Don't Look Back (31 page)

“You’d give one of us up.”

“Yes.”

Jamie closed her eyes on the sob echoing through the phone line, imagining a young mother’s –
her
mother’s – heart-wrenching decision.

Her mom drew in a shaky breath and said, “I called my best friend from high school. We’d kept touch over the years with the occasional phone call and a Christmas card every year. Other than that, we never really saw each other.” Another sigh. “But, I knew she couldn’t have children. I also knew how desperately she wanted a child, so I called her and told her my situation. She immediately agreed to adopt one of the babies, and Kit had a wonderful childhood.”

“Did Daddy know?”

“Yes. After he came home when you were almost two, I told him.”

“Was he mad? I mean, how did he react?”

“At first, I think he was a little angry, but mostly he was just sad. So very, very sad – and he felt so guilty. He’s had a really hard time forgiving himself, but over time . . .” She trailed off, then added, “But he also understood why I did what I did. He said I did the right thing, the only thing under the circumstances. I had no help, nowhere to turn. I’d quit church by that time. My parents were dead, and his parents . . . well, you know his parents.”

Jamie did. Into doing their own thing and definitely not into children, they were travelers, living the good life. Now, in their early eighties, they only recently sold their hundred-thousand-dollar motor home and bought a house. No, they wouldn’t have put their lives on hold to help out with a couple of babies.

“Thanks for telling me all this, Mom. I’ll pass it on to Samantha.” She took a deep breath and changed her line of thought. “Okay, one more question, then I’ll let you go. I never went to counseling, did I? Because I sure don’t remember it if I did.”

Silence.

“Mom?”

“No, you never made it to your first appointment.”

“What?” Jamie nearly shrieked. Samantha’s eyes went wide.

“Your father and I were afraid you were going to wind up dead. You snuck out at night, partied until all hours of the morning, and came home smashed or high. We were at our wit’s end. So, we decided to get you into a place that could offer what we couldn’t.”

Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “Where? Where was I supposed to go?”

“A place on Henry Street. Um . . . Eastside Psychiatrics or something like that.”

All strength seemed to leave her body. “Thanks, Mom, I’ll call you later.”

She hung up and looked at Samantha. “I think we need to call Connor and Dakota.”

29

Delving into the history of Eastside Psychiatric Therapists proved to be a time-consuming endeavor.

When Jamie said they thought they had found something else in the files, Dakota and Connor had sped back to Connor’s house. Just as they pulled into the drive, Dakota’s cell phone rang.

He looked at Connor. “It’s George.”

“I’m going to go on in.”

Nodding that he would fill him in, Dakota hit the green button. “Hello, George, what can I do for you?”

“I might have discovered something rather interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“I decided to enter the rest of the missing girls into the geographic profile data and came across some familiar names. I actually think I treated a couple of the missing girls.”

Shock zipped up his spine. George had his complete attention. “What do you mean?”

“Where are you? Do you mind if I meet you somewhere? This might be easier in person.”

“I’m at Connor’s house. Sure, come on over. What kind of car do you drive? I’ll clear it with our watchdog.”

“A black Buick. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Hey, don’t you need directions?”

A self-conscious laugh. “Yeah, I was just going to mapquest it.”

“It’ll take less time if I tell you how to get here.” Dakota rattled off the directions and informed the officer watching the house that George would be arriving shortly and to be on the lookout for a black Buick.

Dakota headed into the house. “George is on the way. And get this, he thinks he counseled some of the missing girls.”

“No way!” Jamie sat up straight in the recliner where she’d been curled up with the laptop. “Did he work at Eastside Psychiatric Therapists?”

“I don’t know. He’s on his way over. Said it would be easier to explain in person.”

They waited on George. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up out front. Connor let him in and showed him to a seat. “Thanks for coming over.”

“No problem. I would have been here earlier, but I took a wrong turn and got turned around. Then I got behind a semi on one of the back streets.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Anyway, I’m here now and wanted to show you something.” He opened the laptop he’d brought with him and powered it up. “Okay, I’ll get to the part where I think I know some of the girls in a minute. First, I want to show you this. Dakota, when you and I were doing the geographic profiling the other day, we only entered the victims we had that were found. I went back and added the other twenty-one. I know we don’t know that all of them are victims of this guy, but I put them in anyway, just in case.”

A few more clicks. “Then I went back and numbered them according to the dates of their disappearances. Then I started thinking. This guy may have some kind of fixation on numbers.”

“Numbers?”

“Yes. You said he branded his victims.”

Jamie flinched and Dakota resisted the urge to go to her, but he conveyed his sympathy with his eyes . . . he hoped.

George went on. “Anyway, I figured if he has this thing about numbers, then maybe where they were buried could be numeric.”

“Meaning?” Sam looked confused.

George waved a hand. “I’m going to skip the process because it took a long time to figure out and I don’t want to waste time explaining it, but basically, the girls were buried according to where they lived.”

He punched a few more keys and a 3-D diagram appeared. “Here, according to number and order of disappearances, are where the girls lived.”

Scattered numbers in blue appeared on the screen. A few more taps and he said, “Here in green are where we found number 3, Jamie . . . ,” he flicked his gaze to Jamie and she nodded, “number 6, Sandra – number 7, Olivia – number 8, Karen – number 10, Simone – and number 17, Lisa.”

Dakota caught on quick. “The distance from where they lived to where they were buried is according to their number.”

“Exactly.” George looked like a proud teacher.

“So, I was pitched in the lake.” Jamie looked at Samantha. “It’s about three miles from Mom and Dad’s house.”

“Closer to four, but yeah. We couldn’t believe you were found so close to home. Now we know why.”

Jamie’s cell phone rang. Serena. “Hello?”

“Jamie, I need you in the lab as soon as you can get here.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You had a package delivered to you. Knowing the trouble you’ve been having, I called in the bomb people. It’s not a bomb, it’s a set of bones. Old ones, recently dug up, I would say.”

“What?”

“And a card signed ‘Your Hero.’”

Sickness clenched her stomach. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

When she hung up, four pairs of eyes stared at her. “I need to go to the lab. Apparently, I’ve received another gift from
him
. Jake’s working on the box to see if there’s any evidence.”

Dakota stood and sighed. “All right, let’s get over there and see what it is.”

Connor looked at Samantha. “You sit tight. I’ll call when we know something.”

Frustration nipped at her features, but she nodded. Jamie knew she wanted to be there; however, her health and that of the baby’s came first. “I’ll be waiting.”

Snapping the laptop shut, George stood. “I’ll come too. We still need to discuss the girls that I think I counseled.”

“That’ll have to wait. Let’s go.” Connor ushered everyone out of his house. They loaded into Connor’s car, George into his, and headed for the hospital.

Almost before Connor could put the car in park, Jamie was out and running for the lab. Pounding steps followed her. She passed her office and saw Serena in Autopsy room two. Jamie burst through the door and stopped to catch her breath. “Where?”

“I hope you drove carefully. I think you set a record.”

“Connor drove.” Jamie nodded toward the innocent-looking brown box. Jake stood there snapping pictures. “Is that it?”

Serena arched a perfectly manicured brow. “That’s it.”

Trepidation clawing at her, she pushed it aside. But for the grace of God, that could have been her in the box. Anxiety shot through her.

No, she wouldn’t panic here. This is where she felt safest, competent, in her element. Here, she was in control.

A quick glance at the clock told her Maya’s funeral was in three hours. She would have to be done here in two and a half hours. She could do it.

Connor and Dakota entered the lab and took up residence in the far corner. George said he’d be in his office and to keep him updated.

Jake stepped back. “I’m done here. I’ve got a few things I can take a look at back in the lab, but I’m not making any guarantees.”

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the box and opened the lid. “Thanks, Jake. Where’s Dennis?” Dennis Carter, their resident entomologist.

“He’s already taken samples. Said the body’s been in the ground about six to eight years.”

“Okay, who’s been missing that long?” she muttered to herself. As much as she’d studied the files last night, she should be able to pull a name from her memory.

Nineteen-year-old Cristina Benini. From a wealthy Italian family. She’d disappeared eight and a half years ago.

“You’ll want to take a look at this too.” Jake pulled her from the box. He handed her an envelope. “It was taped to the lid.”

With a gloved hand, she took it from him. “Guys?”

They approached. Absently, she noted Dakota’s woodsy scent. It calmed her.

He asked, “What is it?”

“An envelope.” She looked at Jake. “What’s in it?”

“A couple of pictures.” He shook his head. “That poor girl. Just keep your gloves on.”

Obediently, Jamie did as he asked and pulled the pictures from the envelope.

“Here’s the note that came with it.” Jake handed her a piece of paper with typewritten words on it.

Jamie read them aloud.

“‘A gift for you, my lovely Jamie. Yes, it’s Cristina. A beautiful girl suffering so much angst. I helped end it for her. I’m her hero – just like I’ll soon be yours once again.’”

It took all she had in her to remain poised, to ignore her impulse to crumple the paper, but if she did that, it would give him satisfaction that he got to her. She knew it would, and while he couldn’t see her right now, she refused to close her fingers around the paper.

Instead she showed it to Dakota, then put it back in the plastic bag.

Next, the pictures.

Obviously already dead, her throat had been cut and she lay on a slab like the one in the morgue. Only it looked more like a wooden work bench than a stainless steel table. Bruises splotched the girl’s body. Arms, legs, ankles. One knee looked twice as large as the one next to it. She shuddered. “Where does he do this stuff?” Jamie wondered aloud.

“He’s got to have a pretty big place. Either a basement or an attic – or even a whole separate residence.”

“He can’t live near people and do it. They’d notice.”

Connor blew out a sigh. “Not necessarily. People tend to mind their own business these days. The world’s not like it used to be with everyone knowing their neighbors and their neighbors’ business.”

“That’s for sure,” Jamie grunted and looked at the next picture. A dark-haired girl who’d gone Goth, Cristina had an angry forehead. Whatever she’d been looking at in the picture, she didn’t like it. Black-rimmed eyes and black lips. Multiple piercings in the one ear she could see. A ring through her nose. A young woman searching for her identity, her life cut short by a madman.

Emotion clogged her throat and Jamie swallowed.
It’s not fair,
God, it’s not fair.
But she kept her cry inside.

“Was she branded? Can you tell?”

“I think so, get me a magnifying glass, would you?”

Serena handed one over. Jamie focused on the girl’s upper arm. And spotted a 4. “We need to find her grave.”

Connor got on the phone and asked for a team to search a four-mile radius from the girl’s home. “You’re looking for fresh dirt.”

Dakota slapped a hand on the table, making Jamie jump.

He stood. “Sorry, I’m going to talk to George about the girls he counseled and find all I can there.”

Jamie nodded to the box. “I’m going to get started here.”

“I’m also going to get busy tracing where the box was mailed from and see if we have a post office that may have caught this guy on camera.”

Jamie huffed. “He probably didn’t even mail it.”

A shrug. “You’re most likely right, but we’ve got to try.”

“All right. I’m going to get busy on these bones. See what they have to tell me. Unfortunately, I have a feeling I already know the story they’re going to tell.”