Thank God for fir trees.
The temperature wasn’t nearly as staggering under the giant trees. Michael scanned the area. Same official responders as the other horrible day at the old farm. Only the stage was different. No dry, dusty fields smelling like old cows. Today it was tall trees and the smell of moist dirt. Three miles from the old dairy farm and buried deep in the Cascades, the police had made two discoveries. They first found what appeared to be an old bomb shelter under the Oregon dirt.
It wasn’t a bomb shelter; it was hell.
Michael gave a shiver in the ninety-degree heat, and goose bumps covered his arms.
From what he’d gathered from the terse statements by OSP Detective Mason Callahan, the bunker was a small space that housed one ancient, disgusting single mattress, rusting food cans, cuffs, chains, buckets, and rope. A high school–aged cadet had tripped over the metal entrance during a search line. Michael thought the opening looked like a hatch to a submarine. Round, small, metal, and it opened up like a tuna fish can.
The police had followed a barely discernible trail from the bus. Almost as faint as a deer path. When the cadaver dog hit on a spot, they initiated a search line and found the bunker. The hit from the cadaver dog revealed their second discovery under the dirt: a deep pit.
So far, the pit had revealed two adult male and two adult female skeletons in a single hole. No children yet. Forensic specialists continued the dig under the eagle eye of Victoria Peres, looking for more remains. Two areas of intense work. One group at the bunker and one group at the growing body pit.
Where was Daniel?
Michael had stood in the same spot behind the yellow tape for an hour, gaze locked on the crew with Vicky. Four times she’d glanced his way and shaken her head. He pressed his lips together. How many more bodies were below the dirt?
“It’s got to be related.”
Michael turned to see Detective Lusco standing at his side, his gaze also on the group of diggers. The detective moved silently for such a big guy. Or else Michael was severely distracted. Michael figured it was a combination of both.
“Is there any question?” Michael asked.
Lusco shrugged. “Not making any assumptions. Until we find a direct link to that other site, this is a separate investigation. So far there’s just the proximity to tie the two together.”
Michael nodded. Lusco plainly believed it was part of the first investigation, but he wasn’t about to state it out loud until there was some concrete proof. Anyone with half a brain knew it was related. “Where the hell did these adult remains come from?”
Lusco shook his head. “Beats the shit out of me. Fucking crazy. We were expecting to find kids.”
Michael’s stomach tightened, and he said nothing.
“We’ll find out what went on here,” Lusco stated. “When we find the son-of-a-bitch that did this—”
“He might be dead,” Michael broke in. “It’s been twenty years. Or he might be locked up for something else.”
Lusco snorted. “If we find out he’s already locked up, our job will be easy. Just spread the word that he’s a child killer and that’ll be the end of him. They aren’t partial to child abusers and killers inside. Cheap trial. Save the taxpayers a little money.”
Or give me two minutes with him.
A small hand slipped into Michael’s. He didn’t jump. He instantly knew her touch. He pulled Lacey to him and gave her a tight hug. She fiercely hugged him back, nearly cutting off his air.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” she whispered to his shirt.
He gave her a final squeeze and reluctantly let go.
“Hey, Dr. Campbell. Thought we’d see you today.” Lusco smiled sadly. Lacey gave the big cop a quick hug. Michael waited for the unreasonable jealousy that always came when he watched a man touch Lacey. It didn’t come.
What the fuck?
Michael zoned out as she asked Lusco about his kids. Was he finally accepting that Lacey belonged to someone else? His gaze slid from her blonde ponytail to toned, tanned legs. Huh. Maybe his heart was finally catching up with what he knew in his head. He watched Lacey step into her Tyvek suit while talking of her wedding flower decisions with the detective. Ray Lusco was the only cop Michael knew who could discuss dressy heels, baby colic, and flower arrangements with women. It’d surprised the hell out of Michael at one point, but now he was used to it.
Voices rose at the hatch, yanking everyone’s attention. Lacey and Ray went quiet and watched Detective Callahan emerge from the small opening. The salt-and-pepper-haired detective scanned the scattered groups until his gaze landed on Lusco. He pulled the booties off his cowboy boots, dropped them in an evidence bag, and headed in their direction, his face expressionless.
Not good news.
Michael felt Lacey’s hand slip into his again as they waited for the detective to come closer.
“What is it?” Michael spoke first. His gut churned woozily around the Big Mac he’d had for lunch.
Callahan’s gaze went to his partner and exchanged silent words.
“Mason?” Lacey gripped Michael’s hand tighter. “Do you need me down there?”
The detective shook his head. “No remains in there.”
Michael’s stomach instantly calmed. Daniel wasn’t in that bunker. He exhaled and heard Lacey do the same.
His gaze darted to the pit, and his stomach clenched again. If not in the bunker, then Daniel was probably in that pit. Thrown away like garbage. Faintly he heard Lacey give a small gasp and realized he was hurting her hand. He let go. She didn’t.
“What is it, Mason?” Lusco spoke low and stepped in to close their small circle.
Callahan’s steady brown gaze went to Michael’s. Here it comes.
“We’ve found a bunch of kid backpacks.”
Michael couldn’t breathe.
“Daniel’s name is on one,” Callahan said quietly.
“Navy blue, Ninja Turtles,” Michael automatically said, the pack’s image clearly in his mind. Along with Daniel’s jacket with the Portland Trail Blazers’ logo, blue jeans, and red Nikes. What was your brother wearing when you last saw him? How many times had he answered that question?
Callahan nodded, disappointment briefly touching his eyes.
Michael understood. He’d hoped the detective had been wrong, too.
“Anything to offer an explanation for those adult remains?” Lusco broke the silence.
Callahan’s face told nothing. “Possibly.”
Michael wanted to grab the detective and shake him, yell at him to spill every word about what he’d seen in that underground prison. Instead, he held tight to Lacey’s tiny hand. The diamond on her engagement ring dug into his palm.
“Do the other backpacks appear to belong to the other children we…found?” Lacey’s soft voice cracked.
Callahan nodded. “Each one is labeled with the child’s name. Clearly marked on the outside in black marker.”
“Wait a minute.” Michael shook his head. “No. They weren’t marked. It’s unsafe to have a kid’s name plastered across his backpack where anyone could learn his name. The school wouldn’t allow that. Sane parents wouldn’t allow that.” Lacey nodded her head in agreement.
A look of distaste crossed Callahan’s face. “Someone wrote on the packs. The print seemed the same on each one. I assumed it’d been done at their school.”
Michael felt Lacey’s hand give an abrupt quiver.
“He did it. He wrote on them. Why would he do that?” she whispered. “Did he want us to find them? Know we’d found the right place? Or was it for a reason back then? A way to tell them apart.”
Michael briefly closed his eyes. “I don’t know, Lace.”
“Those children. All those children.” Tears sounded in the back of her throat.
Lusco spoke slowly. “Looks like we’ve got our definitive connection. This is a single investigation.”
Michael met Lusco’s gaze and then Callahan’s. “We…you could use a witness. Did you ask Jamie Jacobs where her brother is?”
Lusco looked surprised, but Callahan didn’t blink. “Leave the Jacobs woman alone. We’ll find Chris Jacobs and question him again. You don’t need to go hunting for him.”
Michael should have known Callahan was keeping an eye on him. “No problem. I’ll stay away from her brother.”
Jamie Jacobs was another matter.
The man stared at the Yahoo! news stories.
Adults? They were finding the bodies of adults? What the hell?
He stood and crossed over to the bottle of single malt he kept handy to impress guests. He poured a generous drink and swore at his shaking hand. He threw back the scotch and relished the smooth burn on his throat. Inhaling deep and meeting his gaze in the mirror, he waited for the calm to flow through him.
He’d interfered with several people’s lives so long ago, but he’d never felt bad. Not at all. If he hadn’t acted, what would have happened? Sometimes a few need to suffer for the greater good. He’d done the right thing.
Twenty years.
Secrets had been hidden for twenty years. And now they were exploding out of the ground like land mines. One small trip wire had set off a chain reaction.
The chain would never connect to him. He flicked a speck off his jacket shoulder and straightened his tie, lifting his chin. Never. He’d prepared too well. He’d taken every precaution, and the chain would end right where he wanted it to. He’d picked the perfect scapegoat.
Empowered, he stepped over to his desk and hit a button on the phone.
“Sir?” The voice was tinny through the speaker.
“In my office, please. We’ve got a situation.”
“Right away, sir.”