an incredible development for you, Kate,” he said when she filled him in. “I don’t see a problem with you taking a few days off to follow up. But to steer clear of any potential conflict, you’re not going up there as a Newslead reporter.”
“Right.”
“You’re going on your own cost and time, to follow up on a private matter. I’ll let Reeka know you’re off for a few personal days.”
“Thank you.”
“Good luck with this, Kate. It can’t be easy.”
Kate then made arrangements with Nancy to watch Grace. She used her points to book a flight and car and started packing.
Then she went to her jewelry box and took out the necklace bearing the tiny guardian angel with the name “Vanessa” engraved on it. She held it in the palm of her hand until tears rolled down her face.
I tried to hold you. I tried so hard.
CHAPTER 7
Rampart, New York
The calm clip-clop of a passing Amish horse and buggy carried through the window of the Rampart Police Department, belying Kate Page’s unease.
After her plane had landed in Syracuse, she’d made the two-hour drive in a rented Chevrolet Cruze. Mile after mile her knuckles were white on the wheel, until she’d reached the edge of town where Rampart’s sign welcomed her to the Home of the Battle of the High School Bands.
Following the GPS, she went straight downtown to the limestone building housing police headquarters. A receptionist directed her to a creaky hardback bench where she waited for Detective Brennan. Still anxious from her trip, Kate checked local coverage on her tablet.
Mystery Surrounds Double Death. The headline in the Rampart Examiner stretched over a sweeping aerial photo of the crime scene. The charred blotch of the obliterated barn was branded on the lush woods like a wound.
Is this where my sister died?
For much of her life Kate had cleaved to the remote hope Vanessa was alive, and, now, to learn that she might’ve died here was overwhelming. But Kate held on to her composure by concentrating on news reports.
A new one posted on a radio station’s site said police still hadn’t identified the victims. However, sources had told the station that the male was believed to be Carl Nelson, an IT technician at the MRKT DataFlow Call Center. They described him as a shy, “near-reclusive” man, whose truck was found near the burial grounds, the site of the fire. Mystery continued to swirl around rumors that a note was left in the apparent murder-suicide. Police remained tight-lipped about the investigation, the report said.
Kate saved the story with others she’d collected.
As she wondered about Carl Nelson, she looked up when someone said her name.
Two men in sport jackets stood before her.
“I’m Ed Brennan, this is Paul Dickson. We appreciate you coming all this way. How was your trip?”
“It was all right.”
“Good. We’ll go in here to talk.”
They went into a windowless meeting room, where Brennan offered Kate something to drink.
“Thank you, water would be fine.”
“I understand you’re a reporter in New York with Newslead, the wire service.”
“Yes.”
A shadow of concern passed over Brennan’s face and Dickson shot him a subtle glance.
“But you’re not here to report on this case. This is a personal matter.”
“Yes.”
“What we discuss here must remain confidential, do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Good.”
Brennan positioned a chair for Kate and gave her a bottle of water. She sipped some, reached into her bag for the angel necklace and put it on the table. Brennan looked at it then opened his notebook to a clean page.
“For our benefit, Kate, would you please give us an overview of your family’s background?”
Kate recounted the history of the necklace again.
“Would you be willing to volunteer your necklace for us to process for comparison?” Brennan asked.
“Of course. May I see the one you found?”
Brennan was silent for a moment.
“No, I’m sorry, that’s physical evidence. But we’ll show you this.”
He slid a file folder to Kate. She caught her breath at the crisp, enlarged color photograph of an angel necklace. It was battered; the engraving was illegible. It was blackened, set against a white backdrop, next to an evidence tag and photo-document ruler to show scale.
“They are similar,” Brennan said. “We’ll pass yours to the forensic unit.”
Absorbing the charred necklace in the picture, Kate’s thoughts rocketed to Vanessa, the barn fire, the agony she must’ve suffered.
“I just don’t understand,” Kate said.
“What?”
She lifted her head from the photo. “If this is my sister’s necklace, then how did it get from our accident in Canada to here?”
“If it’s hers, there’re a number of possibilities. It could’ve washed onto the shore. An animal could have carried it off. Someone may have found it. Then, over the years, it made its way through flea markets, yard sales and jewelry stores, pawn shops, who knows, back into the world, as it were. We have a lot of theories and questions.”
“So you’re discounting the possibility that my sister survived and somehow turned up here?”
“We haven’t confirmed anything, so we’re not discounting anything. In fact we’ve made some inquiries with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
“Into my sister’s case?”
“Listen, we’d rather not go into detail, but there are other aspects.”
“What aspects? I’d like to know.”
“I know how this sounds but we can’t discuss our investigation.”
“I read that there was a suicide note—what did it say?”
“We’d rather not discuss any other aspects.”
“Well, I’d like to see her, the woman who was killed.”
Brennan exchanged a look with Dickson and shifted in his chair.
“Given the condition, I don’t think it would be beneficial.”
Kate sat there not knowing what to think or say as a long silence passed.
“We’re doing everything we can to confirm identification,” Brennan finally said. “I hate to ask this, but is there any chance that you would still have your sister’s hairbrush or access to her dental records?”
Kate stared at him.
“No, I don’t.”
Kate looked away for a moment.
“Kate, would you be willing to volunteer a DNA sample?”
“Of course, if it helps.”
“It would,” he said. “We’ll get someone from the state forensic unit to do a cheek swab once we’re done.”
As the time passed, Brennan consulted his notes and asked Kate more about her family history, if she recalled any connection to Rampart, or Carl Nelson.
“No, there’s none. I’ve never been here until today.”
“Does this man register with you in any way, Kate?”
Brennan showed her an enlarged color photocopy taken from a New York State driver’s license. Icy eyes glared from the face of a fully bearded man, in his late forties, who evoked a cross between the Unabomber and Charles Manson. A chill climbed up Kate’s spine as she sensed something seething just beneath the surface.
Is this the last face Vanessa saw?
Kate memorized his address, 57 Knox Lane, Rampart.
“No, I’ve never seen him before. He’s not familiar to me in any way,” she said. “Is this the man who died in the fire?”
“We’re confident it is, but we’re awaiting positive confirmation from the pathologist.”
“What do you think the relationship was between Carl Nelson and my sis—the woman who died in the fire?”
“That’s under investigation.”
After the detectives ended the interview, they watched as a technician from the forensic unit used a cotton-tipped swab to scrape Kate’s inner cheek. Then Kate signed papers concerning her DNA sample and the necklace. Before leaving, she asked the detectives to direct her to the scene.
