by Kylie Brant
“There were actually a couple instances when people mentioned later that they’d seen a girl in the window. They said he’d explained it away by saying a niece was visiting. But with the media frenzy surrounding this AMBER Alert, that’d be hard to explain away. The entire nation is reporting on this story.”
He was quiet for a moment, enough of a rarity to have Macy wonder what he was thinking. “Okay. Let’s say he wants to stash her somewhere out of the way. We’re already located in the foothills. How far is he going to want to travel—in a blizzard, no less—to get her to a safe place?”
“Cramer says there are no end of spots remote enough to never be found. Areas that haven’t even been fully explored yet.” She rattled off the places he’d mentioned from memory. “But I did a little research on them, and all are three to five hours’ drive from here. It’s hard for me to believe he’s going to chance driving that far, especially when he couldn’t count on having that much of a lead time.”
Kell looked like he was getting into the discussion. “Okay, given the state of the roads, and the need for speed after snatching the girl, we figured he used a snowmobile. He could have had one stashed nearby in a wooded area, out of sight. After scaling the estate wall, he’d only need to carry her a quarter mile or so to the vehicle and make his getaway.”
Macy nodded. They’d had this conversation with Whitman upon arriving, but there’d been no way to validate the supposition. The snow had still been falling when they’d gotten there, erasing any trace of the kidnapper’s exit.
“The road crews had been pulled off the road, so who would have seen him other than crazies out there snowmobiling in the blizzard?”
“But hauling the child with him would be pretty unwieldy on a snowmobile.” She leaned back in her chair and thought out loud. Not even to herself would she admit how liberating it was to bounce her ideas off Kell. “If he heads for Craw-ford, Marble, Ouray, Ridgeway . . . all are three to five hours, by car. Where can he go that’s closer, but still remote?”
He stared at her for a moment. “You know I’ve been here for the same amount of time as you, right?” When she only stared at him, he sat up, as if finally getting the idea. “So start researching it. Right. Sort of bossy today.” His head was already bent over his palm pilot. “Not sure I like this side of you.”
She’d already turned back to her work. “Somehow I’ll manage to live with the disappointment. Have you eaten?” If he hadn’t, she couldn’t believe he wasn’t already whining about it.
“Caught something on the way back.”
“Good.” She smiled into the computer screen. “Then there’s no reason we can’t work uninterrupted for a few hours.”
In the end, of course, her words were almost prophetic. There was a call from Raiker, and they’d taken turns updating him on various aspects of the day. Another from the pilot, verifying her plans for the trip to Chicago the next day. And yet another from the driver who was taking her to the airport. Macy could only assume that Mulder’s employees were trained to check and double-check every last detail.
She still had time to run a test on each sample she’d gotten that day, including the ones Kell had brought her. And while David Elliott’s had given her pause, if only for the sheer lack of writing coherence evident in his sample, none of the written communications provided a match for the semantics of the ransom note.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, glaring into the computer screen at the last result. There were still the files of threats Mulder had received that hadn’t been delivered yet. Any one of them might match the ransom note.
But she couldn’t get past the feeling that she was on a fishing expedition. In most of her cases, the authorities had a suspect in mind before she was called to run comparison samples. The process was much shorter. She’d already fed in dozens of samples, with no success.
And time was running out.
“No matches, huh?” She was surprised to find Kell right in back of her. His approach had been silent.
“No.” And the word felt like a personal failure. She twirled around in the chair to find him much too close. “How about you?”
“Tomorrow we have to stop by a national parks office.” He peered more closely at his palm pilot. “You only have to go an hour or two to the west or northwest to hit forests. We could get more information about the parks and wilderness areas in the state.”
“You can go. Tomorrow I fly to Chicago, remember?”
His pale green gaze arrowed into hers. “Oh, yeah, that trial testimony. How long will that take? Just there and back, right?”
Macy hesitated. Just there and back. No reason to stop in Terre Haute along the way. No reason, because Raiker had already determined Castillo was just pulling their strings. Trying to get alone time with her by pretending to have information they’d find interesting. He was hardly credible.
And the thought—just the thought—of being alone with the man, even surrounded by prison walls, made her flesh crawl.
One, two, three, he’s coming for me. The familiar chant, the childlike voice, echoed in her mind.
“Yes,” she said firmly, muzzling that inner voice with an ease born of long practice. “Just there and back. I’ll return by dinnertime, at the latest.”
And she refused to feel like a coward for the words. She was needed right here. And although she’d face down Castillo if Raiker had asked—she would, of course, she would—he hadn’t asked, had he? Because he knew it’d be a waste of time.
“What’s wrong, Macy?”
It was the gentleness of his tone rather than the words themselves that had her freezing. Her gaze flew to his, saw the emotion reflected in his eyes, as well. “You look . . . scared to death.”
Because the words arrowed much too close, she turned back to the desk to tidy up the samples she’d diagrammed. “Pretestimony jitters, I guess. I’ll be fine. I have the plane ride to prepare.” She was as prepared as she ever would be for the testimony she’d be giving, but the explanation was a plausible one.
It rattled her to realize how easily he’d read her emotions. And since she was afraid of what he’d see if she turned around, she busied herself putting the samples back in files and clicking out of the database of samples on the computer.
Then froze, when she felt his hands on her shoulders, as whisper soft as his voice. “Mace . . .”
An alarm jangled in her mind, shrilled through her head. There was danger here, of a kind she wasn’t used to dealing with. Didn’t want to deal with. Experience had taught her what to expect if she softened toward Kellan Burke. The time she had was proving damn hard to carve from her memory.
The alarm shrilled again, sounding louder this time. And when his hands abruptly left her shoulders, her eyelids snapped open. The sound hadn’t come from her mind at all. It was his blasted cell.
Shaken, she rose and paced several steps to put some distance between them. That’s what she got for thinking about Castillo at all. Just the thoughts weakened her. And being vulnerable around Burke was never a good idea.
Belatedly, she began listening to his end of the conversation. “. . . else do you have? C’mon, it’s been all day. Did you check all the agencies that submit data to Coplink? Uh-huh. Hell, I don’t care how far away. Wait. What?” Kell turned to wave wildly at Macy, leaving it to her imagination to figure out he wanted a pencil and paper. Crossing to the desk, she retrieved a pen and legal pad and thrust both at him. “Yeah, I’ll take the latest blotter information, too.” He scribbled in silence for a couple minutes, silent but for a couple, “Slow down, would you?” Then finally he set the pen down, staring at his notes pensively.
Tired of waiting for an explanation, Macy sidled close enough to cock her head and try to decipher his scribblings. He’d listed what looked to be a bunch of crimes. But it was the word HOMICIDE??? that gave her pause. Who the heck was he talking to?
She waited impatiently for him to finish. “I appreciate it. No, really.” His sincere
tone would have been more convincing if Macy didn’t know how easily he could feign the emotion. “It is a help. And if anything you give me pans out, I’ll figure a way you get credit, too.” He winced a little, and held the phone away from his ear. Macy could hear a raised woman’s voice on the other end. In a flash, comprehension struck.
It was Denise Temple. Giving another look at the list, she wondered just what Kell thought a list of crimes in the surrounding area was going to tell him.
When he hung up, she leveled just that question at him.
“I don’t know.” He was staring at his writings consideringly. “I just hoped maybe something would pop. Crimes rarely happen in isolation. A perp steals a car to commit a crime. Or purchases a gun. Buys a plane ticket. I’m just wondering what else the kidnapper did that might be the one thing that provides us with the lead we need.”
“The files Whitman prepared showed that he’s had agents following up on reports of stolen and recently purchased snowmobiles,” she reminded him.
He grimaced. “Which only reminds me that there are some jobs even less exciting than tracking down Hubbard’s phone contacts.”
“What’d she say about the homicide?” It was simple curiosity that drove her to ask. The Denver metro area alone was home to over two million residents. The homicide rate would reflect its population.
“She said a body was found in Jefferson County, in the Clear Creek Canyon Park.” He lifted a shoulder. “Animals had been at it, so identification will be a bitch. Apparently a couple cross-country skiing happened across a half-eaten human femur. Sheriff’s department found the rest of the body with cadaver dogs. Temple said they think it’s a missing tourist. It’ll be difficult to tell. It’s minus part of the face and some of the . . . ah . . . appendages.”
Macy felt a little queasy. “Just proving how easy it is to get rid of a body in these parts.”
His gaze caught hers, and she knew he understood what she hadn’t said. What she refused to let herself think.
With the plentiful remote wilderness areas in the vicinity, an eleven-year-old girl’s body would be all too easy to dispose of.
Her cell sounded then, and she was grateful for a chance to focus on something else. She looked at the incoming text, and adrenaline shot up her spine. Without another word, she crossed the room to jam her feet into shoes and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, “It’s Jonesy. He’s got something.”
It was clear that Assistant Director Whitman wasn’t sure how to react to Jonesy. It was equally obvious that he was mad as hell the lab was here in the first place.
“Ms. Trimball, can you verify the accuracy of the test results run today?” he was barking as Kell and Macy slipped into the conference room.
Nellie Trimball was once again wrapped up in the winter wear Macy had seen her wearing earlier. Jonesy still wore the sweatshirt he’d arrived in, but at least he was wearing boots rather than the thongs from that afternoon.
“Yes, sir, I’m confident they’re accurate,” she said primly.
“I don’t need anyone verifying my test results,” Jonesy snapped. He slapped the file folder he held onto the polished mahogany table before him. “I would have had them done in half the time if she hadn’t been dogging my every step.”
The woman sniffed audibly. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt you to review established lab protocol and procedures. One can’t take the chance on shoddy workmanship when lives are at stake.”
The two of them squared off again, and Macy said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d been spared their bickering for the duration of the tests. “Shoddy?” Jonesy’s voice went lethal. “Just who do you think—”
“We’re grateful to both of you for your quick work,” Macy inserted smoothly. Moving toward the conference table, she looked at Whitman, who appeared as though he’d swallowed a particularly nasty-tasting lemon. “Assistant Director Whitman, I assume you’ve been introduced to Alfred Jones? He’s one of Raiker’s finest scientists, lured away from Quantico a couple years ago.”
Whitman’s eyes narrowed so much they nearly disappeared. “He was with the FBI?” He raked the man with his gaze. He was no doubt wondering how Jonesy’s Mohawk and piercings had gone over at the bureau’s crime labs. Macy had often questioned that herself.
“I’m certain Adam sent you Alfred’s credentials.” Certain, because her boss had cc’d the document to her that very afternoon.
“Alfred? Don’t call me . . .”
A firm sideways kick had the rest of Jonesy’s protest sliding down his throat.
“Yes.” The special agent glared at her. “Your boss is good about presenting information after the fact. Has friends in high places, doesn’t he?”
She smiled blandly. “Lucky for us. With the cooperation of scientists from our labs and the CBI’s”—she nodded toward Nellie—“we’re no longer at the mercy of backlogs in the state lab in Denver. You must be excited about that.”
Excited didn’t seem to be in the man’s vocabulary, but something eased a bit in his expression at the reminder that CBI still had a hand in the lab results, thanks to Trimball’s presence. He reached for the file folder, and Nellie picked it up and handed it across the table.
“We ran tests on the bloodstains found, both on the bedding and in the suspect’s house,” she began. “The results do indicate one positive elimination.”
Macy and Kell exchanged looks. “Elimination of who?” he asked impatiently.
“Of the victim.” The woman looked vaguely surprised by the interruption. She took the glasses off her nose and wiped them vigorously on the end of her scarf. “Neither result matched the DNA of Ellie Mulder.”
Macy felt her knees weaken in relief. So the bloodstains on her bed and those found in Hubbard’s bathroom didn’t belonged to the girl. It was little, much too little, to pin hope on, especially in light of the threat assessment she’d run. But it was something.
“Who do they belong to?” Kell asked.
“The sample from location B was tiny,” Jonesy put in, “which impacted the tests that could be used.”
Nellie shot him a look that could almost pass for approval. “Minuscule, really. Which of course meant PCR DNA analysis, which was once thought not to be as accurate. However in recent years . . .”
“Can either of you get to the point?” It was plain that Assistant Director Whitman was even lower on patience than usual.
“We were able to match the samples found at location B with the employee DNA profile of one Nicholas Hubbard,” Jonesy finished hurriedly.
Her earlier relief gave way to frustration. The tiny stains found in the man’s bathroom could be explained by any number of reasons. “Any way of determining how old they were?”
Nellie Trimball looked down her long nose at Macy. “We weren’t requested to make that determination.”
“The bloodstains weren’t degraded.” Jonesy shrugged. “Repeated cleaning of the area over time would have eliminated them or at least deteriorated them to some degree. More than that I can’t say. Also, the photographs show they were drops, not clotted, circular in shape.”
“Meaning they came from a ninety-degree angle,” finished Macy. But at this point, that determination meant exactly nothing.
“Let’s go back to the bloodstain on the sheets,” demanded Kell. “Were you able to match it to Hubbard?”
Jonesy shook his head. “We only compared it to two DNA profile samples, that of the suspect and the victim. It didn’t match either.”
Shock jolted through her. Hubbard’s prints had been found in the girl’s room. The CBI crime lab had determined that much. But if the stained bedding couldn’t be attributed to either the girl or Hubbard, where did that leave them?
“Maybe that’s an indication Hubbard wasn’t working alone,” she suggested slowly.
But Whitman’s thoughts were clearly channeling in another direction. “Tomorrow I want those bloodstains compared to the DNA profiles we have on file for e
very employee on the estate. But first start with the parents.” His glare dared either Kell or Macy to object, but both remained silent. It was hardly surprising that his suspicions would immediately return to the Mulders. Macy doubted they had strayed too far from his mind as suspects since the case had begun.
At any rate, the comparison samples had to be run, if only for elimination purposes. But she’d hoped the bloodstains would have yielded more telling information.
“You said the stains in the bathroom weren’t degraded. How about the one on the sheet? Could it have been there awhile?”
“If it was, the sheet likely hadn’t been washed since it was stained.” Nellie had her glasses back on her nose. “There was no evidence of deterioration.”
Which made Macy even more certain it had occurred the night in question. It didn’t seem likely that housekeeping would have put a stained sheet back on the girl’s bed. More than likely it would have been disposed of.
But that didn’t help explain how it had gotten there in the first place.
“Before they start the tests tomorrow, let’s run the DNA profile result through CODIS.” She saw Whitman’s answer on his face before he even opened his mouth, so she said more firmly, “We save time by doing them simultaneously. As a matter of fact, we’ll probably know whether or not there’s a hit on the Combined DNA Index System before Jonesy and Ms. Trimball even finish the tests.”
“I’ll have the sample submitted into the state and national system,” the assistant director surprised her by saying. His gaze traveled back to encompass the scientists once again. “Did you discover anything else?”
Jonesy looked a bit crestfallen. Clearly he’d expected more fanfare over the results he’d presented. “I only had time to run the two tests. If someone hadn’t been underfoot every time I turned around, always yammering on about her research, or proper technique—which, for the record, I don’t need to be reminded of—”
