Laney shrugged, taking another pull on her shake. “I’m a forensic anthropologist. I’m used to it. Go on.”
“You always had a stomach of steel.” Like that time he’d come down with the stomach flu on their way home from a field trip to the state capitol building... Laney had calmly rubbed his back while he heaved into his empty lunch box, even though everyone around them was rushing to crack open the bus windows. She’d always been there for him back in those days. “Anyway, when we searched his home, we found the murder weapon buried in the backyard.”
“Which was...?”
“A crowbar.”
This was why he was a police officer—to protect as many people as he could from the ones who attacked others with crowbars.
He continued, “We also found the knife used on the body sitting in a knife block in his kitchen and a marked map in one of his desk drawers. The map led us to two sets of remains—girls who’d been killed a few years earlier.”
“Interesting. Why would he hold on to a map like that? Or mark it in the first place?” She grimaced. “And why on earth would he use one of his kitchen knives?”
Ryan shrugged. “That’s the creepy thing about serial killers. They like trophies. Souvenirs to mark their kills. When we unearthed the other bodies, we found the same cut marks on all three sets of remains. Same blade.”
“Strange. Why would he bury two of the victims but dump the third in such a public place?”
“I asked myself the same thing,” he answered, pointing a fry at her as he talked. “Wilson pleaded innocent during the trial—insisted he was framed—but the prosecution had an ironclad case against him and no other suspects. With nothing else to go on, we had to let it go.”
“What do you think?”
“At the time, I was happy drop it, especially since we knew he couldn’t have been responsible for Jenna. But now, with this new disappearance and the fact that someone is after you... I’m not so sure.”
“You’ve got both the knife blade and the records?”
He nodded.
“Good. I’ll compare them with the bones we found today and look to see whether or not we can attribute the death to Wilson.” She pushed her plate aside.
The waitress dropped off their tabs, and he snatched Laney’s up before she could get to it. “This one’s on me. Because you’re helping us out by being here.”
She frowned but didn’t object. “I guess that’s a decent-enough reason.”
After paying, they walked back to the car. Laney had grown silent again, which for her, usually meant only one thing—those gears in her mind were hard at work, cranking through who knew how many possibilities and ideas.
After they’d gotten in the car and started for his parents’ house, she finally voiced her thoughts. “If we find proof Wilson was framed and you all arrested the wrong man... That means the person who’s after me is a serial killer.”
“Hey.” He placed a hand on hers, squeezing gently. “I’m going to keep you safe until we can get you out of here.”
And the sooner that happened, the better. Both for Laney’s safety and the sake of his own heart.
SIX
The next morning, Laney sat hunched over a microscope in the tiny dedicated lab space of the Sandy Bluff police station. She’d already spent an hour on the phone arranging for a social worker to get her mother into rehab. The security footage from both airports had come in overnight, too, and as soon as she finished the preliminary examination of yesterday’s remains, they’d have several hours’ worth of video to watch.
So long as Ryan gave up trying to rush her home. Of course she understood why—not only because of the potential killer after her but also because being around each other again was growing increasingly uncomfortable. How long could she keep putting off an apology? And if she apologized for leaving him so abruptly, then what? Friendship? DMs and phone calls? A long-distance relationship?
What would she even want to come next?
Nothing. The question was dangerous, and she needed to put it out of her mind. That chapter of her life was over, and it was better not to let Ryan back in at all. Ties to this dead-end town were too risky to her mental health. No matter how natural it felt being around him again.
Thankfully, he’d left her to examine the bones in peace, though it wouldn’t be long before he wanted an update. The tools they had available paled in comparison to her lab at the Smithsonian, but she could still make a number of preliminary observations.
A clipboard lay on the counter beside her, containing a stack of papers to document her findings. Each bone had to be removed one at a time, its identification number and pertinent data recorded, and key evidence documented by both drawings and photographs, which would then be uploaded onto the computer. She could spend weeks going over these in her lab. Here, she didn’t have the luxury of time.
Instead, she selectively examined the bones that had caught her eye during the excavation. The ones with broken or cut ends and the ones she knew from experience were most likely to be damaged by a killer.
The thought of finding the evidence that would lock the murderer away behind bars was what made the whole nightmare bearable. Each cut represented an unthinkable act of violence against another human being, and her heart would be an aching mass of grief if it weren’t for the ability she’d honed to distance herself from the reality of what had happened to the victim. Especially if she stopped long enough to consider who this particular victim might’ve been.
And Ryan—how was he going to take whatever they found? She’d emailed photographs of the teeth and skull to her team’s forensic odontologist first thing that morning, along with dental records for Jenna and another missing girl who’d vanished a year after her. He’d need the actual skull to make a conclusive statement, but the photographs would provide enough to get a soft decision.
Was there any result that would be good?
“Hey, how’s it going?” Ryan popped his head through the door much sooner than she felt prepared for.
She swallowed. “Okay. I’ve found and documented evidence of cut marks on several of the bones. Once you pull the files on Ronald Wilson, we’ll be able to compare the cuts to determine similarities between his victims and this one. If you can get the actual bones from his victims to my lab at the Smithsonian, we can make a more detailed comparison. Angle of the blade, amount of pressure applied, which hand the killer favored. Things like that.”
“And the things you told me yesterday, at the bog? You still think you have the time of death correct?”
“Within a couple of years.”
Her cell phone vibrated, and she pulled off her nitrile gloves to dig it out of her pocket. A text from the Smithsonian.
A lump formed in her throat, and she coughed to clear it as she unlocked the screen and pulled up the text.
She’d known this could happen—felt in her bones that it would—but still nothing had prepared her to read it.
Can’t say 100% until I get the skull, but I’m almost positive it’s Jenna Mitchell.
Mechanically, she closed the message and stuffed the phone back into her pocket. Her mind whirred, but her heart closed itself off. Too many memories, too many regrets, too many things that should’ve happened differently.
How could this be her closest girlfriend from childhood, nothing but dried-out bones in plastic bags? And how much had she suffered?
“Laney?” The concern in Ryan’s voice forced her to look up. “What is it?”
Her head went woozy, and she groped for the edge of the lab bench to steady herself.
He pulled up a stool, took her by the arms and forced her onto it. “You’re white as a sheet. Sit.”
“A text came from the Smithsonian. They think...”
His jaw set. “They think this is Jenna. I know.”
“You do?”
>
“Not here—” he tapped his head “—but here.” His hand pressed against his heart as moisture glistened in his chocolate-brown eyes. “I knew it the moment those teenagers brought the first bone in.”
“They won’t know for sure until we send the skull,” she said faintly. “I’m so sorry, Ryan.”
He seemed to blow off her words, blinking a few times before glancing at the pile of bags in the bin on the floor. “How much more time do you need here?”
She thought about pressing him—after all, if this discovery hurt her heart this badly, it had to be killing him. Surely he needed to process this loss with someone who understood.
But maybe she wasn’t the right person for that job anymore. Maybe there was someone new in Ryan’s life?
Ignoring how that thought made her feel, she pulled her gloves back on and removed the bone she’d been studying from under the microscope. “I’ve got the big stuff. The details need to be done in my lab, with better equipment.”
“Good. Then let’s pack these up and get you home.”
A hard knot of determination formed inside her chest. Ryan and his team would still need her help sorting through the Wilson case files. And what if they combed the bog and found more remains? Leaving would be easier, by far, but she owed it Jenna to see this case through.
“No, I’m staying.”
His brow furrowed. “No way, Laney. You’re going. We can get your mom into a rehab program without you. It isn’t safe for you here.”
“It wasn’t safe for Jenna, either, was it?” Tears pricked her eyes. “From what I’ve seen, her death wasn’t an accident. I don’t expect you to understand, but I owe her this. Send the bones. The other scientists in my lab are top-notch. They have my complete trust.”
“You’re right, I don’t understand. You’re being ridiculous, Laney. Jenna would never have wanted you to stay here if it was dangerous. We can always call in another forensics expert if we find more remains.”
She bounced one knee impatiently. How could she make him understand without telling him what had happened the day Jenna disappeared? Because that was out of the question.
“Ryan, I’m asking you this as a favor. Please.”
* * *
Those huge, soul-searching eyes had always been Ryan’s weakness. That and the fact that he knew exactly how stubborn Laney could be once she’d made up her mind. Still, he couldn’t give in that easily.
He placed both hands gently on her upper arms. “Someone is after you, Laney, and it goes beyond your expertise and what you might uncover about this case. There’s something deeper going on, and until we figure out what it is, you’ll be safer far away from here.”
She shook her head—no surprise there. “Whoever it is knew where to find my childhood home and my mother. How easy would it be for them to track me down in DC, too? If somebody is after me, what makes you think I’d be any safer there?”
Much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. “We can coordinate your protection with a DC law enforcement unit.”
“That’ll never work, not if the killer is determined to get me. You know it.”
“Don’t have very much faith in us, do you?”
“I have a lot of faith in you. That’s why I want to stay.” The way her eyes softened made his insides melt, but was she just saying that to get him to cave?
He pressed his lips into a line. It wasn’t likely any other officer would take guarding her as seriously as he would. Ryan let out a breath. “All right. But you’re following my orders, got it? I can’t protect you if you go off chasing your own headstrong ideas.”
The smile that parted her lips lit up the entire room. “Thank you.”
“Do we have a deal?” He held out his hand.
“Deal.” She slipped her hand into his, sending a little tremor tickling up his arm. “What’s next, partner?”
Good thing he knew better than to ever trust her with his heart again or else this new partnership would mean serious trouble. He pointed at the bin of remains. “I’ll get somebody in here to box up the evidence and ship it to your lab. You and I are going to watch movies.”
As he led the way back to his desk, Laney nodded toward the police chief’s office. “When do we tell your dad?”
“About Jenna?” Her name snagged in his throat, and he swallowed. So hard to imagine that pile of mutilated bones had once belonged to his living, vibrant sister.
And what she’d had to endure—his stomach twisted, but he couldn’t let himself think about that, not now. Not when they had a killer to catch.
“And about me staying here,” Laney added.
“We’ll tell him about you later tonight, but I don’t want to bring up Jenna until the forensic odontologist confirms the identification. It’s going to be hard on my parents, but it’d be even worse if there was some kind of mistake.”
“Of course.” Empathy clouded her face. He’d always appreciated that about her—how she was so concerned for others and how much she had loved his parents.
He led the way to his office space and waved at Sergeant Ross, who sat behind one of the other desks. The other man was about his age but hadn’t grown up here, so mercifully no comments followed about Ryan and Laney being together again.
Laney took a seat in the chair Ryan offered and waited as he flipped on his computer and pulled up the security footage.
“There are only twenty-seven hours to watch.” He winked and was rewarded with a laugh. Every now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of the twinkle that used to live in her eyes despite everything she’d endured. It felt good to see it again.
“I would like to visit my mother in the hospital today.”
“I know. And I need to ask her some questions. Let’s start with the night you arrived. We’ll follow your bag from unloading to when that guy brought it to you inside the terminal.”
“That reminds me—did you get any footage on the bathroom attacker?”
“Yes, and we can look at that, too, though unfortunately we don’t see much. They seemed to know where the cameras were pointed.”
It took only a few minutes to review the recordings from the cameras outside the bathroom. Someone clothed in black, wearing a hoodie, slipped inside just after Laney entered. A second camera showed the same individual exiting into the other hallway a few minutes later.
“An airport employee might have insider knowledge about the cameras,” Laney offered.
“Yes.” Ryan drummed his fingers on his desk. “But it’s not much to go on. Let’s hope we get more from the other footage.”
He opened the file for the security camera on the gate where her plane’s passengers disembarked. The first several minutes showed nothing until the plane arrived and the ramp was attached to the door. A ground truck drove up, and two ramp agents climbed out, but the black-and-white footage was blurry and obscured their faces.
Laney pointed at the monitor. “That might be the man who brought me my carry-on. The height and posture look about right, but it’s so grainy. Can you get it any clearer?”
“I wish. It’s all about the video quality. But we can at least get names for who was on this shift.” They kept watching as all the bags came off and were loaded on the truck. The handlers climbed into the cab and vanished off camera. “Then we have a gap in the coverage, where the bags are carted to the belt that takes them up to the claim area.”
He loaded the next video in the sequence, showing the same workers tossing luggage haphazardly onto a conveyor belt. More than one suitcase toppled and was righted by one of them. The picture was clearer, but the angle was awkward, never showing either man’s face.
When the video cut off, Laney said, “My bag wasn’t there. It didn’t go up onto the belt.”
“Maybe it’s on the next video for that camera.” He pulled up the timestamp they needed, but the c
onveyor had gone still. One of the workers drove off in the truck. The other was already gone.
Laney leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Where did it go?”
Ryan fast-forwarded through a few minutes in which nothing happened, but then movement in the corner of the frame caught his attention. “Wait, what’s that?”
A worker moved back into range, but only his legs were visible. He lingered for a moment before walking off again.
“Was he getting mine?” Laney asked, pointing at the monitor. “Did they leave it behind on accident or something?”
“Or something is more like it,” he said, pursing his lips. That moment off camera provided the perfect opportunity to stow an explosive device inside her suitcase without anyone noticing. “I’m skipping ahead to the footage inside the terminal when the employee brought you the carry-on. Maybe it was the same guy. This lens was angled at the baggage claim office.”
For a long moment they stared at only an empty room, until Laney and the security guard appeared. Watching the way she jumped when that employee sneaked up on her made Ryan feel like punching the guy in the face. Too bad his back was to the camera.
“Turn around,” Laney muttered under her breath. On-screen, she took the suitcase’s handle and the man finally turned, his face appearing for a fleeting second.
Ryan clicked his mouse to pause the video, then backed up the frames one at a time until they had the clearest view of the man’s face. “There. Recognize him?”
She nodded. “Now let’s compare his face to the pictures in your files.”
He opened the folder containing the most likely potential suspects and clicked through each file one at a time. They’d made it three-quarters of the way through the list when Laney pointed at one of the pictures. A nondescript man, maybe early fifties, with brown hair and hazel eyes stared back at them.
Buried Evidence Page 6
