“Thanks, Greg. I owe you one,” Megan said.
Livia followed as Megan pulled open the buzzing door and entered the Evidence and Property storage area, where just about every piece of evidence collected from a Montgomery County case was located. In the back corner were rows of metal shelves stacked with cardboard boxes. Megan walked with efficiency to the M’s and pulled a box off the shelf. She’d been here before, Livia determined. Within the isles were waist-high tables. Megan deposited her case box onto one of them and lifted the lid.
“So, what exactly are we looking for?” Megan asked.
“I’m not sure.”
They spent ten minutes looking through the contents of the “McDonald, Megan” evidence box, which contained several photos of Megan from the night she climbed into Mr. Steinman’s car on Highway 57. From the hospital bed, Megan had been photographed from every angle. The camera isolated and highlighted her injuries—contusions on her ankles from two weeks in shackles. Friction burns on her wrists from the duct tape. Scratches on her face from her frantic run through the forest, and a gaping wound on her heel that required sixteen sutures to close. There were medical records and notes from the emergency-room doctors who initially cared for her. Livia read with interest until she found the toxicology screening, seeing that ketamine was indeed in her system the night Megan had escaped her captor.
Livia, standing within the quiet row of shelves, paged through pictures of the bunker from which Megan had escaped. There were photos of footprint impressions and random items found in the vicinity of the bunker. They included candy bar wrappers and beer bottles, an old rancid belt and a single Converse All Star shoe. The owner of either of the items unknown. Random fingerprints were sequestered from the door handle and from the objects found on the forest floor, but none matched each other or led to anyone in particular.
Stored in plastic evidence bags was the duct tape that bound Megan’s wrists the night she journeyed through the forest. Other bags contained her blood-soaked shirt and shorts. The items retrieved from the forest were also sealed in plastic—the wrappers and bottles and a few other random items Livia pawed at on the bottom of the box.
She pulled out the file that contained the detectives’ analysis and findings in the weeks after Megan had escaped. Livia had seen many such reports in her three months at the OCME. Mostly, the file contained dictated interviews conducted by the two investigators assigned to the case. Livia skimmed through Megan’s interview, where she recalled for the detectives her movements on the day she was abducted and everything she remembered about the night she was taken. Livia read briefly about Megan’s time in captivity and about the night she escaped from the bunker. Most was redundant. She’d read all of this in Megan’s book. There were other interviews of Emerson Bay High School kids, including Matt Wellington, but they were boring and mundane and led the detectives nowhere important.
Megan read Livia’s expression. “I’ve been through it before and there’s nothing in there that’s useful.”
Livia restacked everything back into the box and closed the lid. “You ever look at Nicole’s case?”
Megan nodded, embarrassed to admit she had.
“Let me have a look,” Livia said.
They walked two rows down to the C’s and Megan pointed. Livia read the label on the box: CUTTY, NICOLE.
She pulled the box and placed it on one of the tables. She slowly opened the lid and pulled out a file that contained interviews and notes similar to those in Megan’s box. More than a year before, Livia had given her statement to the two detectives who had come to her house and talked with Livia and her parents. She and her parents had received updates from these two detectives for the first few weeks of the investigation, but after a while the calls slowed and the updates became more random. Eventually, they stopped altogether. No one ever came out to the house to tell Livia and her parents that the case was stalled. But today, Nicole’s case, sitting quietly on the shelf in the basement of the Federal Building, felt as cold as a body kept overnight in the morgue’s cooler.
At the back of the folder were pictures that Livia flipped through. They were of Nicole’s car, which was found abandoned on a frontage road near the beach where the end-of-summer party took place and from where Megan had established her abduction took place. Jessica Tanner and Rachel Ryan had confirmed having been in the car that night with Nicole when they all drove to the party together. The photos of the car made Livia’s heart ache. It sat parked on the side of the road, pitched slightly to the right as the passenger-side tires rested on the gravel shoulder. The car looked ominous and lonely, and Livia fought hard to block the images her mind tried to produce about what her sister had gone through on this isolated frontage road. How soon after she placed her call to Livia, a call Livia overtly ignored, had Nicole’s car become a crime scene?
The photos were of the outside of the car from every angle. Then, with the doors and trunk open, every inch was documented, inside and out. The tread of Nicole’s tires was captured in the photos and imprints were taken. Prints were lifted from both inside the vehicle and from the door handle, but matched no one in particular besides Nicole. Fibers were taken from the floorboards, seats, and trunk. From the area around the car, items had been seized and included a can of Diet Coke and a Red Bull, cigarette butts, and the cap to a canister of lipstick. Shoe prints were found in the parking lot and captured with the use of a gelatin lifter. A random item was discovered from under the vehicle—a torn piece of green cloth had been recovered from the carriage of the car, just under the right front bumper.
Looking in the box, Livia located the sealed bag containing the green cloth lifted from the bottom side of Nicole’s car. She removed it from the box and held it with her fingers. She studied it for several seconds as her mind worked.
“How much trouble would there be if we took this?” she asked Megan.
“Lots. What is it?”
“Something they pulled from Nicole’s car. What if we get it back before anyone knows it’s gone?”
“You’re the medical examiner. But it breaks the evidence chain of custody,” she said, spoken like the sheriff’s daughter she was.
Megan looked down the fluorescent-lit row of shelves to the closed door where Greg was keeping watch for her. They’d been at it for close to the allotted thirty minutes and she expected him to pop his head in any minute to tell them to wrap it up. She pointed to Livia’s purse. “Take it. Just get it back to me soon.”
Livia slipped the clear plastic bag into her purse.