When Shadows Fall

by J. T. Ellison

  Fletcher’s phone rang, buzzing discreetly in his pocket, and he stood, moved away from the fight about to break out between the Feebs and the dad. He felt terrible for Stevens, totally got it. What parents would want to stand back and wait when their kid was missing? At least he didn’t get the sense Stevens was involved. His outraged demeanor, his fear and upset, was genuine.

  Fletcher answered quietly when he noticed the number was Nocek’s personal line. “What’s up, Doc?”

  “Detective, we have had a most unusual discovery in the samples Dr. Owens sent from Lynchburg. A DNA match in the missing persons database.”

  Fletcher’s heart gave a double thump. Awesome. A hit, right off the bat. And fast, too. That meant it was a high-profile case, just waiting in the system for a match. “A match to whom? Are we looking at our killer?”

  “It is possible, but I am not certain,” Nocek said. “The match is to a missing child from seventeen years ago. Do you remember the case of a young girl named Kaylie Rousch?”

  “Kaylie Rousch? Kaylie Rousch.” But as he said the name, it clicked. “Wait a minute. I do remember the case. She’s the one who got off the bus after school and flat-out disappeared. No sign of her, nothing. No suspects, no sightings, no ransom demands. It was on the news for weeks. Man, I had just joined the force. I was still in training. And then they found her body a year later, just the skeleton. So there must be some mistake. Kaylie Rousch is dead.”

  “I do not believe we have made a mistake. The child, she’s a woman now, is very much alive. I have taken the liberty of sending the file I have, meager though it is, to your email account. I would suggest you speak to the FBI agents who are working on the Stevens girl case. They may be able to flesh out more information.”

  “Son of a bitch. Where was the DNA collected from?”

  “According to Dr. Owens’s evidence log, it was collected from the victim’s neck and ear. The composition of the sample is from a tear duct. If I were to hazard a guess, I would say Kaylie Rousch was leaning over the victim, crying.”

  Fletch was trying to wrap his head around the information. “Okay, you’ve got the DNA, and it’s a match to the Rousch cold case. Let me get this straight. You are one hundred percent convinced this is fresh DNA, as in the girl was there at the scene in Lynchburg?”

  “This is exactly what I am saying.”

  Fletcher took that in, tuned back in to the conversation with Stevens. They were getting nowhere, but he watched Thurber with a fresh eye. There was little doubt in his mind the FBI agent would be familiar with the Rousch case, and if he was, there was also a good chance he was the same Rob Thurber who was mentioned in Timothy Savage’s will. What were the odds? And was it possible the two cases—three now—were connected?

  “This is interesting news, Doc. Just one question. If Kaylie Rousch is alive, whose body did they find and bury?”

  Chapter

  26

  Lynchburg, Virginia

  IT FELT LIKE hours since Sam had watched the ambulance peel away from the Scarron house, Ellie Scarron inside, still unconscious but alive. The sun was threatening to set, plunging them all into darkness. Davidson had a crew of crime scene techs combing the premises, pushing hard to find anything they could before it got dark, looking for any clue to their attacker. Sam had her adrenal glands back under control, but they started pumping again when she thought about this faceless killer, big and brutal and merciless, and several steps ahead of her.

  And steps behind. This man had been shadowing her for two days, murdering the peripheral contacts she made. It was starting to piss her off. And if she was being honest with herself, she was scared, too.

  She sat on the steps, looked down on the bloody living room floor and tried to decide what to do. The professionals were on Scarron’s attempted murder, and now Savage’s murder, as well. Davidson had transformed from a sleepy, somewhat uncooperative Southern cop to a hard-as-nails detective, ordering everyone around and doing a good job of running the show. She was comfortable that he could handle things from here. She had another job to do.

  Xander sat down beside her. He leaned in close and in his unerring way, said, “What do you want to do? Get out of here and go back to D.C., forget you were ever involved?”

  Sam took his hand. “I wish I could forget. We’re in this now, in it deep. Our next step is to find the rest of the names in Savage’s will, and warn them. Let Davidson handle the criminal investigation. I’m going to honor Savage’s wishes and track down his people, especially his son, Henry Matcliff. He may be our killer, he may be an innocent, but either way, we need to find him.”

  “I’m with you.”

  “Good. First thing, my iPad’s out of juice, and we need to get to a computer.” She looked around at the scene, where there were two dozen people stomping around. “And I don’t want them on my back while I do it.”

  “Leave it to me, my lady. Did you see the cameras?”

  “No, where?”

  He pointed up, to the corners of the room. She stared for a few moments, unseeing, then caught the very cleverly hidden cameras. There were false ceilings in the corner, angled to look like the exposed wooden beams of the rest of the room. The cameras were nestled inside their virtually invisible boxes, recording everything that happened in the house.

  “They’re all over the place. The control room is downstairs, in the basement. We can use the computer there,” Xander said.

  Sam whistled. “And maybe find a killer, too. Isn’t anyone from the Lynchburg Police looking at the tapes?”

  “I showed the cameras to Davidson. They gathered the tapes up about twenty minutes ago. We should have the room to ourselves. Let’s go.”

  They went quietly to the staircase. Xander led the way, spiraling down into the basement. It was beautifully finished, just like the rest of the house, the walls a golden stucco that reflected the setting sun through floor-to-ceiling retractable glass doors. It was a lovely indoor-outdoor space, and Sam couldn’t help stopping on the stairs and admiring the view. She’d been right. The sunsets up on this mountain were stunning. She hoped Ellie Scarron would have a chance to see one again.

  The golden orb finally slipped below the horizon and the sky lit up, pinks and purples and blues spreading over the misty mountains.

  “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” Xander said.

  It was a private joke between them; they got to see some pretty spectacular sunsets from Xander’s cabin, too.

  “Where’s Thor?”

  “In the car, being a very patient young dog. We’ll have to spring him soon. It’s too hot for him to sit still much longer. He needs to drink and eat and run for a bit.”

  “This won’t take long. I just want to do a Google search on these names, see if anything comes up.”

  Her phone started to buzz. “It’s Fletcher. Finally.” She pressed the button.

  “What’s happening there? Has the missing girl been found?”

  “No, she hasn’t, but boy, do I have some news for you. You sitting down?”

  She sat in the desk chair, put him on speaker. “I am now. What is it?”

  “The DNA you collected off Savage’s body is a match to a cold case from seventeen years ago. Little girl named Kaylie Rousch. Do you remember the case?”

  “Not off the top of my head.”

  “Kaylie Rousch went missing from her bus stop, and they found a skeleton a year later, out in Ryder, Virginia. Kaylie Rousch is dead. Or so we’ve thought for the past sixteen years.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Yeah. The DNA was composed of tears. She was crying over him, according to Dr. Nocek.”

  Sam leaned back in the chair, thinking about the specimen she’d taken from Savage’s neck. “He’s sure? The composition and trajectory certainly indicated tears, but I thought they were Sav
age’s. Wow. That’s rather amazing.”

  “It’s pretty wild, I’ll give you that. This all gets more interesting. I just pulled Kaylie Rousch’s file. She bears a strong resemblance to this little girl we’re missing today—Rachel Stevens. And the FBI agent on both cases? His name is Rob Thurber. And I’m looking right at him.”

  Sam felt a zing of recognition. “Thurber, that’s one of the names in Savage’s will. Have you told him?”

  “No, not yet. I thought we should touch base before I did anything.”

  “Well, I have some news for you, too.” She told him about Ellie Scarron’s very close call. She could hear his mind whirling.

  “Son of a bitch. Get out of there, Sam. I want you back up in D.C. where I can keep an eye on you. This is clearly bigger than just Savage’s death. We’re going to sit down with the FBI and hash this out.”

  “I want to look at the rest of the heirs first. If we can find them, we need to warn them. Someone is trying to silence them. The lawyer is dead, and the wife of an heir is clinging to life. Savage knew this was coming. He knew they were going to kill him, and the rest of these people. We need to find the others and talk to them right away. Find out who is behind this.”

  “Sam, that’s my job. I’m the law enforcement officer here, and I say get your sweet little ass into Whitfield’s Jeep and back here, right away. You get me?”

  “Fletch—”

  He cut her off, his voice cold and hard. “Don’t. I’m dead serious, Samantha. I don’t want you prancing around down there with a killer on the loose. Whitfield, can you hear me?”

  Xander grabbed Sam’s hand, pulled her to her feet. “We’re already gone, Fletcher. We’ll see you in D.C. in a few hours.”

  “Good. You call me every half hour until you’re back here, and come directly to my office in Homicide. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, you’re clear,” Sam said. “We’re on our way. Watch your back, all right?”

  “It’s not my back I’m worried about, sunshine.”

  No kidding. She ended the call.

  Xander started towing her out the basement door. Sam said, “We need to let Davidson know we’re leaving.”

  “No, we don’t. If he’s a part of this, we can’t take that chance.”

  “Xander, come on. You saw how he worked the scene. He’s not part of this. I’m sure.”

  “I’m not.” He clamped his lips together in a way she recognized. There was no more talking to be done; he’d made his decision. Arrogant caveman. She didn’t like being ordered around like this, but she wasn’t stupid. She wanted to get as far away from Lynchburg as possible.

  The Jeep was parked on the side of the house. Thor let out a happy yip when he saw them. They bundled into the Jeep and Xander took off.

  They didn’t see June Davidson standing on the steps to Ellie Scarron’s house, watching them drive off into the night. When the taillights disappeared down the mountain, he sent a text on his cell phone, let out a soft sigh and went back inside.

  Chapter

  27

  Bethesda, Maryland

  KEVIN STEVENS WAS crumpled on the floor in the corner of his office, weeping, when Fletcher finished his call. Jordan Blake was kneeling next to him, a hand on his shoulder, trying to console him. He had no idea what had been said, didn’t want to know. He signaled to Hart, and caught Thurber’s eye. The two men moved toward him, and he led them through the house to the back garden. Once outside, he turned to Thurber.

  “Do you recall the name Kaylie Rousch?”

  He nodded, clearly startled. “Yes, I do. Of course. It was my first big missing child case. Terrible, too, especially when we found her body. It was the cleanest kidnapping I’ve ever seen. There were no clues, no threads to follow. We did everything right, kept the story in the news for weeks, did ground and aerial searches. The body was buried in a really deep grave—whoever was responsible did a good job of covering their tracks.” He frowned. “That’s a closed case. Why do you bring it up?”

  “Kaylie Rousch’s DNA was found on a body in Lynchburg today. On a murder victim named Timothy Savage.”

  Thurber touched his forehead as if the news had brought on a headache, then straightened. His voice was stony, prepared, careful. “What kind of DNA?”

  “Looks to be tears, actually.”

  Thurber’s face went from wary to confused to delighted. Fletcher watched the array of emotions, recognizing the stages himself. A case solved, a case broken wide-open—either feeling was nirvana, even if the resolution brought terror and pain.

  Thurber’s face fell just as quickly as it had lit up. “There’s no way that’s right. We found her body. It was identified with DNA.”

  “Well, either someone made a mistake today or someone made a mistake back then. Which do you think is the more likely scenario?”

  “Honestly? I think—” He stopped. “All right. I’ll play. But who was the child we found, if it wasn’t Kaylie Rousch? Because trust me, I was there when we pulled what was left of her body from the earth, and there was only one little girl who was missing from the area who matched her description.”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. We have another problem. We have reason to believe Rousch was the one behind Timothy Savage’s murder.”

  Thurber got quiet, his dark eyes watchful. “What gives you that impression?”

  “The man had been strangled. The woman’s DNA was on his face. You do the math. And this story gets weirder. Savage wrote a letter to a friend of mine, Dr. Samantha Owens—”

  “I know of Dr. Owens. She’s from Nashville, is a friend of a friend here at the Bureau. She was involved in the case of the Pretender, that freak serial killer who had acolytes across the country reenacting the famous serial killers—Son of Sam, the Zodiac and the Boston Strangler. She was kidnapped and injured, if I recall correctly.”

  “That’s her. She’s a professor at Georgetown Med School now. Savage wrote her and asked her to solve his murder, and to autopsy his body. She’s in Lynchburg. She posted him this morning, and that’s where we found the Rousch girl’s DNA. Do you know a man named Rolph Benedict, or a woman named Ellie Scarron?”

  “I know them both. Of them, at least. Benedict represented Gillian Martin, the murderer who went free. And Ellie Scarron is famous in her own right, married to Arthur Scarron, the oil magnate. Before he died, of course. Why? Are they involved in this?”

  Fletcher ran a hand across his forehead. “Benedict was murdered last night here in D.C., and someone tried to kill Mrs. Scarron this afternoon. Both were garroted. And Timothy Savage left you a thousand dollars in his will.”

  Thurber’s voice grew louder. He was losing patience. “What kind of game is this, Detective Fletcher? I have no idea who that man is.”

  “It’s not a game. It’s very serious. People are dying, and if you ask me, it’s got something to do with Kaylie Rousch. And I think she’s tied to your current case.”

  “Rachel Stevens?”

  “We can’t rule it out.”

  Thurber shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m hearing her name now, after all this time. That case haunted me. Still does. And now you’re saying we got it wrong?” He stretched his shoulders, as if he’d come to some sort of decision. “I take it you’re asking for my help? We—Agent Blake and I—we can’t be deviated from this case. As much as I’d like to sideline back to Rousch, our primary goal must be recovering Rachel Stevens. We’ll have to get another team in to deal with this. We’re gonna have to get that body exhumed, too. Jesus, her parents. The mother was a piece of work. Someone will have to talk to them. And—”

  “Hold on. Before you slough this off on someone else, tell me something. Why would a man connected to Kaylie Rousch leave you a thousand dollars? You sure you’ve never
heard of Timothy Savage?”

  “I’ve never heard of him before now. I have no connection to him.” But something sparked in Thurber’s eyes, something like recognition, and Fletcher leaned closer.

  “What is it?”

  “It just hit me. Do you recall what Kaylie Rousch looked like when she was abducted?”

  “Light red hair, blue eyes. The old photos I’ve seen show a slight resemblance to Rachel Stevens. I’m telling you, there’s a thread here. We need to follow it.”

  Thurber gazed into the woods that backed the Stevens house. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said darkly. “But I don’t like this at all.”

  Fletcher’s phone dinged with a new text. It was from Sam, telling him she’d emailed him Savage’s autopsy photos. Thurber turned to go into the house, but Fletcher stopped him.

  “Do me a favor, take a quick look at these. It’s from Savage’s autopsy this afternoon.” He handed Thurber his phone and opened the email. The first shot was a full facial profile of the dead man. Thurber took one look and dropped the phone on the concrete patio, shattering the screen.

  “What the hell, man?” Fletcher bent down and grabbed the damaged phone and stood to see Thurber’s face was white as milk, and he was swaying like he was about to faint. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Because I have,” Thurber said. “Jesus, let me see the picture again.”

  Fletcher handed him the cracked phone, his heart starting a drumbeat tattoo.

  Thurber stared at the photo, eyes wide with disbelief. “I can’t believe it.”

  “So you do know Timothy Savage, after all.”

  Thurber looked up, his blue eyes blank. His voice was ragged. “That’s not Timothy Savage. That’s Special Agent Douglas Matcliff. He was my partner. On the Kaylie Rousch case. He’s been missing for over ten years.”