"Worth a try"
"What about Catherine Gagnon? Any connection between her and Annabelle Granger?"
"Not that we've determined," Bobby said. "But we've set up a meeting between the two women for tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps once they see each other in person…" He shrugged.
A couple of the task-force members were studying him now. Detectives had a relentless memory for details, such as that two years ago Officer Dodge had been involved in a fatal shooting involving a man named Jimmy Gagnon. Surely the last name wasn't just a coincidence.
But they didn't ask and he didn't tell.
"Charlie Marvin spotted Annabelle at the Boston State Mental site," D.D. was saying now. "Said he thought she looked familiar. I caught up with him after Annabelle left and tried to press him for details. Maybe he'd seen her or someone who looked like her in Mattapan. He was vague, though. Just thought for a moment he recognized her from somewhere, one of those passing things. I don't know if there's something more significant there or not. Annabelle would've been just a child when Boston State Mental closed, so an actual connection between her and the site…"
"Not probable," Sinkus filled in for her.
"No, I don't think so."
The task-force room fell silent.
"So where are we?" McGahagin prodded, trying to wrap things up.
"Tracking down Christopher Eola," Detective Sinkus offered.
"Finishing our report on missing girls," D.D. added, with a pointed look back at McGahagin. "And," her voice grew conciliatory, more thoughtful, "honing in on the time line of 1980 through '82. We know the mental hospital closed in 1980. We know, thanks to Detective Sinkus, that animals began disappearing in Mattapan—which is an interesting little sidebar. We also know that at least one perpetrator, Richard Umbrio, had come up with the idea of imprisoning a girl in an underground pit. And we know that by the fall of '82, a man was stalking a girl in Arlington and that her best friend disappeared shortly thereafter twenty-five miles away in Lawrence. We have some reason to believe all these events are related, if only by their proximity in time, so let's get that nailed down.
"Sinkus, you're on Christopher Eola—from the moment he left Boston State Mental, where did he go, what did he do? Where is he now? McGahagin, your team can finish the comprehensive list of missing girls. I want you to focus on all names from the early eighties, summarize the details from each case file, start looking for any connections—and I mean any—between the missing girls. How many names do you have?"
"Thirteen."
"All right, start digging. See if you can tie any of those missing girls to Mattapan, Christopher Eola, Richard Umbrio, or Annabelle Granger. I want to know if any of the families remember their daughters receiving anonymous gifts before they disappeared, about any incidents of Peeping Toms in the neighborhood, that sort of thing. Let's assume Annabelle's case gives us an MO, and see if any of the others fit the pattern.
"As for the Catherine Gagnon connection—Bobby and I will be flying to Arizona tomorrow to meet with her in person. Which gives Bobby exactly"—she glanced at her watch—"twelve more hours to uncover all relevant connections between Richard, Catherine, and Annabelle. All right, people, that's a wrap."
D.D. pushed out of her chair. Belatedly, the rest of them followed suit.
Bobby followed D.D. out of the room. He didn't speak until they were in the relative privacy of her office.
"Nice ambush," he commented.
"You handled it okay" D.D. had never been one to apologize. Even now, she mostly appeared impatient. "What?"
"Started thinking about something this evening."
"Good for you. Bobby, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I would sell my soul for a shower. Instead, I'm five minutes from meeting with the deputy superintendent, where I get to convince him we've made significant progress in an investigation when I think we honestly understand less today than we did yesterday Don't talk dirty to me. I'm too fucking tired."
He made a motion with his fingers—the world's tiniest violin playing in sympathy.
She sat down heavily and scowled at him. "What?"
"According to Annabelle Granger, her whole family fled in the middle of the afternoon, taking with them only five suitcases. So what happened to the house?"
D.D. blinked at him. "I don't know. What happened to the house?"
"Exactly I've spent two hours poring over newspaper stories from the end of '82 through '83. Think of it: an entire house, fully furnished, suddenly abandoned in the middle of a neighborhood. You'd think someone would notice. But I can't find any reports in the news or the police files."
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking the house wasn't abandoned. I'm thinking someone, maybe Russell Granger, returned to wrap up loose ends."
D.D. perked up. "For no one to notice, he would've had to do it fairly quickly," she mused.
"Yeah, within a matter of weeks, I'm guessing."