Her appetite had fled. Instead of eating, she watched David enjoy the meal she’d fixed. In that age-old trick of Mother Nature, he was growing more handsome with the passing years. His hair was flecked with silver, where many men his age were balding or totally gray. He’d shocked her by coming home Friday night after the phone conversation they’d had. He’d attended his meeting first, of course, but he’d been here before she’d gone to sleep. She’d feigned exhaustion, letting Janie be the one to lead him from the room and apprise him of the events of the evening. Claire hadn’t been able to relive them again. It had been traumatic enough being in that cramped space with Janie and the deputies. Listening to the recording of that horrid man admit that he’d taken those revealing pictures of Kelsey.
What else had he done? Had Kelsey gone there alone? Those were the questions her mind had seized on to worry about like a dog with a bone. Surely not. Surely she’d had the sense to take someone else along, like Janie had.
But Kelsey had been unpredictable her last few weeks at home. As great as Claire’s need was to reconstruct every moment of their daughter’s last days in West Bend, she wasn’t certain she had the fortitude to face what the interview with Newman might reveal.
With effort, she searched for a topic to take her mind off her daughter. “How’s work? I haven’t seen Kurt and Linda for ages.”
“Fine. Same old, same old.” He reached for the newspaper sitting on the table in front of him. “Kurt will never slow down.”
And neither, it seemed, would David. She managed to take a bite of the sandwich. Chewed slowly. He’d headed back to Columbus on Saturday, but not until late afternoon, and he’d surprised her by coming straight home afterward. He must have been more worried than he let on about Janie’s run-in with the sheriff’s office, although they’d barely discussed it. Claire had the feeling that between her daughter and husband, she was being wrapped in gossamer, as though she might shatter with a careless word.
She wished with all her heart that she could assure them their caution was unnecessary.
“I thought we’d have heard something from the sheriff’s office by now.” Like a tongue touching a sore tooth, her mind circled back to the same thoughts. “Sergeant Rossi promised he would keep us apprised.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time the police failed to keep that promise.” The bitterness in David’s tone had her glancing at him. He was scowling at the sports page. “How many times during the course of Kelsey’s investigation did—” His words were interrupted by the peal of the doorbell. They both started to rise.
“Stay. Finish eating.” Claire placed her napkin on the table and rose to hurry to the front door. She checked the peephole. An instant bout of nausea rose in her stomach as she saw the BCI agent and a strange woman standing on her porch. She pulled the door open. “Agent Foster. Ma’am.”
“This is Agent Medford.” There was a lazy scatter of snowflakes in the air. They adorned the agents’ hair, their coats in artistic randomness. “Is your husband home, Mrs. Willard? We have something to discuss with you both.”
Something grim, judging from their expressions. Claire clutched the doorjamb for support, her knees feeling watery. “Yes,” she said faintly. “Of course.” She and David had just been talking about Sergeant Rossi’s promise to inform the BCI agents of the developments with Newman. And then they’d appeared, as if their words had summoned them.
She stepped aside to allow them to enter. While they stomped the fresh powder off their boots, she turned to fetch David. Found him already approaching. “Agents Foster and Medford have something they want to share with us.”
“We were just saying that we haven’t been updated about Friday’s events at the lake house.” There was a glitter of animosity in David’s eyes that took Claire aback. She’d been as distressed as he was about the lack of communication, but the agents’ arrival changed things. Turning back toward them, she waved them into the formal living room. “Please. Come in and sit.”
Claire hadn’t seen the stunning blonde woman with Foster before. She didn’t look much like police. But then Claire didn’t remember ever meeting a woman in law enforcement, with the exception of the security guard at the bank. “Can I get you anything? A cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
She sank down on the edge of the sofa, barely aware when David sat next to her.
“We’ve been working closely with the sheriff’s office for the last thirty-six hours,” Mark began.
“Have you interviewed Newman?” David asked the question on the tip of Claire’s tongue. “What does he know about Kelsey?”
“We have spoken to him, yes.” The woman answered this time. “We’ll be talking to him again very soon. While he admits to taking photographs of your daughter shortly before she was kidnapped, he denies any other knowledge of her.”
“When?” David demanded. “When does he say he took the pictures?”
“He claims it was two or three weeks before she disappeared.”
Two or three weeks. Claire’s mind flashed back to the recording Janie had played for the deputies. There had been discussion of payment for the photos. Newman had indicated any money could be gotten only through a modeling job once he sent the pictures onward. But other than school, Kelsey hadn’t been gone for more than a few hours at a time, so she certainly hadn’t modeled. Where had the money in the envelope with the photos come from?
“He’s lying.” David’s voice was impatient. “He probably knows far more than he’s telling. Where are these pictures? Maybe there will be something in them to prove he’s holding back.”
“We served a warrant on his home and car and seized his cameras and computer equipment. They’ve been delivered to the state lab, where cyber scientists will go over them as early as tomorrow.” Mark’s gaze was intent. “We’ll have those answers for you shortly. Unfortunately, there’s a more compelling matter we have to discuss with you. While searching the lake house location for evidence . . . a body was found.”
The room tilted. Righted itself, still slightly askew. “What?” Claire reached out to grab her husband’s hand. “David, what are they saying?”
“I’m so sorry to bring you this news.” And the agent did look regretful, Claire thought dimly. So did the other agent, so pretty in spite of the somberness of her expression. “It’s a young girl. Age fourteen to nineteen. She’s dressed in a ballet outfit. Posed. More testing is required before we can say how long she’s been down there, although we know she was moved after her death. She didn’t die at the lake house.”
“Ballet clothes,” David said dully. “The TMK left his victims like that.”
“I’m sorry.” Mark glanced down, swallowed hard, and then lifted his head to look at them again. “Yes, the victim matches the manner in which the other TMK victims were found, with the exception of the location.”
Claire was spiraling away, like a grain of sand whirling in a drain’s vortex. She could feel herself fading. The voices growing distant. “That poor girl. Her parents will be so devastated.” Having that last thread of hope snapped had to be the worst sort of nightmare.
“Jesus Christ, Claire.” David’s voice broke as he brought his free hand to his eyes.
“DNA tests will be run tomorrow.” The female agent—Medford?—was talking. “But we have a preliminary match on the dental records. We’re fairly certain the victim is your daughter, Kelsey.”
A loud sob broke from David, and his shoulders shook. Claire slipped her arm around him.
“No, that’s not right,” she told him certainly. Then she turned to the agents. “It’s not Kelsey.”