Of the past forty-eight hours, I’d slept maybe two. Nevertheless, I phoned him. As was his style, Slidell launched in without greeting. “Where the hell are you?”
“Costa Rica.”
“Long way to go for a taco.”
“I’m talking to Ryan.” No point in discussing distinctions of ethnic cuisine.
“Yeah? How’s that going?”
“It’s not.”
“Just tell the bastard to get his ass home.”
“Never thought of that. Why did you phone?”
“When Barrow got the call from Rodas, he set up a cold case review on Nance.”
I knew that.
“First thing he did was resubmit the kid’s clothing and the shit stuck to her hand.”
“Thinking technology has improved since ’09?” I stifled a yawn.
“Yeah. And go figure. It has.”
Suddenly I was wide awake. “The lab found DNA that didn’t belong to Nance?”
“Guess the happy donor.”
“Pomerleau.”
“None other.”
“Holy crap.”
The speed of the report didn’t surprise me. The CMPD has its own DNA capability, and turnaround averages two weeks. What shocked me was the fact that the link was now real. Undeniable. Anique Pomerleau had abducted and killed a child in my town.
“What about Shelly Leal?”
“Still out of pocket. But we might have caught a break there. Kid had her own laptop. I had the computer guys take a run at it. The thing was wiped.”
“When?”
“Around three on Friday afternoon.”
“Right before she disappeared.”
“Eeyuh.”
“What was erased?”
“The browser history and the email. Clean. Not one friggin’ message. Not one friggin’ page.”
“Isn’t there an option to clear the history at specified intervals? Or every time you log off?”
“The guy said that’s what clued him. When he checked, the browser wasn’t set to do that. So he did whatever voodoo it is they do, found that someone had manually deleted the stuff. Emptied whatever it is archives your email on Mars.”
“Anything else?”
“Photos, music, documents, those files are all there. Hadn’t been touched since Friday morning. The only thing nuked was the online stuff.”
“Unlikely a middle-schooler would know how to do that.”
“Mom said the kid wasn’t a techie.”
“Clearly, she was coached.”
“Eeyuh.”
“You’re thinking she met Pomerleau online?”
“I’m thinking I’m damn sure gonna find out.”
“Can your guy retrieve any of the deleted files?”
“He’s working on it, no promises.”
“Did you roll this past Rodas?”
“The kid in Vermont didn’t own a computer.”
“Mobile phones? Other devices?”
“Gower didn’t own a cell. Leal did, but the thing’s missing. And the record search turned up shit.”
“How about Nance?”
“That’s why I called. You see any mention of a phone in the CCU file?”
“I’ll check as soon as I get back.”
“When’s that?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good. I want this bitch in bracelets before she drops another kid.”
After disconnecting, I rewound my conversation with Ryan. Felt anger and resentment at his refusal to help. Then I thought beyond tonight back into the past.
Ryan was one of the good ones. He’d had a few rough years, made a few false starts. But since his rocky youth, he’d done everything right. Played it straight as a cop. Tried hard as a father.
Sure, his loss was unthinkable. But the time for wallowing was over.
I had an idea. Was it callous?
Nope. Enough self-pity.
Decision made, I dug out my Mac, logged on, and went to the US Airways site. When finished, I sat a moment, attempting to calm my frazzled nerves.
Outside, late-night swimmers splashed in the pool. High in the palms, a howler monkey grunt-barked an end-of-day message. Another answered. A small creature, perhaps a gecko, skittered across my window screen.
My thoughts turned to a river cabin shaded by trees soft with moss.