Alexander forced a laugh and nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Moretti and the frenzied atmosphere surrounding him. Helplessness crept into his veins. He had never felt more useless than he did at that moment. It seemed everyone there had a job to do. He had a job to do, too, one he felt completely inept to actually carry out. He knew how to survive in the wild for extended periods of time. He could take out a target with his sniper rifle at nearly 2,000 yards. He could hold his breath underwater for close to two minutes without releasing a single bubble. But he had absolutely no training, other than his gut, that would help find his daughter.
“We’re all here for you, Alex,” Carol’s husband, Dave, said, extending his hand to him, bringing his attention back to his family. He shook his hand, finding it hard to believe that not even forty-eight hours had passed since Dave asked him to meet him at a fish warehouse in Southie. That seemed like an eternity ago now. “Whatever you need, it’s yours.”
“Thanks for being here.” Alexander pulled back, feeling everyone’s eyes on him — Olivia’s, his mother’s, his sister’s, his brother’s…hell, even all the agents’ and police officers’. Maybe they all knew he was responsible for Melanie’s disappearance. Were they whispering amongst themselves, theorizing that had he been home, had he not put his work first, had he not turned into his father, Melanie would still be safe?
“Do you have a minute?” Dave interrupted Alexander’s unsettled thoughts. He gestured toward an empty corner of the room.
“Sure,” he answered, curious, following him.
“I know Mischa’s murder has probably been the furthest thing from your mind,” he started in hushed tones, “but it looks like your gut may have been right.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I got the final autopsy report back. On the surface, everything about the case fit the Castle Island Killer’s M.O. Beaten. Stuffed into a barrel. Left in Southie. Fingernails ripped off. The only thing that didn’t fit was the cause of death. His other victims either had their throats slashed or a gunshot to the head. But not Mischa. We thought maybe he was progressing his kills, but the coroner thinks something’s off, especially when he studied Mischa’s bruises more closely.” He opened a folder and handed Alexander two photos. “This is a close-up of one of Mischa’s bruises,” he explained, pointing to one of the photos. “And this is a close-up of one of his other victim’s bruising. Do you see the difference?”
Alexander squinted, wishing he had brought his reading glasses with him. He couldn’t see what Dave referred to. They looked practically identical. Sure, there was some discrepancy with the discoloration, but nothing stood out as being off.
“I didn’t, either,” Dave assured him. “There’s a redness to the bruises here.” He pointed to the photo of the other victim. “And if you look close enough, you can see the imprint from where a fist made contact with the victim’s ribs. That’s not the case here.” He placed the image of Mischa’s bruise on top. “This is the same exact part of Mischa’s body, but the imprint is scattered, almost jagged. After doing an internal exam, seeing chips of missing bone fragments, the M.E. opined these bruises were not the result of a normal beating. It was something much worse.”
Alexander met his eyes and swallowed hard. “What?” he whispered.
Dave paused for a beat, licking his lips. “Based on the appearance of the bruises and the restraint marks he found on her wrists and ankles, the M.E. believes Mischa was stoned to death.”
“Stoned?” he repeated in disbelief.
“I thought it was an antiquated method of execution, but after doing a bit of research, I found some cultures still use it. There have been deaths in the Middle East reported as recently as just a few months ago attributed to an honor killing.”
“Honor killing?” Alexander swallowed hard, holding onto the table to steady himself as he felt the room spinning around him. His eyes glazed over. It was useless to ignore the connection between Landon’s role in the security company and Mischa’s death. They had to be related. If they weren’t, it was one hell of a coincidence.
“I’ve reached out to the agency she worked for to see if this has any connection to her job there. Maybe she pissed someone off. Who knows?” Dave shook his head, shrugging. “I hoped we’d find something, but that angle doesn’t seem to be working out. The agency’s been very forthcoming with all their records. Mischa’s never even been to the Middle East. Before she was promoted to executive director, most of her fieldwork was concentrated in Africa and South America.”
“So you have no leads?” Alexander exhaled, running his hands through his hair.
“We’re looking into a few other things. The plant where her body was dumped recently installed security cameras. It’s not the best system and leaves plenty of blind spots, but we’re taking a look at the footage to see if we come up with something.”
“You’ll let me know if you do?” Alexander asked, even though he was pretty sure they wouldn’t find anything. That would be too easy, and nothing about the events of the past few days made him think finding Mischa’s killer would be easy.
“Of course.” Dave closed the folder, turning as a tall brunette dressed in a dark pant suit approached with Shannon, Alexander’s publicist.
“Mr. Burnham,” the suit began. “I’m Agent Long. I’m part of the CARD team under the direction of Agent Moretti.” She held her hand out to him and he shook it. “I’ve just been speaking with your publicist about how this press conference will proceed. We’d like to go over a few things with you and your wife before we get started.” She headed toward the end of the conference table and sat down, opening a file. Alexander met Olivia’s eyes and gestured for her to join them.
“My wife, Olivia,” he said to Agent Long when she approached, and they exchanged pleasantries. Then he pulled out a chair for Olivia.
“I’ve spoken to Agent Moretti and he’s expressed a few concerns.” Shannon looked directly at Alexander. “He’s of the opinion that Olivia should do most of the talking since she’s the mother.” She paused, allowing that to sink in. “However, I disagree. We could face serious backlash if you remain silent. The media is already in a frenzy with this story, speculating as to who could be responsible. They’ve been digging up everything about both you and Olivia, along with your friends and families. Unfortunately, nothing is out of bounds for some reporters.” She rolled her eyes, then her expression grew serious once more. “The last thing we want to do is give the media a reason to think you have something to do with Melanie’s disappearance,” she said to Alexander. “Be warm.”
“I’m—” Alexander interrupted, only to have Shannon shoot daggers at him. She had been his publicist for the better part of the past decade. She prided herself on knowing more about him than even he did.
“Be compassionate. Engaging. Do whatever you need to so you don’t come off like an arrogant man who can buy his way out of anything. Your money won’t bring back Melanie. This is about her and appealing to the public’s sympathy. Remember that.” Shannon’s voice was firm as she stared Alexander down.