Jasi sighed. "As long as we find out what happened to Sheral Downham."
"You still think the remains are hers?"
"I don't know. Seems like it. The same age and size. And the victim was wearing a bracelet with amethyst stones, just like Sheral had in the photo Cameron showed us."
"Did the RCMP find the bracelet?"
"They found a twisted chunk of yellow stone with the remains. Amethyst turns yellow when exposed to very high heat. I believe the bracelet got bagged and tagged with the remains. Must be on its way to the downtown lab."
"Damn. What happened to no one touching anything until we got here?"
"I don't know. Have you heard from Matthew?"
"He's in a meeting now. But I left him a message."
"He's not going to be happy about the evidence and chain of custody issue, Ben."
"Yeah, I have a feeling some PD knuckles are going to get slapped."
"As long as they aren't ours."
"Speaking of slapping knuckles, how did you manage to restrain yourself around the good Father Jeremiah?"
"Who says I've restrained myself?"
He laughed. "He doesn't know what he's in for."
"Christiansen showed Brandon and me the incinerator. Seemed awfully proud of a piece of machinery that burns garbage."
"Listen, Jasi, I'm going to try to track down that bracelet. Maybe I'll have a chance to check it out, get a read from it."
"Okay. Brandon and I will continue our interviews. Let me know when Natassia is back."
"Will do."
Ben signed off and set the audio device to record all transmissions recorded on Jasi or Brandon's data-coms. That way he could conduct his own investigation into the bracelet's whereabouts and check the recordings later on.
He stretched, releasing a soft groan. The van seemed to mimic him. He needed fresh air. Grabbing his jacket and the small stack of crime scene photos from the printer, he opened the van door and stepped outside.
One by one, he examined the photos as he strode down the gravel road. Nothing stood out in any of the pictures. Other than the corpse in the incinerator, there was no evidence of a crime on Sanctuary grounds. And no clues.
Damn. We need that bracelet.
He was halfway to the gate to Sanctuary when an approaching RCMP vehicle slowed. The driver, an officer in his fifties with a receding hairline and deep fissures under weary brown eyes, rolled down the window. "Can I help you?"
A smear of what looked like mustard invaded the crack on the officer's butt chin, and Ben tried hard not to stare as he held up his badge. "CFBI. I'm looking for the evidence that was collected at the scene."
"Let me check on that." The officer leaned through the open car window, said a few words into his radio and waited.
"Is everything all right?" Ben asked him after a moment.
"The bones were taken to the morgue."
Ben flashed the photo of what was left of the amethyst bracelet. "What about this? We believe it's the victim's bracelet."
The officer lifted his radio again. A few seconds later, he said, "That particular item was collected. Problem is, no one knows where it went."
"What?" Inwardly, Ben cursed. "How can you lose a key piece of evidence?"
"I didn't say it was lost, Agent Roberts. I'm sure it'll turn up."
"You and your men do understand this is a CFBI investigation, don't you? You were told to keep the scene clean, wait for us and not disturb the body."
The officer's mouth thinned. "Listen, we responded to the call and proceeded as normal. We had already processed the scene by the time anyone said anything about CFBI interfere—involvement. We're doing our best to cooperate with you."
Ben was not impressed. "And yet your department seems to have lost evidence, something that could potentially ID the victim."
"I'll make it my responsibility to find it for you. How's that?" From the man's tired and resolved expression, he seemed sincere.
"You find it and I'll owe you one."
As the officer drove away, Ben wondered whether someone had purposefully disposed of the bracelet, or whether it was an honest mistake and the item had been mistagged. Either way, they were screwed unless it was found.
7
Vancouver, BC
True to her word, Natassia and Jay arrived at the city morgue in record time. The morgue was housed in the basement of Vancouver General Hospital, and they passed through security without a hitch.
"You want me to go inside with you?" Jay's face was the color of fresh milk.
Natassia shook her head. "As much as I'm sure I'd enjoy watching you pass out, how about you stay here?"
"Works for me," the kid said, visibly relieved.
She left him standing outside the door to the morgue.
"You must be from the CFBI." A fortyish woman in a starched white lab coat rose from a desk and crossed the small intake room. "I'm the chief pathologist and medical examiner, Dr. Nannetta Cook."
"Agent Natassia Prushenko."
"I have the remains laid out over here."
Dr. Cook led her through double doors into a generous-sized, sterilized room that gleamed of metal. Even with a Febreeze air freshener spritzing the air as she walked past, the subtle stench of death lingered in the air, like a bad stain you couldn't get out no matter how hard you tried. On a table near the far wall, fragments of bone had been carefully laid out on a white cloth.
"Not much of her left," Dr. Cook said, "but more than we would have had if someone hadn't shut off the incinerator early."
"What's that?" Natassia asked, pointing to a long, black shard of bone.
"A fragment of the right tibia. The leg bone."
"Were you able to get an ID?"
The pathologist shook her head. "Not enough to work from."
Natassia slipped on a latex glove and picked up the bone. "What about DNA?"
"These fragments are highly degraded, and identification has been hindered further by traces of PCR inhibitors in the collagen. Most of these fragments contain no nuclear DNA whatsoever, and many of the fragments are contaminated by external DNA sources. It's my understanding that the incinerator the victim was found in was used to destroy other animal waste."
"True.
"Cross-contamination of DNA will delay identification. But I'm still hopeful." Dr. Cook moved toward a counter and pointed to a bone fragment soaking in clear liquid. "On this section of cervical vertebra, I'm attempting a DNA extraction method using cetyltrimethylammonium bromide lysis buffer and isoamyl alcohol-chloroform."
Natassia gave her a blank stare. "What about the gunshot wounds?"
"Gunshot?"
"We have reason to believe she was shot twice. Once in the left side, near her waist. The second shot to her stomach."
The doctor's eyes flared. "That explains it." With long tweezers, she removed a small, fractured rib bone from its bath and placed it under a microscope. "I couldn't tell for sure what had made these markings because we're missing the rest of the bone. But I believe this," she indicated a slight notch carved into the edge of the bone, "could have been caused by a bullet. Do you know what weapon was used?"
"We suspect a rifle."
"Hmm, large caliber. Most likely, it shattered the other side of the bone. The incinerator would've turned those particles into dust."
"And the decapitation?"
"I found that to be quite unusual." The doctor pointed to the severed spinal cord near the neck. "See? No hesitation wounds. Someone used a very sharp blade. A sword, I suspect. It cut through bone and tissue with one slice."
Dr. Cook's pager buzzed.
"Sorry," she said, "I have to sign for a new arrival. I'll be back in about fifteen minutes if you'd like to go for coffee and come back."
"I'd like to examine the bones on the table, if you don't mind."
Dr. Cook hesitated for a second. "CFBI, huh? Well, who am I to argue with the higher ups?" She moved to the double doors. "Wear gloves and don't to
uch anything other than the bones on the table. They've already been scanned and tagged."
"Believe me, I've handled bones before. They're safe with me."
As soon as the doctor was gone, Natassia pulled a stool up to the table. She removed the latex gloves and set them to one side. She picked up a piece of bone, stroking it softly, thinking about the victim and how afraid she must have been.
Dr. Cook knew Natassia was CFBI, but the woman had no idea that she was also a Psychic Skills Investigator—a Victim Empath, to be exact. Like most PSIs, Natassia considered her psychic abilities to be both a gift and a curse.
Her gift had appeared when she was a teen still living in Russia, after her best friend Tatyana had died from an overdose of sleeping pills. Suicide, the coroner in St. Petersburg had said. Natassia had never believed it. Tatyana was a strong-willed girl with everything to live for, especially once she found out she was pregnant.
Her death had hit Natassia hard. The funeral was held at the lavish St. Isaac's Cathedral in the city. But when she had touched Tatyana's cheek during the open casket ceremony, Natassia saw images of a strange man with a skeleton tattoo on his left forearm. In her vision, the man was force-feeding pills to a sobbing Tatyana.
Frightened by the terrifying images in her mind, she fled the church. Outside, she saw the same man standing beside a black limousine. Tatyana's father, Konstantin Gorokhov, said something to the man and settled in the back of the limo. The man with the tattoo glanced at Natassia, then climbed into the driver's seat. As the vehicle sped away, Natassia tried to still her pounding heart and swirling mind. She didn't know much, but she knew one thing without a doubt. The driver of the limousine had killed her best friend.
A week later, the man's body was found in the river. He'd been shot in the forehead, executed.
Yeah, Tatyana may have come from money, but Natassia, even as a teen, came from a world of connections.
Now, as she held the small bone fragment that once belonged to a living, breathing woman, Natassia thought of Tatyana. She hadn't been able to save her friend, but her gift had helped bring closure. Perhaps today it would do so again.
She closed her eyes and stroked the bone. Who are you? Are you Sheral Downham?
She felt the undeniable pull of the victim. Her skin tingled, her own bones seemingly melding with the one she held. In her mind, fragments of bone swirled around her, magnetically drawn together to form a skeleton. Her soul entered it, filling it, becoming it, as flesh began to grow. The ribcage expanded and contracted, breathing in life, breathing out death.
"Show me," Natassia said.
She released her breath, stopped fighting and a second later she was in…
She was surrounded by dense forest. Above her, the night sky was pitch black. She could barely see her hands, but the glint of silver on her wrist comforted her.
Somewhere behind her a predator hunted her. She fought back panic.
"Stay calm," she whispered.
She shivered, her breath burning her lungs.
Time shifted and she was running now. Running and crying.
"You can't escape!" a man screamed at her.
Now she was lying against a tree, her leg twisted and throbbing. The crunch of branches told her he was much closer. And now she couldn't run. Maybe if she were very still he'd pass by her and keep going.
He stood before her, a shadow of death and doom.
"Please…" She wanted to tell him that she wasn't the one he wanted. She wanted to beg for her life. But all that came out was a whimper.
"The hunt is over," he said in a low growl. "I win, you lose."
He raised the rifle and she closed her eyes.
The echo of the gunshot rippled through her body, which was suddenly flying on its own. Cool air breezed by her. Surely death had come to claim her with its cold touch.
Her lungs collapsed with sudden force.
Another sound, metal on metal, and then all was still.
She opened her eyes and squinted. She was in total darkness now.
A few minutes later, a door groaned and fingers of light crept toward her. Footsteps drew nearer. She raised her eyes and caught the glimmer of something shiny, metal. Then a sharp blade rushed toward her. She screamed as fiery agony sliced through her neck. Her scream echoed, the last thing she ever heard.
The sound of footsteps roused Natassia from the intense image of dying. She inhaled deeply and stood too quickly. The room spun and she grabbed the edge of the table.
"Agent Prushenko?"
Dr. Cook moved toward her, her expression one of concern until she noticed Natassia's ungloved hands. "I thought I made it perfectly clear that you had to follow protocol."
"I did. I was just leaving."
Steadying herself, Natassia crossed the room. "Thank you, Dr. Cook. You've been most helpful."
"I'll be sure to submit my full report once I have all the results in."
Natassia pushed through the double doors and strode down the hallway, nearly colliding with a bored looking Jay.
"I waited for you."
She scowled. "I can see that."
It wasn't that she intended to be mean to him. Okay, well, maybe just a bit. In her line of work, she could use all the comic relief possible. And right now, Agent Jason Anthony would have to do.
"You all right, Agent Prushenko?"
The kid was kind of sweet.
"I'm fine." She massaged her forehead, sifting through the elements of her vision and compartmentalizing them for future reference. She couldn't wait to tell Jasi what she'd discovered.
"You get a positive ID?" Jay asked, holding the exterior door open for her.
"No. The DNA was too corrupted."
She tossed him the keys.
Jay stood there, blinking.
"You're driving," she stated.
His mouth gaped.
"If I wanted to drive, would I have given you the keys, Jay?"
"Uh, my name is Jason. Or Agent Anthony, if you'd like. Not Jay. So I'd prefer it if…"
The steel in her eyes shut him up.
They made their way to the parking lot, climbed into the SUV and the kid started the engine.
"Where to now, Agent Prushenko?" he asked.
"Where do you think, Jay?" She heard him release a sigh of resignation, before she said, "Back to Sanctuary."
8
Sanctuary, outside Mission, BC
"You really think it's Sheral?" Cameron sobbed on the other end of Jasi's data-com.
"We should know for sure in a day or two," Jasi said, pacing the small space of an unoccupied cabin Christiansen had loaned them for the day. "But everything points to the victim being your friend. I'm so sorry."
"But it could be someone else."
"The victim was wearing an amethyst bracelet."
For a long moment, all Jasi heard was the rain pouring outside.
"Yeah, that's her," Cameron finally said. "She always wore it. It was a gift from her mother." Pause. "Oh God…how am I going to tell her?"
"Promise me you won't say anything to anyone until I give you the okay."
"I won't."
"If you want, I can contact Sheral's mom for you."
"No. She should hear this from me." Sob.
Jasi chewed her bottom lip. "I'm really sorry, my friend."
"Me too. Sheral was an awesome person."
"Are you going to be all right?"
"Ask me that in a week." Cameron's voice was drained of all energy.
"Let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I might be stuck at Sanctuary for a few days, but I can get one of my team members to take over if you need me there."
"No, Jasi. You find out who did this to Sheral. That's all I want now."
Jasi disconnected the call and swore under her breath.
She picked up the photo of Sheral Downham. "I'll find out who did this to you."
Peering out a window, she was surprised to see the storm clouds had dispersed and th
e sun had made an appearance once again. It was an encouraging sign.
She exited the cabin and found Brandon. He had decided to wait on the porch to give her some privacy during the call to Cameron. He was sensitive that way, a quality she loved about him.
"How did it go?" he asked, wrapping one arm around her waist.
She stared into his eyes, blinked back tears and shook her head.
"We'll get the person who did this, Jasi." He kissed her forehead.
"That's what I told Cameron."
"Well, I have some interesting news to share." He jerked his head toward the cabin. "Christiansen told me we can stay here overnight instead of heading to a hotel in town."
"You want to do that?"
"I think we'd have better luck getting some answers if we stay close to Christiansen and his clan."
"You better not be drinking his Kool-Aid."
"Not on your life. I can barely handle one woman. Why would I want more than that?"
She raised a brow. "Handle?"
"You know what I mean."
"I'm not sure I do, but you can always show me later how well you handle me."
He grinned. "So what next?"
"Let's go find Hannah's daughter, Amanda."
"You really think a kid can help us?"
She shrugged. "Amanda is thirteen. That's a rebellious age. She could have seen something. Or she might know something that no one else is willing to share with us."
"It's worth a try."
"Her mother said she was at the river doing laundry. Think she's still there?"
"I guess we'll find out." Brandon pulled up a map of the area on his 'com. He pointed south. "This way."
A few yards from the tree line, they spotted a muddy path.
"You think this leads to the river?" Jasi asked.
"We'll find out."
It took nearly fifteen minutes of trekking through dense woods before the trees thinned and opened into a clearing. The soft gurgle of water told them they were heading in the right direction.
When the river came into view, they released a collected breath of relief. The river had narrow, rocky banks and curved out of sight around a sharp bend. The water moved lazily downstream, circling around small boulders and occasionally grasping at tree roots. A couple of younger children frolicked in their underwear in the water.
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