by Kava, Alex
“Do you recognize it?”
“Brodie had a copy of Harriet the Spy with her when she disappeared.” It had to be a coincidence. “Is this stuff from the same place where you found the photo?”
“Yes.”
No way this was a coincidence.
“Our grandmother gave us each a book on that trip. We both started reading them.” Creed just remembered his own bookmark and turned to his duffle. He dug inside until he found his copy of War of the Worlds tucked safely between a couple of his T-shirts. He held it in both hands with as much reverence as though it were a Bible. Then carefully, he tugged the Polaroid out and handed it to Maggie.
“Gram had my mom take three photos. She kept one, and Brodie and I used ours for bookmarks.”
“Creed, there’s no way to know whether or not this book was the same one Brodie had. This guy may have had close to a dozen victims. In fact, we don’t have anything else that connects him to her.”
“Can you open it?”
By now, Creed’s heart banged against his chest. He could see Grace prancing at his feet, but not for her food. She was worried about him, again.
Maggie hesitated but only for a second or two. Then she pulled on a pair of latex gloves. She wrote something on the plastic bag before she broke the seal. Creed’s hair at the back of his neck bristled as if someone had opened the door to the conference room and let in a cold draft. He watched her slip the paperback out of the bag slowly and carefully and he caught himself holding his breath.
She held on to it and didn’t offer it to him. Instead, she waited for instructions or more of an explanation. He could feel her eyes on him, and he didn’t care that there was too much sympathy in them. She didn’t believe this was Brodie’s book. She was preparing for him to be disappointed. But Creed knew.
“Gram always gave us books,” he told Maggie. “She picked them out specially for each of us. Somehow she always knew what we’d like. On the inside cover, she’d put the date she gave the book to us. She’d write a simple message.”
He opened the cover of his and showed Maggie the inscription.
To Ryder. Love, Gram
10-10-01
Gently and slowly, Maggie opened the paperback’s cover.
“Oh my God!” she whispered.
The message, written in blue ink, matched the one in Creed’s hardcover. He recognized his grandmother’s beautiful cursive script.
To Brodie. Love, Gram.
10-10-01
Chapter 24
Santa Rosa County, Florida
Jason turned into the circle driveway and rolled down the window before the sheriff’s deputy made it to the side of his SUV.
“Sir, you’ll need to turn around.”
Jason pulled down the brim of his cap, so the deputy could read the K9 CrimeScents embroidered on the front while he extended his hand with his I.D. Creed had told him that people would question him because of his youth.
“Don’t get mad,” Creed had told him. “Let them see your confidence instead.”
And sure enough, the deputy was taking his time, his eyes darting back and forth from the photo on the I.D. to Jason’s face. Then he bent down to search the back of the SUV as if he still didn’t believe Jason until he saw Scout in his kennel.
“Black Lab?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jason answered.
“I thought search dogs were always shepherds.”
That was the other thing Creed warned him about. Preconceived notions of what kind of dog should be used would have them asking more questions.
“The military uses a lot of shepherds,” Jason told the deputy. “We don’t discriminate.”
But now he saw the man’s eyes dart to his robotic hand on the steering wheel. He looked back at Jason with that look Jason hated—part awe, part wonder. And though no one ever said it, in his head Jason always added words to that look: What kind of freak are you?
The deputy handed him the I.D. and pointed toward the house.
“I’ll let Sheriff Norwich know you’re here.”
Jason drove slowly the rest of the way, pulling in behind the two sheriff’s department vehicles. The two-story house set back from the road on about an acre surrounded by huge live oaks, magnolias and long-leaf pines. Large camellia bushes were full of deep crimson blooms. With the window still down he could smell the fresh pine straw. He recognized the pecan shells used on the paths in the landscape. Across the street were similar well-manicured yards with modest homes. A nice middle-class neighborhood. But behind all of them was a thick forest that would be dark in a few hours.
He looked in the rearview mirror and saw Scout checking out the surroundings, his nose twitching in the direction of the open window.
“Creed and Hannah say you and me are ready for this,” Jason told the dog. Scout cocked his head but only for a second or two before his nose started testing the air again.
A thirteen-year-old girl was missing since last night. The mother thought the girl had walked to a friend’s house. She only discovered earlier this afternoon that the girl wasn’t with the friend. In fact, she’d never arrived, and the friend claimed she never expected her. There had been no plans for an overnight stay.
Hannah had told him the basics, most of which he made her repeat so he could write it all down. This would be his first search all by himself . . . not all by himself. With Scout. But only the two of them. They’d never done an entire search without Creed.
The girl’s mother . . . What was her name?
Jason grabbed the notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped pages to find it. He was awful with names. Woodson. Shelly. The daughter’s name was Raelyn. He flipped more pages. He didn’t remember Hannah telling him the father’s name.
“You the guy with the dog?”
Jason jerked to attention. Another deputy had wandered over. Jason dropped the notebook into his pocket and opened the door.
“Jason Seaver,” he told the man but he didn’t offer his hand. Instead, he walked around to the back of the SUV and opened the tailgate.
Scout was excited. Too excited. Jason slipped his fingers into the crate, and the dog came over to get scratched under the chin. He’d already put Scout’s vest on. Now, he needed to put on his own gear, except that the deputy had followed him. Everybody wanted to see the dog. Creed said there were types of people when it came to K9 searches. Those who believed it was magic, and those who thought it was simply luck.
“Deputy, I need to prepare my dog.”
“Oh sure. I’ll get out of your way.” He backed up a few steps. “I thought search dogs were usually German shepherds.”
“Not this guy,” Jason said, and this time he let the deputy see his robotic hand as he worked open the duffle bag. It didn’t take long, and he heard the crunching footsteps leaving.
He went over a mental list, double-checking the items in his daypack. He weaved his new cell phone holster onto his belt on one side and clipped on a new canister of bear spray on the other side. The daypack went onto his back after he made sure he had Scout’s collapsible water bowl and bottles of water. He tied the kerchief around his neck. The kerchief had been soaked with Hannah’s organic concoction of bug repellant. Scout’s vest had some sprayed on it, too. Last, he pulled Scout’s rope toy out of the duffle and transferred it to the daypack, letting the dog see it.
Now, before he opened the crate, he made Scout sit and waited for the dog’s eyes to stop looking for the toy and meet Jason’s.
“Scout, this is it. Time to get to work.”
Then to himself, Jason muttered, “I hope I don’t screw this up.”
Chapter 25
Sheriff Norwich came out the front door as Jason and Scout approached the house.
“Come on up,” she told them.
There were four steps to the landing of a
roofed portico. The first thing Jason noticed about the sheriff was that she was older than he expected. The second thing was that she had kind eyes, a warm brown that showed concern.
“I’m Jason Seaver. This is Scout.”
“I’m Fran Norwich,” she said and offered her hand.
Jason watched the sheriff’s eyes when he reached out with his prosthetic hand. The black metal looked like something out of a Transformer movie. Material resembling skin would come in the next stage, or so Jason was promised. They needed to make sure they had the sensors in the correct places first.
To her credit, the sheriff didn’t flinch. Instead, she surprised Jason by giving the hand a regular shake and looking Jason straight in the eyes when she said, “Thank you for your service.”
That line always created an annoying lump in Jason’s throat along with a bitter taste when he bit back the emotion. He was relieved when the sheriff bent down to greet Scout, offering the dog her hand to sniff.
Norwich was Jason’s height, but she was wider with a stocky, solid build. She wore her gray hair in a chin-length bob that she pushed back behind her ears. Her uniform shirt and trousers were pressed and crisp.
The sheriff turned around and stood in the doorway as she asked someone inside, “The K9 unit is here. They’re gonna need to come in. Is that all right?”
Jason knew what the sheriff was really asking. When it seemed to take too long for a response, Jason told Norwich, “If it’s a problem, we can have a couple of the girl’s items brought out to him.”
The sheriff glanced over her shoulder and shook her head. “No, that’s okay, Jason. I’ve already explained to Mrs. Woodson that this works better if you can start in Raelyn’s room.”
And yet, Norwich didn’t move, still waiting for an answer with one hand on her hip, the other holding open the door. Jason felt like he and Scout were caught in the middle of a standoff.
Finally, the sheriff opened the door wider and gestured for them to follow her into the house.
Mrs. Woodson stood behind the kitchen counter watching them as though she were watching a movie. She was a tall woman with shoulder length blond hair. Jason guessed she was in her late thirties, maybe early forties. She grasped a mug of coffee. He could smell a freshly brewed pot, but Jason thought her eyes—though red-rimmed—looked more like she might be high or drunk. He realized that wasn’t fair. The woman was probably just in shock.
As soon as Scout came into her line of vision, that’s where her eyes stayed. Jason tried to figure out if Mrs. Woodson was afraid of dogs or simply didn’t like having one in her house. The place looked spotless. It was modestly decorated, but even Jason could pick out some expensive touches like the Oriental rug in the living room, a couple of abstract paintings and a large crystal vase on the side table.
“Mrs. Woodson, this is Jason Seaver and Scout.”
The home’s open floor plan allowed Jason to stay in the foyer close to the staircase. He was hoping he could take Scout up to the girl’s room and not have to make polite chit-chat. Still, he waited for permission.
“Remember what I told you,” Norwich said as she stood in the living room between the foyer and kitchen counter. “I’ve used K9 teams before. They can find more in an hour than a team of my deputies can find in six to eight hours. I know this is difficult, but do you want to take Jason and Scout up to Raelyn’s room? Or would you rather tell me where it is and I can take him up.”
“Why does he need to be in her room? I already told you she wasn’t here last night.” She pointed out the kitchen window. “She might still be out in the woods. We need to check out there.” And now Jason could hear the panic in her voice.
Norwich shifted her patience from one foot to the other, but Jason answered.
“That’s exactly where we plan on looking,” he said. “But we need to start by letting Scout get familiar with your daughter’s scent. I promise we won’t disturb anything.”
When she still didn’t move, he continued, “Sometimes one item will work, but the best way is for Scout to be surrounded by her things.”
She stared at them for a long time before she left her spot, and when she did, she grasped the countertop and backs of the bar stools as though she needed them to keep her balance. Jason caught Norwich’s eyes, and in them he saw that the sheriff also knew Mrs. Woodson had been sipping more than just coffee. Now, Jason understood why Norwich had been over explaining and talking to her as though she were hard of hearing.
Jason followed the woman at a distance, keeping Scout on a short, tight leash. She climbed the stairs slowly and grasped the handrail with every step. At the end of a long hallway, she stopped outside the door. She went in and positioned herself against a wooden dresser. Jason would have preferred to do this without her scrutiny, but he didn’t dare ask her to leave.
He found himself filling in the silence with information that he hoped made him sound like an expert and not just a nervous newbie.
“All of us have our own unique individual scent,” he said as he led Scout to the girl’s bed. “It sounds weird, but little bits and pieces of us leave our bodies every minute. I like to think of Pig Pen from the Charlie Brown comics.” He glanced back at her with a smile, but her eyes were on Scout, again. “The bits and pieces are called skin rafts, but they’re not just made up of skin. Actually they’re a mixture of skin cells, the shampoo we use or other hygiene products along with sweat and hormones.”
He bent down alongside Scout and held the bedspread up for Scout to sniff. In between the sheets would be plenty of rafts, uniquely Raelyn’s scent, perfectly trapped and secured by the bedspread. As Jason did this, he said to the dog, “Scout, this is Raelyn.”
In his excitement, Scout nosed the fabric, snorting and sniffing so loudly, Jason avoided looking at Mrs. Woodson. Instead, he pulled the sheets back far enough for Scout to get a deep whiff and also smell the girl’s pillow. He continued his monologue.
“These skin rafts are what Scout can smell. And he can distinguish between people.”
He started to smooth the bedspread back in place when he noticed a stain on the corner of the pillowcase. Was it a rust-colored stain or had the printed flowers simply bled into each other?
“She may have just run off,” the woman said from behind him. “That girl never listened to me.”
He looked up and could see her in the mirror on the opposite wall. She was clinging to the dresser like she needed it to keep her balance. Her face looked swollen from crying, but there was something hard and unforgiving in her eyes.
He didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t part of the job. Families of the victims could muck things up. He needed the basic information but none of the emotional drama. It just messed with a handler’s head and ended up running down the leash.
He turned to her as she started to teeter. Jason caught her elbow before she stumbled. He steadied her until she retrieved her balance then he offered to help her down the stairs.
“I’m fine, “ she told him. “Are we done here?” she asked with a pained look on her face.
She obviously wasn’t going to leave him alone in the room no matter how uncomfortable she became. Not a problem. Jason didn’t want to waste time. As it was, he and Scout only had a few hours of daylight. In Raelyn’s open closet, he found a well-worn pair of sneakers. He grabbed one and held it up.
“Do you mind if I take this for Scout?”
“You’re going to let him chew on my daughter’s shoe?”
“No, absolutely not at all.” He shook his head, wondering if the woman had heard a word he’d said. “It has Raelyn’s scent. I’ll use it as a trigger for Scout.”
“Of course, I’m sorry.” She wiped her nose with a tissue. “It’s just so painful to be around her things, imagining what she might be going through right now.”
It wasn’t until she turned to lead them out the doo
r that Jason noticed Scout sitting in the middle of the room with his head cocked to one side, watching Mrs. Woodson.
Too late.
The dog was already sensing the drama. Jason could only hope it wouldn’t be a continuing distraction.
Chapter 26
Charlotte had no idea how long she had been asleep. Or passed out. It was harder and harder to know the difference. Her stomach told her it was too long. She’d gotten into the habit of eating as little as possible, because that’s where Iris usually hid the drugs that played with Charlotte’s mind. But hunger pangs threatened to send her stomach into spasm. One lick of her chapped lips and she realized how dry her throat was. Suddenly, she wanted water more than she wanted food.
When Charlotte finally opened her eyes this time, she was surprised to find that she was no longer surrounded by pitch black. The room had a yellow tint. Two lines of sunlight came in from somewhere, and she watched dust motes travel the stream. This was a rare luxury. She hadn’t seen sunlight in weeks, maybe a month by her internal clock.
Her body still hurt, and she didn’t dare test it, afraid she might find a broken bone. It had happened before.
Stupid girl, she could hear Iris’ voice as though the woman were standing in the corner. You went and broke your arm, didn’t you?
That was years ago. Charlotte was only a girl. She remembered how fierce the pain was. Of course, Iris wouldn’t take her to a doctor. The woman set Charlotte’s arm herself.
Now Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut tight and shook her head. She didn’t want to remember. She couldn’t afford to remember. The memories only made her feel weak and helpless.
Without lifting her head she turned to look from side to side. She wanted to see her new surroundings, her new prison. She suspected this place would be temporary until Iris had her carted away to wherever the others had been taken.
This was definitely not the basement.
Charlotte didn’t recognize the room, and she thought she knew every single room and closet in the Big House. The wallpaper was peeling, a long swatch flapped free. Iris would never allow that.
