Of course, it was empty. Joe was at work.
And she was done with Jenny and had told her that she was now in Nalchek’s hands.
She took out her phone and dialed Nalchek. “I’ve just FedExed the reconstruction to you,” she told him when he picked up. “I think you’ll be pleased. She has a very memorable face and should be easy to ID if you’re able to get cooperation from the media. I’m doing a last check of the computer photos, and I’ll be e-mailing them to you later today.”
“Great.” Nalchek’s voice was sharp. “And you overnighted that skull?”
“Of course. She should be there before ten tomorrow.”
“Sorry. I’ve been under a lot of pressure.” He paused. “And I just got back from a memorial service for Ron Carstairs. It was hell.”
“They usually are. And I’m the one who is sorry for your loss. I hope when you get the reconstruction, that it will help you to feel a little better.”
“Thanks,” he said curtly. “But that may take a long time.” He hung up.
So much for calling Nalchek to make her feel what she’d done was worthwhile. It had only reinforced how wrong everything had gone on Jenny’s case.
She found her gaze wandering over to the couch where she’d last seen Jenny.
Of course, she wasn’t there.
Work.
Finish up the photos.
That would distract her.
She put her phone on her worktable and opened her computer.
2:45 P.M.
One more adjustment …
Eve zeroed the computer camera in on Jenny’s delicately pointed chin that she’d sculpted on the reconstruction.
And her cell phone rang.
Joe calling to check? She’d tell him she’d call him back.
Not Joe.
FedEx.
Dammit, had she forgotten to fill out one of those many boxes on the form?
She punched the access. “Look, did I make a mistake? Can we correct it on the phone? That box has to be in California in the morning.”
“No mistake, Ms. Duncan. This is the dispatcher, we just wanted to make sure that the driver picked up your package. We show he did, but you’re the last one before we lost contact.”
She stiffened. “Lost contact?”
“I can’t talk to you any longer. I was just authorized to check. We have the police and a company representative who will be on their way to—”
“Police? What the hell are you talking about?”
“An accident,” he said quickly. “Our FedEx driver had an accident.”
“What? Where?”
“On Quinn Road, a few miles from the expressway. That’s why we were almost sure he’d made the pickup.” He paused. “But we can’t locate the package. Don’t worry, I’m sure that we will. And, as I said, a company representative will—”
“Can’t locate the—” She jumped to her feet. “This is weird as hell. And why would anyone send the police with that FedEx rep?” She was heading for the front door. “You’re not telling me the truth.” She slammed the door, locked it, and ran down the porch steps. “Let me talk to your supervisor.” No, that would just be adding to the red tape. “Never mind.” She hung up and called Joe as she jumped into the Jeep. Voice mail. “Joe, something crazy is happening with that FedEx I sent out a couple hours ago. I’m on my way to check it out. Call me.”
Her foot pressed the accelerator, and the Jeep leaped forward.
*
She saw the white FedEx truck a mile before she approached the expressway.
But there was no sign of a crash or another vehicle. Yellow crime-scene tape was barricading the area around the truck. Police squad cars, a forensic van, and an ambulance were parked along the road.
Not good.
She parked behind the barricade and jumped out of the Jeep. She lifted the tape and ducked beneath it.