“It’s his?” Helen asked.
“Almost certainly. However, it’s not registered in any of the databases, so it doesn’t give us an identity.”
Isaac and Sarah remained placid, but Tom and Helen were alert and in tune. Their faces sank when they heard that the sample didn’t belong to any known person.
“Don’t let that discourage you though. See, now we have a DNA profile to match against any future suspects.”
If Charlie knew anything, it was that one stand-alone piece of evidence rarely solved a crime. An accumulation of information solved them. A puzzle of small, carefully put together pieces was how cases typically took shape. One factor, like the DNA, might become the deciding item, but only because all the others led to a probable person. Clues like descriptions of vehicles and tire patterns were just as important.
Tom wanted more. “You said the FBI was working on a profile. What’s that looking like?”
“Yes. By incorporating all the specifics, they can build a pretty accurate description of who they’re looking for. According to them, the person in question is obviously a male and Caucasian. He’s between the age of thirty to forty-five and single. He’s physically fit, probably a bit of a recluse with an above-average IQ.”
The FBI had other things in their profile, but Charlie wasn’t going to share those, at least not at the moment. It didn’t make a pretty picture and would do nothing to help ease their minds.
He tried to go on, but there wasn’t anything else of substance to mention. Silence dominated the room. Part family, part investigator, and part friend was not a position easily filled. He didn’t know whether to stay and visit or leave them in privacy.
Helen sensed his discomfort and wanted to ease the tension. If there was one thing she knew, it was appetites. And Charlie had one of the biggest she had ever seen, even from the time he was a little boy. The way to his heart truly was through his stomach.
“Charlie.” She reached across the table and set her hand on his. “We have more food than we can possibly eat. If someone doesn’t take it, it’s going to go bad. I would feel better if you’d have some. You look like you could use it.” She knew just how to phrase it.
Charlie, always a little embarrassed about his weight, had a habit of turning down food in front of others. On the other hand, he also had a soft spot for people’s feelings, especially Helen’s. The woman had been everything to him that his real mother wasn’t. If he thought eating would lift her spirits, he wasn’t about to say no.
“Well.” He leaned back in his chair. Both hands ran over his belly and down to his belt. A tan uniform shirt was pulled tight against his stomach. The utility belt rode low beneath the paunch. “I haven’t had breakfast.”
“Good. I’m also going to send some with you. I know the boys down at the station won’t complain about it.”
Charlie looked to Sarah to make sure the gesture wasn’t too much. She nodded and gave a halfhearted, tight-lipped smile, encouraging him to take it.
He left with two sacks of food. There was still an endless pile of to-dos before the afternoon. He was sitting as a member of the family at Caroline’s funeral and couldn’t be late. Once more, the struggle between friend and professional nagged. But there was nothing to do except get in the cruiser, go slog out more cop work, and try to find the enigma they were all chasing.
Chapter Ten
The time was marked when a black, funeral home Suburban parked out front. Together and strong for the moment, Isaac stepped onto the spacious front porch with Sarah and Josie. Helen and Tom came last. Like one being, there was a unified inhaling and exhaling of breath. The march down the sidewalk was the start of an unfortunate ritual. A life had to be remembered and told good-bye forever.
Isaac sat in the middle seat with Sarah and Josie on either side of him. He held both their hands. They were going to get through this together. There was no other way of passage. His parents were in the third seat, silent and brokenhearted over more than Caroline. They felt dejected at seeing their son mourn with his family.
They rode to the mountainside cemetery without a word. It had rained more over the weekend, and the grass was soggy. Across the meadow, headstones, old and new, all grayed by weather, dotted the setting.
Chairs for the family were neatly lined up in front of Caroline’s child-sized, open casket. The girls were sandwiched in the middle. A halo of protection and strength surrounded them. On the far end, next to Tom, Charlie took a seat. Excluding him, the five of them were the only surviving family.
Friends, teachers, acquaintances, little girls in dresses, and little boys in suits were spread around in a semicircle to hear the preacher deliver the final words of compassion to a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, and a friend too short-lived. All was quiet and calm as her final blessings were bestowed.
Without any instruments, voices young and old offered a song to a precious little girl.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind, but now I see
Those sweet words echoed across the cemetery and down the valley. The mountains stood tall, and the breeze rustled in the aspens. Caroline’s spirit could almost be felt as the air spiraled and moved on to places unknown. Only her body remained. Her eyes were closed, and she was wearing her favorite dress. A lacy scarf covered the fatal wound. A ribbon and pendant hung loosely around her neck. If she could have spoken, she would have told them to not be sad. She was in a better place and patiently waiting to see them again.
“No one can hurt me now.”
When it was time, Sarah leaned over, kissed her forehead, and let quivering lips linger. She would gladly have died a thousand painful deaths to trade places. Isaac pressed his lips to the same place. He felt sadness and anger but mostly failure. It was his job to protect her, and he had failed. There was no second chance. The stakes were life and death. A do-over did not exist. Tears dripped onto Caroline’s face from the tragic reality. He wanted to pull her from the casket, carry her home, and never let go.
He felt a small hand squeeze his fingers. Josie was on her tiptoes, trying to get a better look at her sister.
“Do you want to say something to her?” His eyes spilled tears, but his voice was clear.
She nodded, and he set a folding chair next to the elevated casket. She wasn’t crying as he lifted her to stand in the seat. The look on her face was peaceful, at ease with the world. She looked down on her twin sister.
“What do I tell her, Daddy?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he swallowed the lump. “Well, I guess you can tell her anything you want. You’re sisters.”
Her hand slipped out and wrapped around Caroline’s. She slid her thumb over the cool skin. “She’s cold.”
He tried but couldn’t hold back. It was too much. Even in front of Josie, he had no strength left. She had just broken his wall, and the tears came rolling. He shook with sobs, crying the helpless cry of a man out of options. Sarah was there, and he drew into her. This was his time, and he needed to hear it would be okay.
Josie held on to Caroline’s hand. It was just the two of them. The way they had begun. Out of the blue, she smiled.
“You look pretty, sissy. Grandma says Jesus will take good care of you.” She went on her tiptoes and did something she and Caroline had always done. “I love you,” she said, and kissed her sister on the lips.
Josie stepped down from the chair and looked at the sad faces of all the grownups. “It’s time to go.” With that, she walked toward the Suburban.
Somehow, it was the perfect thing to say. They couldn’t stay there forever. It was time to go.
Chapter Eleven
Shiny blonde hair reflected yellow rays of light drifting through the window. Josie sat in her bedroom. A child-sized table and teacups were placed before her.
Isaac came to the doorway and stopped. He observed as she poured make-
believe tea into two cups, visiting with a presence only she saw. She had been caught several times over the last few days talking into thin air, like someone was there with her. She spoke to the ghost no differently than a real person.
Everyone took comfort in how well she was adjusting. After all, she was closest to Caroline. They were blood, confidants. They had begun as one egg, sharing the womb. Where two had always been, there was now only one.
To the average parent, the one-sided conversations would not have caused alarm. Isaac, however, was in a heightened state of concern. He feared it might be Caroline she was speaking with, and if so, that Josie was in denial about her sister’s permanent absence. Death could be difficult to understand at eight years old. Neither of the girls had ever lost a loved one. Not even a family pet had passed away. And Isaac thought they should talk.
He leaned against the doorway. “Hey, you have room for one more?”
She was immersed in her serving. “Sure.”
The delicately carved chair set was too fragile for his grown body. Instead, he sat on a stool used to retrieve things from the closet shelves.
“Is this cup for me?” He gestured toward the second place setting.
“No, that’s my friend’s.” She never looked up. Her hands fetched additional dishes from a stack. She placed a new cup and saucer in front of him. “Here you go, Daddy. These are yours.”
“Thank you. Who’s your friend?”
She paused in thought.
* * *
His mother had warned him not to push. “She’s just a normal little girl, having normal playtime and pretending someone is there. It’s no fun to have tea parties alone.” She looked deeply into her grown son’s eyes, really trying to get into his thoughts. “Even if,” she went on, “Josie’s pretending Caroline is there, what does it matter? It’s only been a few days, and it’s probably not even real to her yet.”
He was apprehensive to think that Josie imagining her sister was there could be healthy on any level.
Helen made her point. “Is it real to you? Is it honestly? You’re a grown man who understands death perfectly. She’s eight. Give it time.”
* * *
Josie met his eyes for a moment and then resumed her work. “Umm, she doesn’t really have a name. We’re just having tea.” It didn’t seem to bother her one bit that she made conversation with someone utterly fake.
“Oh, I see.” He took a sip of the imaginary liquid. “Mmm, mmm, mmm. This is delicious. May I have some more?” He acted enthusiastic and closed his eyes in a gesture of the savory blend. His mother was right.
“Yes,” she replied politely. She looked across the table to the place setting her imaginary companion occupied. “Would you like some more, too?” There was a pause. “Okay. Do you want sugar?”
Isaac sat back and drank the second cup slowly. Maybe this is good. If she can’t use her imagination to play, what else is there? She’s a smart girl and will eventually put the pieces together. One day, it will make sense.
He slurped the last drop and stood up from the table. “Thank you, sweetheart. That was fun.”
“You’re welcome.” Her voice was calm and sweet, that of an angel. She placed the dirty dishes in a separate pile from the clean ones and resumed her play.
He didn’t know how he would ever explain the events that transpired that one terrible night. How does a father tell his child that someone intends them perverse harm? How can I articulate that Caroline’s death was not the worst-case scenario? He wanted Josie to sleep peacefully through the nights, not scared that someone was after her. She would find out eventually. That was certain. But doing it the right way—a way that wouldn’t haunt her dreams—was the hard part. But the truth was, she had every right to be afraid.
Chapter Twelve
On the outskirts of Hiawatha, Kansas, Ricky waited anxiously in his cargo van. His next move was only minutes away.
Three weeks had crawled by since his failed attempt to abduct Caroline and Josie. Under normal circumstances, he would not have chosen another victim so quickly. He preferred to savor his prize, reliving the sexual humiliation and pain he put her through. Video footage, horrendously graphic pictures, and memorized physical sensations were all exceedingly erotic. He typically spent weeks wallowing in the success. The selection of a new target was sacred. His prize couldn’t just be anybody. He wanted someone who was somebody.
The attempt in Ruidoso and news of Caroline’s death drove him mad. He needed stimulation and hadn’t gotten it. His ravenous appetite had brought him to the precipice of gratification, only to have the bottom fall out at the last second. Now, angry with himself and his pent-up desires, he was thirsty. He needed a quickie, someone to soothe the burn, absorb his toxic current, and quench the thirst.
Well-manicured, spindly fingers stroked the soft fur of his new puppy. Kansas. He had decided to name the seven-week-old golden retriever mix in honor of the locale. You’ll do just perfectly.
After several days of observation, he realized the need for a lure. Nothing came to mind until he saw a sign. “Free Puppies.” He couldn’t resist. It was perfect, and the little guy was so cute.
It was time to go over the plan. As was his custom, he had already been through it more than he could remember. He even did a dry run, but repetition never hurt. Her mom drops her off from Little Dribbler practice at five thirty. She gets a snack and plays in the backyard while the babysitter sits at the computer. As soon as they’re both in place, I’ll go.
He fired the engine and drove out of the Walmart parking lot. The white van was ordinary, common with an aluminum extension ladder tied to the top. He was just another handyman, plumber, painter, or electrician.
He went to the babysitter’s street and parked a few houses down. Any minute now. Any minute. Right on cue, a tan Chevy Tahoe came around the corner and pulled into the driveway. Becky Davis left the engine running and walked her seven-year-old daughter, Bailey, to the front door.
From the van, he could only watch. It didn’t matter. The routine was always the same. Bailey had her bag and went inside. Casey, the high school-aged babysitter, listened to a few words of instruction and nodded in agreement. A ponytail pulled high on her head bobbed up and down. Becky turned on her heels, walked back to the Tahoe, and drove away. She wouldn’t return from the country club until ten o’clock.
“Perfect,” he said aloud. Every detail was just as he knew it would be.
A half hour later, little Bailey appeared inside the chain-link fence of the backyard and began shooting hoops. She bounced around, dribbled, and juked to improve her skills. Waves of flaxen hair followed every motion, propelled by a tan body from afternoons at the city pool. A low basketball goal hung over a cement slab. She went back there every time and religiously played while Casey surfed the Net or clicked on her cell phone.
He drove into the alley behind the row of houses. One backyard down from where Bailey was, a telephone pole rose out of the ground next to a junction box. He stopped directly beside the electrical equipment, got out, and opened both backdoors. He set a tool belt full of screwdrivers, pliers, and wrenches on the bumper. The setup had to look real, just in case.
The sun was high, hot, and stifling. Shade from ancient oaks and maples smothered the alley and the backyards. They towered above the half-century houses. He thought of the old TV series, Leave It to Beaver. People here felt such security. It was a weakness. And like liquid over glass, he moved forward without a ripple.
A blue shirt complete with fake nametag, navy pants, and work boots made up his disguise. A white hard hat perched on his noggin topped it off. Only a few paces were between him and the doorway to destiny. He cradled the pup, Kansas, in his arms. It was time for the fur ball to earn his keep.
The neighborhood yards backed up to the alley. Shrubs planted along the inside of their fence lines gave residents privacy. A gate opened from each yard to access the trash dumpsters. They were the only spaces not blocked by hedg
es.
Hidden behind the bushes, right next to the gate entrance, he extracted a bottle of cayenne pepper and unscrewed the lid. He poured it onto Kansas’s nose.
The puppy whimpered from the burn, not sure what it was. He licked it and yelped when the pain didn’t go away. He squirmed and pawed at his face, trying to get rid of the unpleasant scorch. But the harder he fought, the worse it hurt. The liquid pepper spread to his eyes, and he cried over and over.
Ricky set him down outside the barrier and directly in Bailey’s line of sight. Like any typical seven-year-old, she immediately noticed the racket and ran to help. Her intention was to open the latch, coddle the tiny butterball, and take it to see Casey. She wanted nothing more than to bestow innocent love on the unfortunate little beast. But when she opened the gate, her hands never made it.
He jerked Bailey into the alley and behind the row of shrubs. Her back was tucked against his belly, a ropy arm holding her still. He quickly placed a dampened handkerchief over her face, holding it tightly to keep her from screaming. She went limp, and he swung her around his shoulders and onto his back. He leaned forward to keep her from flopping back, and curled both of his arms beneath her thighs. To the casual observer, it would look as though she were getting a piggyback ride. At the van, he dumped her into the open cargo doors, calmly closed them, and walked around to the front. So far, all was quiet.
As he drove to the end of the alley, turned onto the street, and headed out of town, there was absolutely no visual reason for suspicion. It was nothing but a uniformed man driving a service vehicle with Kansas plates. They didn’t match the inspection sticker, but no one ever looked that closely. As soon as he crossed into Missouri, he would drop them into the first river, put on his Colorado plates, and keep cruising. And above all else, every speed limit sign was strictly adhered to.
“Shit!” he blurted. He pulled his foot off the accelerator to think. “Oh, shit, shit, shit.”
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