Be Afraid

by Mary Burton

  She’d laid trembling fingers on the door handle and opened it slowly. At first she found no signs of life. The closet was large and dark but it smelled of urine, fouled clothes, and rotted food. And then, she’d heard a faint rustle and she’d shone her flashlight into the dark recesses of the closet. When her light landed on the face of a young girl, Jenna had started and nearly dropped the flashlight. The child had long, matted, black hair and a large, stained, white T-shirt engulfed her thin frame. She had stared at Jenna with a gaze hovering closer to feral than human. A loud mew had escaped the child as she shielded startled eyes that winced under the light’s glare.

  In that moment, Jenna was the child. This little girl hadn’t been rescued in nine days, but had languished in that closet for years.

  You are the lucky one.

  Lucky.

  Yes, she had been lucky but the luck had exacted a price. She’d been rescued from the closet but a dark fear had remained lurking silently for nearly twenty-five years. And now it was free.

  She’d called for her partner, heard the hiss of his breath when he’d seen the child. She’d kept it together until rescue crews had arrived. The next day she’d filed her report and requested leave. Baltimore, like a skin that had grown far too tight, was squeezing the life out of her.

  “Lady, are you going inside or not?”

  She turned to find the assessing gaze of a woman with red hair and dark-rimmed glasses.

  Jenna mumbled an apology and then reached for the cold metal handle of the door and entered the building. She crossed to the information desk, gave her name, showed her driver’s license. She accepted a visitor’s badge and as she pinned it to the collar of her shirt, she faced the window that overlooked the parking lot and rolling fields. The receptionist announced her name over the telephone.

  Five minutes later, a side door opened and a tall woman with dark hair and almond eyes appeared. She crossed to Jenna, her strides smooth and exuding an enviable confidence.

  The woman extended a long hand with nails that had been cut short and buffed. “I’m Dr. Miriam Heller. You’re Jenna Thompson?”

  Jenna accepted the outstretched hand. “Yes.”

  “I understand you’re going to help us with an identification.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Do you have your supplies?”

  “They’re in the car. I wanted to see where I’d be working before I started unpacking. They can be bulky and unwieldy.” In Baltimore, she’d had a small office that had been her base of operations. People came to her so it wasn’t necessary for her to pack her equipment unless she was visiting a victim in the hospital.

  “I’ve the specimen and as soon as Detectives Morgan and Bishop arrive, we can decide where you can do your work.”

  She would have liked to work in her studio at home. There she had the sunlight and the space to create. But the cops, worried about the chain of custody, would never release the skull to her. When she came up with a face, cops would have to defend her work in court and that meant keeping a strict eye on the evidence.

  “Of course.”

  Dr. Heller glanced at a simple black watch on her wrist and checked the time. “Detective Morgan called me minutes ago and said they were on their way. Another case pulled them away.”

  “No need to explain. I understand.”

  Dr. Heller slid her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. “You worked for Baltimore Police Department, didn’t you?”

  “I’ve been with them for nine years. I’m currently on leave.”

  Questions sparked in the doctor’s gaze but she didn’t voice them. “I’ve seen some of your work. Very impressive.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The detectives can meet us in the exam room.”

  “Sure.”

  “Mind if we take the stairs? About all the exercise I get when I’m working long days are the stairs.”

  “Love the stairs.”

  As they moved toward the locked door, Dr. Heller swiped her key card and the door opened. Jenna stepped through with the doctor on her heels. As the doctor turned to close the door a deep masculine voice called out, “Dr. Heller!”

  They turned to see Rick Morgan and Jake Bishop entering the building. Detective Morgan moved with a controlled, steady gait, his gaze resting squarely on Jenna. She sensed the detective did not like her. Whereas Detective Bishop didn’t seem to care one way or the other about her, Morgan acted as if he had a burr under his saddle when it came to her.

  You quit.

  He wouldn’t be the first cop to criticize her. She refused to justify her choices.

  Morgan flashed his badge to the receptionist behind the glass and he and his partner joined Jenna and the doctor. As Dr. Heller headed to the stairwell, Morgan hesitated and Jenna sensed him brace before nodding to Dr. Heller to lead the way. He kept pace with them and the four made their way down to the exam room. The doctor escorted them to a stainless-steel table where a box sat.

  Dr. Heller donned rubber gloves and then lifted the lid off the box. Gently, she removed the small skull as the others gathered around. “The skull belongs to a female, who would’ve been about five when she died. I determined age based on the presence of baby teeth still in place. If the child had been six or older, there’s a good chance some of the front teeth would’ve been missing.” She turned the skull sideways. “Also note the delicate ridge of bone above the eye sockets is slight, suggesting female. And based on the width of her nasal cavity, I’d say she was Caucasian.”

  “Do the bones tell you anything else about the victim?” Morgan asked.

  Dr. Heller’s face grew more solemn. “Malnutrition. Her bones are brittle, which suggests to me she didn’t eat well.”

  Jenna thought about the confines of the closet that had been her prison for nine days. Many nights, she’d been hungry and her belly had ached. “Did she starve to death?”

  “No,” Dr. Heller said as she turned the skull revealing spiderweb-like cracks. “Blunt force trauma to the head. A single blow. It would’ve killed her almost instantly.”

  “Suggestions on the object?” Morgan asked.

  “Maybe a fist. A wall. A hammer would’ve left a small indentation. It also could have been a fall. One hard push back and, if she hit a hard surface, that would have done it.”

  The four stood silent for a moment as the doctor carefully set the skull down.

  “May I hold the skull?” Jenna asked.

  Dr. Heller handed her gloves. “Sure.”

  Carefully, Jenna donned the gloves and then gently lifted the skull. Light, fragile, so delicate. She turned the skull over, staring into the empty eye sockets. Already, she imagined the muscles that banded across a human face and gave it shape and depth. She imagined skin, hair and, of course, the eyes.

  “How long will it take you to give her a face?” Detective Morgan asked.

  “A week.” That was a conservative estimate. Already she knew she’d put aside her portrait work and make this job her priority. This child deserved a face. An identity. She studied the nasal cavity. “Any other thoughts about her appearance that would be helpful?” Jenna already knew when she created the face it would be smiling. The child deserved to be remembered as happy.

  “She was found only with the pink blanket,” Detective Morgan said. “We don’t know anything else about her.”

  Jenna set the skull down, her body already humming with a need to work. It had been like this in Baltimore. Her need to create a face, a likeness, of a killer, rapist, or lost soul was always powerful. The Baltimore cops had called her the Mistress of Lost Souls, a moniker she’d always thought fitting.

  The walls of the exam room tightened and the craving to be in her brightly lit studio tugged hard. “My supplies are in my car. I can bring them in and get started as soon as possible.”

  Dr. Heller glanced at the clock. “You want to start today?”

  “I can work for a few hours this afternoon.” She’d be late
getting to KC’s tonight but decided the tourists could wait.

  “I don’t see how you can create a face,” Detective Morgan said.

  “Just know that I can,” Jenna said.

  Dr. Heller’s gaze sparked with approval. “I’ve set aside an office space that’s all yours for as long as you need it.”

  “I’ll help you bring in your supplies,” Officer Morgan said.

  Her skin prickled at what sounded more like an order than an offer. What was he expecting? Her to go to her car and not return? For her to quit?

  As much as she’d have liked to refuse his help, she wasn’t foolish. Many hands made light the work as her aunt used to say. Let him lug the easel.

  “I’m parked out front.”

  Detective Morgan held out his hand, telling her to lead the way. As she moved into the hallway, the elevator doors dinged opened and Georgia appeared. She wore jeans, a blue blouse, and red cowboy boots, and had twisted her red hair into a topknot that left a sprinkle of curls free to frame her face. Despite her choice of soft colors, it only took a glance to see that intensity all but radiated around her. Her movements were crisp and her steps short, clipped, and hard as if she were annoyed. She was like that onstage, a trait many of the men seemed to like.

  Georgia, Tracker at her side, appeared to check an invisible box in her head. “Good, you’re here. Have you started work?”

  “What’re you and Tracker doing here?” Detective Morgan challenged. “I thought you were done for the day?”

  “I was and then after I took Tracker for a walk I got to thinking about this meeting. I thought I’d touch base. And you know how Tracker likes to ride in the car.”

  No good-evenings or how’s-it-goings for Georgia or her brother. This clan cut to the chase.

  When Jenna had met her at KC’s that first night, she wasn’t sure if she’d liked Georgia. No doubt, the woman had real singing talent, but she could be cutting and direct. After they’d crossed paths the third night, she’d found the forensic tech’s brutal directness had its own charm. She’d not been able to say the same for Rick Morgan.

  “Good afternoon,” Jenna said.

  Georgia blinked, nodded, as if computing the words. And then she seemed to realize she’d skipped a pleasantry. “Yeah, hey. Have you started yet?”

  “She’s known for her lack of tact,” Detective Bishop said. “A real steamroller.”

  Detective Morgan glanced at his partner and then looked tempted to tease Georgia as well. But something in his sister’s glare stopped him short. He knew when not to poke the bear.

  Teasing was what siblings did. She’d had a sister once but remembered little about her older sister, Sara, who had been eleven years older than Jenna. Blond, pretty, and popular, Sara, in Jenna’s last memories of her, had been a girl with sights set on becoming captain of the high school cheer squad and president of the student government. Sara had been nice to Jenna from what she could remember but other than the occasional family dinner, their paths didn’t cross much toward the end.

  “Georgia, this is your afternoon off. I’ve got this,” Detective Morgan said.

  “I know. I know.” Georgia shifted her gaze to Jenna. “Where’re you headed? You aren’t leaving, are you?”

  Jenna bristled at Georgia’s tone, which silently asked Are you quitting? “No.”

  Bishop reached past Georgia and pressed the elevator’s DOWN button. “Bright and happy as usual, Georgia.”

  Georgia glared at the detective. “What’s that mean, Bishop?”

  Bishop looked bored. “Don’t you ever get tired of running the show?”

  Georgia seemed to consider the question for a split second. “No.”

  Bishop shrugged. “Not surprising.”

  Georgia’s lips flattened. “I’ve words I could sling like knives, Yank, but I won’t.”

  “Have at it, princess.”

  Tracker yawned, as if he’d heard similar squabbles before. Jenna’s mood eased. Clearly, Georgia chewed on everyone’s ass. “We’re going to my car to get my supplies. I start work now.”

  The elevator doors opened, and Detective Bishop stepped inside. He held the door open with his hand.

  Georgia stepped inside and pushed the OPEN button. “Let’s get this party started.”

  Jenna, Detective Morgan, and Tracker joined the two in the elevator while Dr. Heller remained behind. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  The doors closed. Jenna stood in the back next to Georgia and Tracker. The two detectives stood in the front of the elevator, feet braced as if ready for trouble. This close she could smell the scent of Morgan’s soap. His shoulders were wide and his stance rigid, radiating a bullish stubbornness that she wasn’t sure was an asset or liability. This guy never quit.

  She glanced down at the dog, and on reflex scratched him between the ears. He didn’t seem to mind her touch and she felt an odd kinship with him. Both were cops relegated to the outside.

  On the first floor, the doors dinged open and the four walked down the hallway and into the lobby.

  “Guys,” Georgia said. “I’ll help Jenna with the supplies. You head out. I heard you’ve got a lead on the murder and house fire.”

  Jenna’s ears perked. Once a cop always a cop. What house fire? What murder? But she didn’t ask for details, knowing she wasn’t enough of an insider to hear. “It will take Georgia and me one trip. No reason to hold you two up.”

  Bishop shrugged. “Will do.”

  Detective Morgan hesitated, as if he had more to add but, in the end, nodded and he and Tracker followed his partner.

  Jenna was sorry to see the dog go. An offer to hang on to the dog for the afternoon rose in her throat but she swallowed it. She did not need attachments.

  Georgia watched him walk away, her gaze narrowing as she studied his gait before turning to Jenna. “I’m here to help.”

  With Detective Morgan gone, the tension banding her muscles eased a fraction. “This is your afternoon off. I’ve got this. I’ve hauled supplies more times than I can count.”

  “Nope. I’m here to help. I want you working as soon as possible.”

  As Jenna unlocked the door on her Jeep, she glanced at Georgia. “Thanks for the help, but why’re you here?”

  “As Detective Bishop mentioned, I’ve control issues. I brought you into the loop.”

  “And you want to make sure I deliver.”

  “Basically.”

  Jenna shrugged. “Fair enough. I’d have done the same if you were in my backyard in Baltimore.”

  “This is personal for you.”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  Georgia’s gaze sharpened as if she were searching for the smallest forensic crime-scene detail. “I’m giving up a few hours. You’re giving up a few days. Why?”

  She opened the back tailgate of the Jeep. “A child was killed. I guess we’re all feeling it.”

  Georgia shook her head. “No. It’s more for you. I can sense it.”

  “Really?” She kept her tone light as she reached for a box filled with clays, paints, and sculpting tools. “How can you tell?”

  “It’s a gift,” she said.

  Jenna’s laugh had a nervous edge. “What’re you, some kind of psychic?”

  Georgia folded her arms. “I can read people like books.”

  Jenna didn’t doubt she could read most people, but she wasn’t most people. She was good at hiding her thoughts, emotions, and plans. “Really?”

  “Since the day you came into KC’s you snapped like a live electrical cord.”

  “I’m a cop. We can leave the job but it doesn’t quite leave us. KC’s no different, nor were the half-dozen off-duty cops sitting in the bar on any given night.”

  “Yeah. We’re not good at turning it off.” She held out her arms. “I’m a prime example of not being able to leave it at the office. But you’re different.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re digg
ing for, Georgia. But you aren’t going to find anything interesting.” That wasn’t true. If Georgia did some digging she’d find a long, sordid story about Jenna in the archives of the Nashville Police Department.

  “My instincts are never wrong.”

  “That so?” Jenna lifted a box and dumped it into Georgia’s outstretched arms.

  “Yeah.”

  Jenna hefted the second box containing an easel and a few other necessities, closed the back tailgate, and locked the Jeep. “Most of us have a personal gripe they’re working through. Cops don’t like not being in the know. Part of what brings us to the job.”

  “All true.”

  They walked back to the building and took the elevator down to a small, windowless room. The boxed skull remained in the center of the table, waiting for the identity that Jenna had promised.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Georgia asked as she set down the box.

  Jenna placed her box next to the other. “No. It’s all me now. If your brother ends up with a missing persons report that fits let me know. Otherwise, I’ll catch up with you when I finish.”

  Georgia slid her hands in her back pockets and had the look of someone who didn’t want to leave. Almost seemed to dread it.

  As much as Jenna wanted to include Georgia this process was a personal, solitary job. “I don’t work with an audience.”

  “Even one that’s quiet and sits in the corner.”

  “Even one of those.” She smiled to soften the rejection. “I promise to keep you posted.”

  Georgia moved toward the door. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Georgia.” She hesitated, reaching for a word she rarely used. “Thanks for bringing up my name. This is a good deed I can do and I’m glad for the opportunity.”

  She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “I really want to catch this killer.”

  Jenna nodded as she slowly pulled out a sketchpad. “I know. So do I.”

  Rick dropped Bishop off at headquarters and after a quick walk with Tracker the two were back in his vehicle. “Ready to catch a bad guy, boy?”

  The dog barked.

  Soon the two were headed to the home of a woman named Lorrie Trent, Diane Smith’s sister, who had filed a missing persons report just hours before the fire. Lorrie Trent owned a small bakery in East Nashville.