“You’re thinking that call might also be bogus?”
“It’s identical to Donovan. Someone calls six months after the child vanishes. Maybe it was the same person who phoned for info on Donovan. If so, there’s a pattern. Something linking the cases.”
“Worth some following through.”
Suddenly, I was on fire to hang up. “I’ve got to go.”
“Slow down.”
“Slow down?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Jesus, Ryan. You sound like Slidell.”
There was a long empty pause on the line. Then he asked, “Anson County, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Do you remember who caught the case?”
“Cock.”
“Very helpful.” Actually, it was. “Henrietta something, right?”
“I think so.”
“And I thought of something else. We need to compare pics of the Gower, Nance, and Leal scenes. See if any gawker makes a repeat appearance.”
“No one’s done that?”
“Not that I know of.”
I disconnected, my weariness dispelled by the prospect of a big bang.
After clearing the table, I grabbed my purse and jacket, and bolted.
The second floor of the LEC was quiet. I went straight to the conference room and spread the Estrada file on the table.
The last article ran in the Salisbury Post on December 27, 2012, roughly three weeks after Tia was found. At least that was the last one saved.
The story was little more than a summary of facts. The child’s disappearance. The discovery of the body four days later, near the Pee Dee National Wildlife Refuge. The mother’s deportation to Mexico. It ended with an appeal to the public for further information. There was no byline credit.
I got online and Googled the Salisbury Post. A woman named Latoya Ring seemed to be covering a lot of the crime beat. A link provided her email address. I composed a brief message, explaining my interest in the Estrada case and asking that she call me.
Setting aside the Post clipping, I reread the entire file. Every few minutes checking my iPhone. When finished, I’d learned nothing.
But I had the name I needed. Henrietta Hull, Anson County Sheriff’s Office.
My head was pounding from struggling over lousy handwriting and blurry text. And the fatigue was back double-time.
I closed my eyes and rubbed circles on my temples. Call Hull? Or wait to hear from Ring?
It was after nine on a Friday. Unless Hull was working the night shift, she was probably home enjoying a beer. Maybe at church or bowling with her kids. Better to talk to Ring first. If she or a colleague had phoned about Estrada, end of story.
Screw it.
I dialed.
“Anson County Sheriff’s Office. Is this an emergency?”
“No. I—”
“Hold, please.” I held.
“All right, ma’am, what’s your name?”
“Dr. Temperance Brennan.”
“The purpose of your call?”
“I’d like to speak to Deputy Hull.”
“All right, can I tell her what it’s about?”
“The Tia Estrada homicide.”
“Okay. May I ask for specifics?”
“No.”
A slight hesitation. Then, “Hold, please.”
I held. Longer than before.
Things clicked.
“Deputy Hull.” The voice was guarded. Husky but softer than I’d expected. Perhaps a bias on my part due to the nickname.
I explained who I was and my reason for contacting her.
“Suddenly, everyone’s interested.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Two years go by, nothing. Then three queries in a week.” I could hear dialogue in the background, the cadence of a sitcom laugh track.
“You’ve spoken to Detectives Ryan and Slidell.”
“Slidell. He’s a pip.”
“Did he mention Colleen Donovan?”
“No.”
“Donovan was reported missing in Charlotte last February. We suspect her case may be linked to that of Tia Estrada.”
“Who did you say you’re with?”
“The medical examiner. And the CMPD cold case unit.”