“Ethan Jacobsen is married with kids now, but he did give us a DNA sample back when Winona was found dead and you were declared missing. His DNA was also uploaded into NCIS, and we had it compared to yours as well.”
Heidi Morgan interjected, “Ethan Jacobsen's DNA was also confirmed as being a match with yours, which was why it took us a little longer than I promised to get the results back.”
Detective Moody spoke up again, and his eyes were sober, his smile gone. “As a courtesy, Blue, Mr. Jacobsen has also been contacted, and he has been informed that you were located. He was pretty shaken up, understandably. He did give us his contact information and current address but said any further contact will be up to you.”
I nodded, my head reeling. I knew the names of both of my parents. I knew what they looked like. I had a grandmother. She wanted to see me. There was just one more thing.
“What's my name?”
Detective Martinez swallowed, and Detective Moody's eyes filled up with tears. They both seemed as overwhelmed in the moment as I was.
“The name on your birth certificate is Savana Hidalgo,” Detective Martinez said hoarsely.
“Savana,” Wilson and I breathed together, and it was my turn to be overcome with emotion.
“Savana? Only Jimmy would truly appreciate the irony.” The words trembled on my lips.
Wilson tipped his head in question. I explained, the words catching in my throat as the tears spilled onto my cheeks. “When I was younger, I would pretend my name was Sapana – so close to the name Savana. Sapana is a girl in a Native American story that climbs to the sky and is rescued by a hawk. I always said Jimmy, because of his name, was the hawk and I was Sapana. He always claimed he was more like the porcupine man. I never understood what he meant. I thought he was just being funny. Looking back, he probably felt guilt for not going to the police. I think it must have weighed on him. But I'm not sorry.” I looked from one person to the other, my eyes resting on Wilson at the end. “He was a good father. He didn't hurt my mother or kidnap me –”
“Were you worried he had?” Wilson interrupted gently.
“Sometimes. But then I would remember Jimmy and how he was. It's like you said, Wilson. I knew too much to doubt him. I won't be sorry he chose to keep me with him. Ever. I know it might be hard to understand, but that's the way I feel.”
I was not the only one who needed a minute to compose myself, and we took a brief break to wipe our eyes before Detective Martinez continued.
“You were born on October 28, 1990.”
“Only two days before Melody's birthday,” I remarked, touched once more.
“October 28 was also the day you submitted a DNA sample to find out who you were,” Heidi Morgan offered. “Interesting how things come full circle.”
“I'm twenty-one,” I marveled, and, like most young people, I was pleased that I was older than I had thought.
“But your drivers license still says twenty, so we won't be pub-hopping or hitting the casinoes tonight,” Wilson teased, making everyone chuckle and relieving some of the emotional pressure that had built in the room.
“You are welcome to look at everything in the file. There are crime scene pictures, though, and things you might prefer not to see. The pictures are in the envelopes. Everything we know is in the file. We'll leave you alone for a while if you'd like. Contact information for your grandmother is there, as well as for your father. Your grandmother is still living on the reservation, but your father is in Cedar City, Utah, which isn't all that far from there.”
Wilson and I spent another hour pouring over the contents of the file, trying to get a more complete picture of the girl who had been my mother. There wasn't much to learn. The only thing that struck me was that when my mother's car had been recovered there was a blue blanket in the back seat. It was described as having big blue elephants on a paler blue background, and it was clearly designed for a young child. A picture of it had been tagged as evidence from a possible secondary crime scene.
“Blue.” The word sprang out of me as a sliver of recognition wormed its way to the surface.
“I called that blanket 'blue.'”
“What?” Wilson looked at the picture I was staring at.
“That was my blanket.”
“You called it Blue?”
“Yes. How is it that I remember that blanket but I don't remember her, Wilson?” My voice was steady, but my heart felt swollen and battered, and I didn't know how much more I could take. I pushed the file away and stood, pacing around the room until Wilson stood too and pulled me into his arms. His hands stroked my hair as he talked.
“It's not that hard to understand, luv. I had a stuffed dog that my mother eventually had to pry from my hands because it was so filthy and worn out. He had been washed a hundred times, in spite of the severe warning label on his arse that promised he would disintegrate. Chester is literally in every picture of me as a child. I was extremely attached, to put it mildly. Maybe it was like that for you with your blanket.”