“It’s not professional.”
“Fuck that. You’re not taking advantage of her. People meet in unusual situations all the time. Paths cross for a reason. You’ve stumbled across something of quality. Don’t let it go just because of a professional-conduct tenet. It’s not a firm rule and it doesn’t apply here. You’re not some horndog cop looking to get laid.”
True.
“You’ve seen us interact once. You learned all this from watching us at a crime scene in the woods.”
Noelle lifted her chin and grinned. “Yep. And I’ve been watching you for days. I see your reactions when her name is mentioned. You’ve got it bad, and I think you’re just now realizing that.”
Noelle was right. “Maybe,” he said. “Shit.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s all good. Trust me.”
They stepped back into Dr. Peres’s lab. The doctor’s gaze immediately met Evan’s, and disappointment flashed across her face. “Dr. Harper couldn’t make an identification?”
“No,” said Evan. “The films she received are too old.”
“Damn. I was afraid of that.” She took a deep breath and moved to one of the tables holding an adult skeleton. “We’ll move on for now.”
Evan mentally shifted gears. Somewhere there were families of these two unidentified sets of remains waiting for news of their missing loved ones. He could do this. “What do you have, Doctor?”
I won’t give up on finding Malcolm.
But the boy had to take a back seat to the other mysteries in the room.
“Both female,” said Dr. Peres. “Caucasian. Both between eighteen and thirty. Both blonde.”
“You found long, dark hair at the site,” said Noelle. “We saw it.”
“It had picked up color from the dirt. We determined that it was actually blonde.” The doctor pointed at a group of mottled, brownish ribs. “It’s normal for bones that have been buried for a long time to absorb some staining. The color and amount depends on what kind of soil they’re in. Hair can do the same thing.”
“Blonde,” said Evan. “Like the three recent murders.”
“And like Jerry Chiavo’s three victims from decades ago,” said Noelle. “Someone—or some people—has a type. Can you tell how long ago they died?”
“I can’t. Could be as recent as a few years to as old as forty years ago—maybe longer. Taking into account how much color has leached into the bones, it’s been more than a year or two. I don’t have a lot to work with here as far as establishing a timeline. Dr. Harper found composite dental fillings in both of them and believes they both had braces. Both of these things weren’t nearly as common forty years ago as they were in the last twenty. So I have more a likely date range than an absolute.” She narrowed her brows in frustration. “Usually I find stuff with a body. Nothing was found with all three of them.”
“You mean like buttons and zippers,” said Noelle. “You were looking for those the other day.”
“Correct. I especially like it when we find shoes. Shoes can last a long time and aren’t too difficult to research when they were first made. Glasses are good for that too. If there is clothing, we can study the style, and if there are tags, we can contact the manufacturer.”
“Anything useful for identification from the skeletons themselves?” asked Evan.
“The teeth, of course,” said Dr. Peres. “But we need previous dental films to make a match. This set of remains shows an old, healed break at the medial end of the left radius. Right at its neck.” She picked up a bone and showed them. “It will be useful for whittling down the match possibilities.”
“What is this? It looks odd.” Noelle indicated several small crisscrossing grooves in the bone below the skull’s eye orbit.
“Teeth marks,” said Dr. Peres. “A rat or something similar.”
Noelle blanched and jerked her hand away.
Not liking the mental picture either, Evan glanced at the table with the other set of female remains. “One was buried on top of the other. How did you keep them from mixing together as you uncovered them?”
“By being extremely careful. Slow removal. Lots of record keeping as we went along.”
“Can you tell if they were buried at the same time?” asked Noelle.
“I believe they were not. There was a layer of soil between them. If they were buried at the same time, usually there is no dirt between them.”
“You’ve seen that?” asked Evan.
The doctor’s face lost all expression. “Yes,” she said shortly. “I’ve worked pits where a dozen bodies were thrown on top of each other before being buried.” She laid the radius back in its position on the table and gently straightened a few other bones, keeping her eyes averted.
Evan faintly recalled an article that mentioned the doctor had worked in war-ravaged foreign countries, helping identify the remains from mass murders.
Humans did horrible things to one another. Evan had seen more than enough.
The doctor had seen worse.
“Does anything indicate the cause of death?” asked Noelle, filling the awkward silence.
Dr. Peres shook her head. “Same as the child. No marks on the bones from stabbing or gunshot. No head trauma. This one’s hyoid is missing, along with several small bones from her hands and feet.” She looked at the other table. “That victim was on the bottom. Her hyoid is intact, but that doesn’t rule out strangulation. People can be strangled and the bone not broken. By itself, a broken one only indicates the possibility of strangulation, not a definite.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Evan. He’d known once the remains were found that it was possible they were related to either the old Jerry Chiavo murder cases or the three women who’d been murdered in the past few weeks. Or both.
In his gut he felt Chiavo was at the center of all the deaths somehow.
He and Noelle silently left the building.
“I need to call Rowan,” Evan said. “I wish I could confirm that this was Malcolm.”
“Her family has been suffering for twenty-five years,” said Noelle. “We all want to change that. Are you going to call her now?”
“Yes. From my car.”
I wish I had better news.
28
The homeowner watches me as she stands in the bathroom doorway, suspicion in her eyes. I get it. I need a haircut and my beard is rather scraggly. But my red shirt with its cheerful Sam’s Electric logo is clean, and so are my jeans.
I step back while the other electrician balances on the stepladder and lifts the light fixture to the ceiling. Liam has got this part under control and doesn’t need my help. We’ve done this dozens of times and have a routine. He’s been a competent trainer over the years.
I duck my head and look away, self-conscious because I made eye contact with her. I’m not here to interact with people. I’m here to do my job, and I’m good at it. I’ve learned a lot as an apprentice. Electricity makes sense to me. It’s logical. It acts like I expect it to. Not like people, who are completely unpredictable.
He’s got the fixture all wired and has moved the canopy into place against the ceiling. I hand up the bulbs, and he screws them in one by one. He nods to me, and I head to the garage to turn the breaker back on. I hit the switch and a moment later hear a happy “Oh, that looks great!” from the homeowner.
Another job well done.
I go back to the bathroom and start picking up. Then I sweep, vacuum, and wipe everything down, wanting it perfect for the customer. I take pride in not leaving any sign that work has been done. I never leave smudges or fingerprints or dust. I make it immaculate.
This was our last job for the day, and I have a strong need to be back home. I don’t like being away for too long. My anxiety level goes up, and I can’t relax. It feels like something is crawling under my skin even though I know it is just in my head. It feels dangerous to be out in public; home is safety.
“Ready to go?” Liam asks as he does a final inspection of the bathroom.
“Yes.” I watch him, holding my breath. No matter how long we’ve worked together, this part makes me nervous.