Another few minutes passed. Hanger had pulled the pontoon closer to shore, nearer the Gatewood dock, and hovered a moment there. They watched Charlie lean over the side of the pontoon, straighten, and shout, “Chief, I see more bones.”
Ty kicked up the motor and eased her runabout alongside the pontoon. Hanger had pulled up the net. “Look, it’s another man’s loafer, nothing inside. The loafer’s nearly disintegrated. And look at this. A belt buckle.” Hanger cleaned it off with a towel and held it up. “It looks like it’s real gold. It’s a Star of David belt buckle. Never seen anything like that before. No belt, guess it rotted away a long time ago.”
Ty felt a rush of hope. They hadn’t found any ID’s, the killer must have taken them. What had survived—some belts, shoes, bits of fabric—could have been purchased anywhere. But this belt buckle was unique. Hanger handed it to her, and she polished it even more before she studied it. “It’s very distinctive. You’re right, Hanger. I’ll bet there aren’t many of these around.”
Sala said, “It looks handmade. This could be very big, Ty.”
One step at a time. “We can start by announcing this belt buckle to the media. Maybe someone will recognize it, and we’ll have ID. It’s a huge start.”
Sala fished out his cell to call Savich. One ring, two, then—“Hang on, Sala. I’ve got to shoot my free throw in the brand-new net I put up a few minutes ago against my mother’s garage.” A moment later, “Nailed it.” Sala heard Sean hooting in the background. “Okay, it’s Sean’s turn. Talk to me.”
Sala told him about the gold Star of David belt buckle and their plan to publicize it. “We all agree, it’s got to be one of a kind.”
Savich heard excitement, not guilt or pain, in Sala’s voice. “Yes, I agree,” Savich said.
“Ty and I have been out on the lake all morning, so no TV. Did you get Victor Nesser’s photo out?”
“Yes. His photo and bio are being plastered all over the networks in the tri-states.”
“Do I want to know how you found him so quickly? Even before the prints were identified this morning?”
Savich said smoothly, “A hunch and I acted on it, got lucky.”
Sala said, his voice just as smooth, “Thank MAX for me. You think it was Nesser who saw Sherlock with Sean at the book festival Saturday, took his chance? And missed?”
“Yes, thankfully, just as he missed taking Sean Wednesday night. We can’t be sure, but it seems likely Victor followed us from Washington to Willicott.”
Words clogged in Sala’s throat, then, “Yeah,” he said, and swallowed. “Searching the lake for bones with Ty. She won’t let me alone.”
“Sala, call Mr. Maitland and tell him what’s going on. Tell him about the gold Star of David belt buckle. He won’t mind it’s Sunday.”
“Yes, all right.”
“Wish me luck with my basketball game. My kid’s got some moves, dribbling with both hands, trying to copy Steph Curry.”
Sala punched off and called Mr. Maitland’s cell. He answered on the first ring. “Yeah? This better be good. My wife handed me a dish of her potato salad. It’s got kosher dills and olives. And I saw a cherry pie cooling in the kitchen.”
Sala identified himself and said, “I really like cherry pie.”
“So does the rest of the known world. Glad you called, Sala. Tell me what’s going on there with the bone hunt in Lake Massey.”
After Sala told him about the Star of David belt buckle, Maitland whistled. “A stroke of luck. Makes sense it belonged to one of the victims. We should get this out to the media. You got anything else to tell me?”
“I understand why I can’t be out in the field looking for Victor Nesser, but I’d like to stay in Willicott, sir, maybe work with Flynn and the chief of police, try to find whoever murdered all these people and threw them in Lake Massey.”
Maitland was silent. Sala wondered if he’d taken a bite of that potato salad with the kosher dills and olives. Or the cherry pie?
It came unbidden out of Sala’s mouth. “Sir, I don’t want to take time off or go see my family. Look, I failed both Octavia and the bureau. I’ve got to do something, focus on something other than what happened to her.”
22
* * *
Maitland said, sarcasm thick in his voice, “Sure you failed—tell you what, wake me up out of a dead sleep and stick a knife in my wife’s throat and see what I manage to do. Nesser had this planned out. Stop drowning yourself in buckets of guilt, it won’t help us or anyone else. All right, Sala, stay and help the chief. Get the bones you found today to Quantico.”
“All right. Sir, one of the chief’s deputies will take the bones to Dr. Thomas. You know Dr. Thomas will be there. I’ve explained to Ty he won’t be able to articulate all of the skeletons, but he will get a count on the number of bodies we find in the lake. Also, there might be DNA left in the bone marrow, and they can do facial approximations on the skulls we’ve found. That will take longer.”
Maitland said, “I’ll hurry the process along as much as I can. Knowing Dr. Thomas, security at Quantico will have to kick him out at night to make him go home until he’s finished identifying those bones.
“Using a lake as a dump site is nothing new, but it’s always very disturbing. Any evidence the Serial’s a local?”
Sala said, “Makes sense, since the lake was convenient for him. Chief Christie told me there haven’t been any missing persons in Willicott itself. She’s reaching out to law enforcement all around here to begin with, see what that gets us.”
“He could have trolled far and wide for victims. You know Chief Christie called the Hoover Building herself Friday morning and managed to work her way up to me? Goldy wants to meet her, thinks the chief’s got guts. I hope she’s got brains to go with the guts. Savich seems to think she does.”
“I’d agree, but her biggest strength is her kindness.” He swallowed, and said simply, “Ty is very kind.”
Maitland heard the pain in his agent’s voice. The chief was evidently dealing well with it. He made a decision. “Sala, I don’t think we need both you and Flynn in Willicott. I’m going to pull Flynn back. We got handed multiple stabbing murders in Birmingham, Alabama, Flynn’s hometown. He can assist the local field office.”
Sala would miss Flynn, he never missed a detail, but Sala would take up the slack. “Yes, sir, thank you. I’ll stay on, then.”
“Where are you staying? Savich said the book festival had filled up every available room.”
“I was with Chief Christie last night. I hope she lets me continue on until I have to come back on Tuesday—for Octavia’s funeral.”
Maitland said, “Yes, of course. I’ll be there myself. There will be a lot of people there. Octavia was well liked. Bring Chief Christie with you. I want to meet her. I want to meet the actual human being who got past Goldy.”
“I’ll ask her to come along.”
“Good. Sala, keep your eyes open. When Nesser finds out you survived, he might come back.”
“I will. Sir, I read up on him. I’ve dealt with him face-to-face, and I’ll be ready. But I doubt I’m on his radar. It was Savich who killed Lissy Smiley, and Sherlock shot him in the foot. I only happened to be with Octavia.”
“After he failed to take Sean Savich, I guess he decided to go on to Octavia, although, to be objective here, it still surprises me. No matter what she said that offended his manhood, she kept him from a life sentence.