by Lisa Regan
“What system?” Maya asked.
“AFIS,” Josie replied. “The Automated Fingerprint Identification System. It’s a database we use in law enforcement to collect and store the fingerprints of anyone who has been arrested or convicted of a crime.”
Maya swallowed. “You think… you think he’s in the system?”
“Hard to say.” She explained the county lore that Deputy Moore had told them about. “But you never know. Like I said, I think he’ll have to disclose his identity to his own attorney.”
Maya closed her eyes but after a few seconds, they blinked open and tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked at her father who smiled warmly. “It’s over,” he said. “It’s all over.”
Maya turned back toward Josie. “Did you call Garrett?”
Josie didn’t miss the stiffening of Gus’s shoulders. “I did,” Josie said. “He indicated that he would not be coming to see you.”
Maya’s expression loosened, her eyes downcast. Josie couldn’t tell if it was disappointment, confusion, or both. Gus caught his daughter’s eye. “Honey, you have to understand that the police believed that Garrett had killed you. We all did. I think it’s best if we just let him move on with his life now.”
Maya didn’t look convinced, but she nodded.
Josie stepped forward, looking into Maya’s face again. “Maya, we need your permission to take a DNA sample from your son.”
“Wh-what?”
“A DNA sample,” Josie said. “So we can prove the paternity of the man who took you. That will prove the district attorney’s case, and we have a much better chance of keeping him locked up if we can match his DNA to the baby’s.”
She nodded along with Josie’s words, but her eyes were wide with fear. “Will it—will it hurt him? My baby?”
Josie smiled. “Oh no, not at all. They can do it by just swabbing the inside of his cheek.”
Maya didn’t look convinced. She glanced at her father and back to Josie. “I don’t want him to be traumatized.”
“Of course not,” Josie said. “If I have your permission, later I’ll bring by some forms for you to sign.”
Maya nodded. Her father squeezed her shoulder and assured her she was doing the right thing.
“I just have a couple more questions,” Josie said.
“Yes,” Maya said. “Anything.”
“When you were in the caverns, did the…” She almost said hermit but instead went with, “… man ever bring anyone else with him?”
Surprise slackened Maya’s face. “What? No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“You were the only one?”
She nodded. “As far as I know. But I only ever stayed in the upper chamber unless he took me outside. There could have been others. He could have kept them in other parts of the caverns. I wouldn’t have heard anything. I didn’t search the caverns though. When I had the chance to escape, I didn’t explore. I just got the hell out of there.”
“Were there any items in the upper chamber when you were there?” Josie asked.
Maya nodded. “Sure. He was always bringing things into the caverns. Things he said he found. He said people who hiked and hunted in the woods left things behind, but honestly, I always wondered if he stole them. I even wondered if he had, you know, hurt anyone. Certainly, he was capable of it.”
“Do you remember any of the things he brought?” Josie asked.
Maya’s eyes flitted to the ceiling as she considered this. “Pots, pans, sometimes clothing. Coolers. Bottled water. Pretty much anything he could find.”
“Before you left,” Josie said when Maya’s eyes were on her again. “Do you remember him bringing anything specific into the chamber?”
“Oh,” Maya said, lifting a finger into the air. “A backpack. I think it was a woman’s backpack because it had tampons and stuff in it.”
“Did you go through it?”
Circles of pink colored her cheeks.
“It’s okay,” Josie said. “You wouldn’t be in any trouble. In fact, in those circumstances, I would have ransacked anything he brought into the place looking for something I could use for comfort or to help me get away.”
Maya gave a weak smile. “I did look through it for those reasons. There was a phone inside, but it was password protected. I tried using the 911 feature because you can make emergency calls without signing in, but it wouldn’t work inside the cavern. I wanted to keep it on me and try it outside, but all I had to wear in there was that horrible dress—God knows where he got that old thing—and I had nowhere to hide it.”
Josie said, “Why didn’t you take it with you when you left?”
“The battery was dead. I didn’t think it would be of any use to me in the woods. Besides that, I was so scared he would catch up to me, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just ran and ran.”
Josie touched her arm. “You did great, Maya. I’m so glad you’re here with us. We’ll speak again soon, okay? I’ll leave my card here if you or your parents have any questions.”
Twenty-Nine
Noah was no longer in the nursery. Josie took one last look at Baby Bestler—noting how hopelessly adorable he really was—before heading downstairs and out toward the parking lot. She fired off a text to Noah asking him to meet her at the car and lingered at the main entrance to the hospital under the alcove roof, watching the rain fall down in sheets. When she didn’t hear thunder or see any lightning after ten minutes, she sent a text to Mettner to see if the K-9 unit was still on hold because of the weather. His reply came back almost immediately, confirming that it was. Josie was about to step into the downpour when she noticed Sandy Bestler several feet away from the door, at the end of the overhang, smoking a cigarette. Josie walked over to her and she put the cigarette down at her side, blowing smoke away from Josie and out into the rain.
Josie laughed. “It’s okay. I’m not going to tell anyone you were smoking. I don’t think anyone would begrudge you a cigarette after the last twenty-four hours.”
Sandy’s shoulders sagged with relief. She brought the cigarette back to her mouth and took in a long draw. As she blew out the smoke, she used her other hand to push her gray-blonde bangs out of her eyes. “It’s certainly been…” She searched for the right word, but it was clear that she wasn’t finding it.
Josie filled in, “Shocking?”
Sandy laughed, but her smile was tight. “Yes, very shocking.”
Josie would have expected any other mother to gush over how wonderful it was to have her child back, especially after thinking she’d been murdered, after living with that grief for two years, but Sandy didn’t go there. Then again, Josie thought, what did she know about mothers?
“I just spoke with Maya and your husband,” Josie said.
“Ex-husband,” Sandy corrected. “Our divorce was finalized last year.”
“Oh?”
Sandy looked away. “We had different approaches to dealing with the grief of losing our daughter. Of course, now…” she trailed off.
“Well,” Josie said. “I just brought them up to date on the investigation.”
Josie explained that they had the hermit in custody; that he hadn’t told them his name; and had asked for an attorney. She also mentioned that Maya had consented to having a DNA test performed on Baby Bestler.
Sandy nodded. “That’s good news,” she said, her tone flat. “Maybe Maya can move on from this.”
“I’m sure she will,” Josie said. “It looks like she has a good support system.”
Sandy scoffed. “If only that were enough. She might move on from this but right back into Garrett’s arms.”
“I don’t think that’s likely,” Josie said. “Garrett wasn’t exactly receptive to me when I called. He has no interest in seeing Maya. He made that quite clear.”
Sandy took another drag of her cigarette and shook her head. “But all it will take for her to go back is him changing his mind. He could show up here tomorrow, and my daughter would be lost again—this time w
ith my grandson.”
Josie said, “I looked at Lenore County’s file on Maya’s disappearance. It looked as though Garrett may have been abusing her, but she wouldn’t press charges.”
Sandy rolled her eyes. She threw her cigarette butt onto the ground and stepped on it. Then she took out another and lit it. “She would never leave him. No matter how bad things got.”
“Did she tell you things were bad?” Josie asked.
“Not at first,” Sandy said, beginning to pace. “We knew he was hitting her, though. There were too many unexplained bruises and a couple of fractures. Finally, we got her to admit it. She wouldn’t leave. We told her she could come home to us. We’d protect her. We’d take her to the police. We would support her. But Maya was never very good at getting herself out of things.”
It seemed a strange thing to say about a domestic abuse survivor and her own daughter, but Josie didn’t press the issue. She had no idea what the true dynamic between Sandy and Maya had been, but it didn’t seem as though their relationship had been pleasant. Instead, Josie said, “She got herself away from the man who abducted her.”
Sandy nodded but her eyes had taken on a faraway look, as if her mind were somewhere else. After a moment, she seemed to snap back, blinking and shaking her head. “I must sound cold. My daughter was missing for two years. Presumed dead. Here I am complaining about how she wouldn’t leave her abusive ex-boyfriend. I’m happy she’s home. I’m grateful to have a grandchild—even under these circumstances—but I’m worried for my daughter and her future.”
“I can understand that,” Josie said.
“If she goes back to Garrett, though, I’m suing for custody of that little boy.”
Josie waited for her to say more, but just then Noah came jogging up from the parking lot, his raincoat pulled low over his face. “Mrs. Bestler,” he greeted Sandy. To Josie, he said, “I thought you said you’d meet me at the car.”
“Sorry,” Josie said. “Let’s go. We’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
Before she left with Noah, she pressed one of her business cards into Sandy Bestler’s hand. “If you need anything,” she told the woman.
Thirty
The rain had stopped by the time they returned to the station house. Josie prepared the consent forms for Maya to allow them to get a DNA sample from her son while Noah went downstairs to check on the hermit. He sent her a text a few minutes later saying Andrew Bowen wanted to speak to them. She found her way to the conference room where Noah and Andrew Bowen waited. Bowen stood beside the table. His suit jacket was folded and draped over a nearby chair. He had rolled up the sleeves of his blue dress shirt. He folded his arms when Josie walked in.
“Do you have a name for us?” she asked without preamble.
Bowen said, “My client’s name is Michael Donovan.” He rattled off Donovan’s date of birth, putting him at fifty-eight years of age. “He doesn’t know Maya Bestler. He’s never met her.”
“Maya Bestler would disagree,” Josie said. “Did you show him a photo of Ms. Bestler to confirm he never met her?”
Bowen’s lips parted slightly, and Josie knew that he hadn’t. He hadn’t asked anyone there for a photo of her although he could have easily found one on Google to show Donovan. He said, “My client has lived alone in the woods for several years. He doesn’t entertain female guests.”
Behind Josie, Noah laughed. “That’s one way of putting it,” he said.
Bowen’s eyes flashed. “You think this is funny, Lieutenant? These are serious charges you’ve leveled against my client.”
Josie said, “A DNA test should confirm whether or not Donovan knew Maya Bestler. Will you consent to him submitting his DNA?”
“Yes,” Bowen answered. “If it will get him out of the county jail system quickly and back to his home.”
“You mean the wilderness,” Noah said.
“That’s where he lives,” Bowen replied. “Yes.”
“There’s still the matter of Emilia Gresham,” Josie said. “Her backpack was in his… home.”
“My client knows nothing about Ms. Gresham.”
“Then how did he come to be in possession of her backpack?” Noah asked.
Bowen sighed. “My client frequently scouts the surrounding woods for items that hikers and campers may have left behind. He says that he came upon a campsite several miles from his cavern two days ago. It was unoccupied. He returned to the site in the early morning hours yesterday—at dawn, he says. All he saw were two people, a man and a woman, sleeping on the ground near the fire.”
Josie narrowed her eyes. “Sleeping? That couple was murdered, Mr. Bowen.”
“Well, my client didn’t kill them. As I said, he came upon them, they were asleep, he didn’t want to wake them, so he took what he could carry and left.”
She thought about the scene and also about what had been found in Donovan’s cave. She could have Hummel print any items that would yield fingerprints and prove that Donovan had taken the Yateses’ and Emilia Gresham’s things. She could also have Hummel process those same items for any DNA that Donovan might have left behind, but he’d already admitted to being at the scene. His defense would be that of course his prints and DNA were all over their things—he ransacked their camp after the murder. She had nothing at all to prove that he had murdered Tyler and Valerie and abducted Emilia. From what Maya had said, Donovan knew which plants in the forest were edible and which were toxic. He could have somehow poisoned the Yates couple, but again, there was no way that Josie could prove it. Everything she had linking him to the Yates/Gresham case was circumstantial at best. She didn’t even know if the district attorney would go forward to trial with so little hard evidence.
They already had him for the Maya Bestler case. He would go away for a long time. But Emilia Gresham was still missing. Finding her alive was looking less and less likely. Josie wanted badly to go at Michael Donovan but she couldn’t. Bowen now stood in the way, and she knew with certainty that he was going to be no help whatsoever. It was a stalemate. All of them knew it.
“Let’s go,” Josie told Noah. “The rain stopped. We’ll go assist Detective Palmer with the search for Emilia Gresham.”
She turned to leave and Noah followed.
“Detective,” Bowen said. “If you have any way of expediting the DNA testing, I’d like my client to be able to resume his normal life as soon as practically possible.”
Josie stared at him for a long moment, watching a slow smile spread across his face. Wordlessly, she left.
Thirty-One
“That guy’s a real dick,” Noah said when they were out of earshot.
“I agree,” Josie said.
“Why would he agree to let his client do the DNA test?” Noah said as if he hadn’t heard her.
“That’s what I’m wondering.”
“It’s a huge risk.”
They walked toward the stairwell so they could go back to their desks. Josie shrugged. “But what’s the alternative? We could probably get a warrant to get his DNA based on the evidence. By refusing, all he does is drag things out and clearly, his client doesn’t want to spend one more second than he has to behind bars.”
“How long has he been in the woods?” Noah asked. “Didn’t Moore say like twenty or thirty years? Does this guy even know what DNA is?”
Josie laughed. “Even if he doesn’t, Bowen does. It’s fine. When the results come back, Bowen will want to negotiate a plea deal. The district attorney can deal with that. Right now, we’ve got to help Gretchen find Emilia Gresham.”
Noah opened the door and motioned Josie to go ahead of him. Before she could step through the doorway, she saw Sergeant Dan Lamay lurching down the hallway toward them, face flushed. “Boss!” he called.
Dan had been with the department for over forty-five years. In spite of his age and a bad knee, Josie had kept him on as a desk sergeant during her tenure as chief because his wife was battling breast cancer, and his daughter had just started col
lege. Since that time, he’d proven an invaluable asset to her when she needed him most. “What’s going on, Dan?”
He caught up to them, huffing out several breaths before he said, “We just got a call. Body in the woods in South Denton.”
It felt like every drop of blood had drained from her body. She put a hand on Noah’s shoulder to steady herself. Only one word made it out of her mouth. “No.”
Noah said, “Where in South Denton?”
“Cold Heart Creek,” Lamay answered. “A couple miles down from the South Denton bridge close to where it empties into the Susquehanna river. Pretty remote area. Some fishermen found her.”
“A woman,” Josie choked out. Of course it was a woman. They were too late. Emilia Gresham was dead.
Lamay continued, “We’ve got patrol units there. Hummel’s on his way. You want it or should I get Detective Mettner?”
Shaking her head briskly, Josie said, “We’ll take it. Call Dr. Feist, would you?”
They followed the riverbank past the South Denton bridge, driving until they saw the flashing lights of two Denton police cruisers. Noah parked on the shoulder of the road, behind one of the marked vehicles. They stepped out into a light mist and picked their way down the muddy riverbank. One of their uniformed officers waited outside a copse of trees. He pointed between two trees. “Go through there about fifty or sixty feet, and you’ll see Cold Heart Creek. Follow it about a half mile. You’ll know when you get to the scene.”
They thanked him and hiked off into the forest, their shoes squishing in the mud. They heard the rush of Cold Heart Creek before they saw it. It was brown, swollen, and churning from all the recent rain. They walked carefully along its rocky banks until they saw police activity. Hummel’s team had already cordoned off a large area with yellow crime scene tape and erected a pop-up tent over the body.
