Trinity sat in another waiting room. Twenty-four hours before, she’d been in the waiting room at the medical examiner’s office. This one was better. At least now she knew Brooke was alive. Barely.
Trinity’s foster mom, Katy, had disappeared in search of coffee. Trinity thumbed through last week’s People magazine, its cover shredded and wrinkled, her mind retaining nothing. She’d been given one minute to see her friend. Brooke hadn’t opened her eyes. The doctors said they didn’t know if she ever would. She’d gone a long time without oxygen. Her body had been in the process of turning itself off when she’d been found. Trinity had heard them talking about a drug that slowed down everything in her body until it simply stopped.
Had it been like falling asleep? Did Brooke know what she’d done?
The cops had asked her if Brooke was suicidal. And her foster mother had asked. And Brooke’s parents had asked. Didn’t anyone but her know the type of person Brooke was? She’d never do that. She loved her life. She knew she was getting a new pair of UGGs for Christmas; she talked about going to college in California. Brooke had plans for her life.
Dying in the middle of a forest with a bunch of other girls wasn’t one of them. Trinity was positive of that fact.
Brooke’s parents had been in meltdown mode since they’d discovered their daughter was missing. Trinity hadn’t been in the medical examiner’s office when Brooke’s parents had shown up. Thank goodness. Brooke’s mom’s hysterics would have been unbearable. Not that her mom didn’t have good reason to be upset, but seeing her hang on her husband and crying nonstop at the hospital freaked Trinity out.
Brooke’s father escorted her mother everywhere, holding her up like she had legs of Jell-O.
Jeez, get it together, would you?
Instant guilt flooded her. How would you feel if your daughter was dying in the next room? She asked a short prayer for forgiveness. She talked to God occasionally. She figured it didn’t hurt. Better to be safe than sorry, right?
Brooke was an only child. If she died her parents had no one.
Trinity’s chin lifted. She was an only child and had no one. She’d survived.
Her cell phone vibrated in her back pocket. She studied the text on the screen, her chest tightening.
IS B GOING TO BE OK?
She replied: DON’T KNOW.
She waited and waited for his reply but nothing came. She finally slid the phone back in her pocket, feeling let down. Jason had texted her a few times in the month she’d known him. And all those texts had been questions about Brooke. He was good-looking but clearly not interested in her; he’d wanted to know about her friend. Trinity slumped in her chair and flipped the pages of the magazine. The text had sent her heart pounding one minute and dragging the next.
Why was she interested in a guy who was clearly not interested in her?
Katy sighed as she sat in the chair next to Trinity. “Coffee?” She held a little cup out to Trinity, who nodded and took the cup. Katy moved with quick gestures, reminding Trinity of a sharp-eyed bird. A high-energy, petite woman, her dark eyes missed nothing. Besides fostering, she worked with high-risk women, counseling them on how to get out of abusive relationships. More than once she’d had to leave in the middle of the night to respond to a terrified call from a woman. Trinity sipped, silently gagging at the papery chemical taste of the coffee. She didn’t want the coffee; she took it because Katy had been kind enough to think of her. Katy was like that.
Trinity tried to let her know when the small gestures were appreciated.
“Thanks,” she mumbled into her coffee.
“Who was texting you?”
Katy saw things. Things a typical teen hoped a parent wouldn’t notice. And she had no qualms asking about what she’d seen. Katy had learned to be blunt with her fosters and abuse cases.
“Jason. A friend of Brooke’s.”
“Friend of yours too? I haven’t heard you mention him before.”
See?
“Her friend. I’ve met him once or twice. He doesn’t go to our school. I’m surprised he has my number to text me,” she lied. Why was she lying? Was it because it was about a boy she barely knew?
“Well, that makes no sense,” Katy logically pointed out. “You gave him your number or Brooke did for a particular reason. Which is it?”
Once again, Katy wasn’t one to let the little details slide.
I should have admitted it in the first place.
“I think he got it when we were arranging a ride to meet at the mall a few weeks ago. I’d forgot about that.” That was better. And the truth.
“Uh-huh.” Katy didn’t question any more. In a roundabout way, she’d pointed out that Trinity was lying. And in a roundabout way, Trinity admitted it. Case closed.
A nurse bolted by the waiting area, and two other medical staffers followed within seconds.
Trinity’s heart stopped, and she stood to see where they’d gone.
Brooke’s room.
The uniformed cop who’d sat outside Brooke’s door was on his cell phone, alarm on his face, pacing in and out of Brooke’s room as medical staff rushed the room.
It’s a code.
Beside her, Katy stood and grasped Trinity’s hand, squeezing tight as she watched the personnel fill the room. “Oh, no,” she whispered. Trinity’s heart echoed her words.
Shrieks from Brooke’s mother reached Trinity’s ears. She clapped one hand over an ear, unwilling to let go of Katy’s grip, but the sounds didn’t quiet. They thundered in her head.
Brooke.
He frowned at the article in the newspaper. They were looking at the old cases again? They’d kept the evidence all these years? He’d assumed the bodies had been cremated or buried. How could the medical examiner’s office have room to store unidentified remains for decades? He read the article again, slower this time, squinting in the dim light. It was noon, but the rain clouds and tall trees blocked the sun around his home. And his eyes were old. All of him was old. He hated his old body, the constant pain and unsteadiness. In his youth he’d been strong, a leader people looked up to and asked for guidance.
Now he had only a few followers.
He’d read long ago that unidentified bodies were donated to the medical school. In fact, a few years back there’d been a big issue when the body of a transient had been donated, and then the family had come looking for him. The family had made a big publicity stink, and no doubt the medical examiner had changed the policy. But he was stunned that the three unidentified women were readily available. Would the old bones reveal new facts?
The words on the paper blurred, then sharpened. According to the article, the women had been reduced to simple skeletons. They probably didn’t take up much space. Perhaps they had rooms and rooms full of boxes of old skeletons, waiting through the decades for relatives to claim them.
Technology and education had come a long way. Could they identify them with current techniques? He shook his head. Someone had to report them missing first so there would be a record to compare to. And no one was going to report these women.
These women had been abandoned. They were unwanted.
His phone rang and he pushed out of his chair, standing stiffly. He shuffled across the room and picked up the old receiver.
He listened, pondering the problem presented. Someone had made an inquiry into the identity of one of the old cases. Someone he knew very well.
There was no question of what had to be done. He gave his orders and hung up the phone.
Well. So much for his theory that no one would come forward for the old women. Why had Lorenzo spoken now?
Lorenzo would find out how wrong he was.
His gaze rested on the face of the female doctor in the paper. Dr. Victoria Peres. She was obviously a respected expert in her field. In his day, a respected woman took good care of her house and man. His lips formed a sneer. Today’s world was on a road to ruin. Kids killing each other, drugs, music, and naked women everywhere. His son had demonstrated on his computer how women plastered images and videos of themselves as they did sinful acts. Shameless. Corrupting the minds of young men everywhere. The United States was going to hell.
This female doctor expected to find something new with these old bones. He couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know all of her abilities, but he knew he couldn’t allow her to get a good look at the bones. He’d seen TV shows where they tracked down suspects from a single hair. Or a dog’s hair. Or saliva on a cup. He couldn’t risk present-day technology picking apart the remains of those women.
Old Lorenzo would be dealt with, but how could he fix this new problem? Doing something about the Bone Lady was completely out of the question, so he had to address the bones. He looked at the picture again. Even in the black-and-white print, he could feel the woman’s excitement during her lecture to the college class. She’d done well for herself, but in the long run she was just another woman trying to fill a man’s role. Part of him admired her for her education and success. The other part was sad for the obvious misfit that she’d become. What man would want to marry such a powerful woman? He knew she’d already failed at one marriage.
She needed to learn to be more deferential and humble.
Then she’d make a man a good wife.
Seth stared into his beer, his shoulders hunched over the polished oak bar. His hotel’s restaurant was noisy for 10 P.M. on a Monday night, and he’d instantly decided to sit in the quiet adjacent bar. He needed peace. It’d been a hell of a forty-eight hours. He’d barely stepped foot in Portland when he’d been summoned to the most tragic scene he’d ever witnessed. Then came the shock of seeing Tori. And then realizing Tori had never forgiven him.
Had he forgiven himself?
Seth took a long swallow of his dark beer and closed his eyes, letting the cool liquid roll over his tongue.
Why did he still play the “what if” game?
He couldn’t know how his life would be if he’d stayed with Tori. Possibly he could be a lot happier at this moment. Or he could be a lot more miserable. Eden would be a constant. He’d still love her with all his heart. He prayed he hadn’t damaged his daughter by divorcing her mother. And he prayed he hadn’t damaged his daughter by staying with her mother for as long as he had. He’d spent almost two decades trapped between a rock and a hard place. And praying a lot.
“This stool taken?”
Seth looked up into the face of Detective Callahan. “Only by you.”
The detective perched on the stool and lay his cowboy hat on the bar, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. He looked tired. His face seemed thinner than yesterday, and his jacket was rumpled. But the eyes were still razor sharp.
“It’s been a long two days,” Seth stated.
“You’re telling me,” answered the detective. “I hate the ones with kids.”
Seth nodded. He’d had too many kids cross his table in his years as a medical examiner. It never got easier. As a father, he saw his daughter’s face on each child.
“Come here often?” Seth lamely joked.
The detective snorted. “Actually I do. It’s a convenient stop on the way home.” He raised a hand at the bartender, who arched an eyebrow at him, and Callahan answered with a nod. The bartender started to pull a draft.
They sipped their beers in silence for a long moment. Seth didn’t feel the need to fill the emptiness with talk. He’d crossed paths with the detective twice that day at the ME’s building. He’d seen a man on a mission to get the girls’ mystery solved. The same mission Seth and Dr. Campbell had been on.
And they’d succeeded in part of their agenda. All six girls had been identified last night. One set of parents was at the hospital, hoping their daughter would wake. Five other sets had gone home to mourn. Many parents were hugging their kids tonight, while others were letting their roaming children understand the type of torture they’d inflicted on their parents.
“At least all the girls were named,” said Seth. “For a while there, I was wondering if we would to have a repeat of the old scene. If the media hadn’t picked up the story, I suspect we’d still have some unidentified kids.”
Callahan nodded. “It’s amazing how some parents don’t know what their teens are up to.” An odd look flashed on Callahan’s face, and Seth wondered if the detective had kids.
Do you know where Eden is right this minute?
He didn’t. That was part of going to college. He wasn’t supposed to wonder about her whereabouts, because college freshman knew how to use a little common sense and look out for themselves. Supposedly. Seth shifted his weight on his barstool, and he fought an overpowering need to call his daughter. Just to hear her voice.
“Christ. My son’s in his freshman year in college all the way down in North Carolina. He could go missing for days, and I’d never know he was gone. All I get is an occasional text. Usually asking for money,” Callahan commented. “I’ve called him twice today and he hasn’t answered.”
“Kids that age don’t call. When I want to talk to my daughter, I have to send a text asking if this is a good time to call.” Seth frowned. “I should call her tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “But she’s got a dance class on Monday nights. I don’t think she’s home yet.”
“Yeah, I’d want to touch base with my daughter after days like these, too.”
“Do you think it’s a copycat killing?” Seth asked.
Callahan frowned and concentrated on dropping the level of his beer for a few moments. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t know what the hell it is. My mind’s been all over the map. If I assume this was orchestrated, and this group didn’t decide to commit mass suicide, it doesn’t point to a serial killer. Not yet. Not in the textbook sense anyway.”
“Textbook?”
“Serial killers often hunt humans for the sexual thrill it gives them. And they want to do it over and over again, believing they can outwit police. Did this scene give someone a sexual thrill? Possibly.” He eyed Seth. “According to you guys, none of the girls were touched in a sexual manner.”
“No evidence of any sort,” agreed Seth.
“So I ask myself, does that mean he’ll do it again?” He turned on his stool toward Seth, his face earnest. “Did this thrill him in a way such that he’ll want to outdo himself and take it to another level?”
Seth cringed. What would outdo that scene?
“Or was he a spree-type killer? That means he’ll kill a number of people in different locations, enjoying the journey. But those typically happen in a short period of time. Will he give us another scene tomorrow? Or has he already done it, and we haven’t found it?”
The detective was on a roll, the words flowing out of his mouth. Seth wondered how the man stayed sane with the multitude of twisted possibilities surging through his brain. No doubt Callahan questioned how Seth kept his sanity while staring at death all day long.
“Some people would say this was the work of a mass murderer. But those guys usually kill themselves at the scene or hope to go out with suicide by cop.” Callahan looked grim. “You guys are pretty sure it’ll be a phenobarbital overdose, right?”
“We’re waiting on the lab results. But that’s what it looks like. They had the remains of a dairy-based liquid in their stomachs and small intestines. We found the same thing in each stomach. There were no injection sites on any of them.”
Callahan nodded as Seth spoke. The detective knew all this. Seth was repeating what Dr. Campbell had told the police earlier.
“Last one to drink might be the one who’s still alive,” stated Callahan.
“Or maybe she had a smaller dose for some reason. It would lessen the effect of the drug in her system.” Seth shook his head in wonder. “But what does this tell you about the first set of deaths?”
Callahan snorted. “You see my problem. Two crimes. Decades apart. Who did it? And are they even fucking related?”
“I wish we had good autopsy notes on those old deaths.”
The detective nodded in agreement. “You don’t know how frequently I’ve wanted the same thing. But the women were well on their way to decomposition by the time they were found during the hot summer.”
“That’s one difference,” Seth muttered. “The time of year was different. And these were found so much quicker. Was that deliberate? What happened with the hiker who found this second set?”
“He’s a student at Portland State,” Callahan snorted. “Poor kid’s gonna be traumatized for the rest of his life. Didn’t seem to have too many sharp tools in his shed to begin with, but now he’s nearly a blithering idiot.”
“I take it your interview went well.”
“We’ll talk to him again. He was so shook up he could barely get a word out.”
“He’s a suspect?” Seth asked.
“He’s pretty low on the list.”
“Why? I’d think first on the scene would be an automatic high-level suspect.”
Callahan took a long drag on his beer and raised a brow at Seth. “I don’t recall questioning your slicing and dicing abilities.”
Seth’s hackles rose. “I’m not questioning how you’re doing your job. I’m just trying to understand your process.” He felt like he’d had his wrist slapped. Maybe he could have phrased his question better.
“If you don’t mind, my brain’s a little tired. I don’t feel like rehashing my workday for you. And I won’t ask you to do the same,” the detective said.
The two men sat in silence. Callahan was right, Seth realized. He didn’t owe Seth any explanations. If the cops questioned every discovery he made during an autopsy, it’d drive him nuts.
“Sorry,” Seth said. “I see where you’re coming from.”
“I haven’t slept,” said Callahan. “I want to, but my fucking brain won’t turn off. Was hoping to slow it down in here. I need something to take my mind off the case, and it’s not easy to do. If I find myself thinking about a different subject, I worry I’m not putting a hundred percent of myself into the case.”
“Christ. Give yourself a break. You can’t be on duty twenty-four/seven. What do you do to relax?”
“Relax? What the fuck is that?” Callahan gave a half grin. “I know what’ll get my mind off work. Tell me about Victoria Peres. I’ve worked with her for a few years and know as much about her as I did on day one. Namely, I know she’s tall and don’t piss her off.”
The abrupt topic shift sent Seth’s beer down the wrong pipe and triggered a coughing fit. Callahan unhelpfully pounded him on the back.
“Tori?”
Callahan’s face lit up. “Yeah, how in the hell do you get away with calling her Tori? Most guys I know don’t dare call her anything but Doctor Peres. But you strolled in and used some cutesy nickname to her face. And she didn’t even flinch.”
“We’ve known each other since college. Well, we’ve lost touch over the years. But we were close once.”
“She’s close to no one.”
Seth’s heart hurt at that statement. “Maybe you don’t know her that well.”
Callahan nodded. “I’ll give you that. But I’ve asked around at the medical examiner’s office. The woman doesn’t have anything to do with any of them outside of the office. Even little Dr. Campbell, Lacey, doesn’t know much about her.”
“She’s always been a private person.”
“I know she was married at one point. A college professor, I believe.”
Seth nodded. When they’d crossed paths at that conference years back, she’d had a ring on her finger and they’d talked about their respective spouses. He hadn’t asked her what had happened to the marriage. Yet. “Yes, I don’t know how that ended.”
“She’s tough.”
“Can you blame her?” Seth clamped his teeth together. He’d said too much. If this cop didn’t know Tori’s history, it was because Tori didn’t want people knowing her past. It was no business of his to share her story.
Callahan’s gaze sharpened, and Seth felt him shift into cop interview mode. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it. If you know nothing about her, then that’s how she wants it. But maybe you haven’t given her a chance. The Tori I know took a bit of digging to understand. Have you ever put any effort into talking to her? Have you ever asked her a question outside of a case?”
Callahan stared at him. “I don’t recall.”
“Probably not. Next time ask her what she does in her spare time. And don’t let her push you away. It’s a natural reaction. Keep at her and I promise you’ll be surprised at what you find under that cool exterior.”
“You do know her.”
“I know her well enough to understand she was dealt a shitty hand a long time ago. A few hands, actually. She grew those prickly defense spines for a reason. A good reason.”
Callahan looked fascinated. “Holy shit. The ice doctor has a history. And you were part of it, weren’t you?”
“Fuck off.”
Callahan grinned. “You aren’t the uptight medical examiner you pretend to be, are you?”
“Uptight? I seem uptight?” Seth didn’t know how to take that.
“Sure. The morgue is your kingdom, right? No one has the right to question your skills?”
Annoyance bubbled up in his chest, and he fought the urge to tell the detective off. Instead he counted to five and stared down the detective, comprehension dawning. “Jesus Christ. You had me going there. Did you think I’d spill Tori’s history because you pissed me off?”
“Ah, it was worth a shot.” Callahan winked at him and finished his beer.
Seth chuckled. “I don’t ever want to sit across the interview table from you.”
“A bar works just as well sometimes. You’d be surprised what people want to reveal. They’re usually looking for an excuse to talk.”
“Tori’s story is her own. Get to know her, and maybe she’ll let you in on it.”
“But my understanding is that you two haven’t seen each other in a long time. Maybe you aren’t the Victoria expert you think you are.” Callahan pointed at Seth’s chest.
The detective had a good point. There was a lot Seth didn’t know about the woman he’d once planned to spend the rest of his life with. If he was going to stay in Portland, he and Tori needed to talk.
But would she ever let him inside her walls again?