Part 15 (1/2)
”Yeah, they're blood relatives. What are you thinking, DNA match? Can you do that without tissue?”
”I took a sample from the bones. If you can get the mother to a lab, a sample can be taken and the results faxed to us. If that's not possible, I'd be glad to run the test myself, if she could make her way down here.”
”What have you got, your own private lab facility?” The man's laugh was liberally laced with cynicism. Cait knew what he was thinking. Too often evidence gathered in police investigations languished in the state labs for months, some not being processed until well after the trial.
”Yes.”
Her short answer had the detective pausing. ”Well . . . h.e.l.l. I almost forgot who you worked for. You might be the first break I catch in this case. I took another look at the case file, after you called last time. I told you I liked the ex for it, right?”
Supremely aware of the man standing only yards away, Cait replied, ”You mentioned that.”
”I had one of our forensic accountants take a look at the path the money took when I first caught the case. All I know for sure is someone didn't want the money trail traced. There were so many transfers and phony fronts that it would take him weeks to unravel it all. Time he wasn't willing to spend since we didn't have evidence of a crime, y'know? The ex claims that Recinos frequently talked about wanting to get far away from everybody and everything and start over, but I figure he came up with the story because I was leaning on him pretty hard. Her mother and friends all dispute that. No one else thought she purposely disappeared.”
His words went m.u.f.fled then, as if he'd partially covered the phone. ”Hey, can I get a cup of that coffee over here?”
Cait considered the possibilities. The remains of female C showed signs of a fairly recent fracture of the left lunate. Marissa Recinos broke her left wrist in the last six months of her life. She also matched in the areas of stature and approximate age. It was enough for her to be d.a.m.n pumped about running the DNA tests. ”I don't suppose you were able to look closer at the finances of the ex. Or even the mother or acquaintances.”
”None of them seem to have changed their lifestyle from a sudden infusion of cash, but like I say, no evidence of a crime. I had jack s.h.i.+t to go on here.”
”Yeah, I get that.” She turned to see Sharper leaning a shoulder against a tree, regarding her enigmatically. ”You think the mother will cooperate?”
”There's no doubt she will. She's desperate to get information about her daughter.” There was a pause, before he went on. ”Guess linking her to bones found in a cave in Oregon won't be exactly the news she's hoping for, though. Oh, and I asked her about that list you gave me. Ballet and picture frame and stuff.”
Nerves tightened in a ball in Cait's stomach. ”What'd she say?”
”I wrote it down here somewhere. Just a minute.” There was a rustling noise as if the man were shuffling papers. After a moment he spoke again. ”Marissa took dance lessons for about ten years when she was a kid. Liked to ski. She worked from home designing websites for charitable foundations. One of her hobbies was matting and framing pictures she took. The other was speeding along the Pacific Coast Highway in her Dodge Viper.”
Excitement sprinted along her veins. She struggled to rein it in. ”Anything about the gum? Or fish?”
”Yes, and no. She was the sole heir of a fortune left to her by her great-grandfather who made his loot in-get this-chewing gum. Recinos couldn't think of any special meaning for the fish, though.”
”She was last sighted in Pike Place Market,” Cait said slowly. The famous Seattle attraction hosted a fresh fish company where the employees threw fish for the enjoyment of the tourists. ”You might want to ask Recinos if that was a favorite spot for her daughter. And if she continued her love of ballet as an adult.”
”What's this all about, Fleming?” The detective's tone was curious.
With a flash, Cait's gaze went to Sharper standing only yards away, his gaze fixed on her. ”I can't go into that right now. But if we get a match with the DNA sample . . . I'll give you a full accounting on all the details.”
”You'd better.” The man sounded faintly disgruntled. ”Because I have a feeling you're going to get a match. When I went through Marissa's credit card statements again, I found some charges made in Oregon about eight months before she went missing.”
Cait went still. ”Charges for what?”
”Apparently she stayed in that area for a few days. A place called Springs Resort.” He rattled off the dates. ”There's another charge to River Adventures, out of Springfield. Her mother said she went up there with a group of friends for a long weekend, even though it wasn't exactly her cup of tea. Apparently she wasn't the outdoorsy type.” The man paused for a moment. ”If those remains turn out to be hers, maybe she came to the killer's attention on that trip. Which would blow my theory on the ex and make it more likely that we're looking for a local up there.”
”That's still a big 'if' at this point.” The cautionary words were as much for her as they were for Drecker. But it was difficult to tamp down the flare of excitement she felt. ”You might want to check the ex's background. See if he's familiar with this area.”
Drecker's laugh held real amus.e.m.e.nt. ”I'll do some digging, but I wouldn't count on it. That guy is more the martini and manicures type than a nature lover.”
After eliciting the man's promise to make the arrangements for the test immediately, Cait hung up. And took a moment to still the vortex of adrenaline swirling inside her. If the DNA profile showed the elder Recinos was a blood relative of the remains of female C, the entire case took on a whole new light. Possibly provided motivation, if the money angle panned out. It would certainly give Drecker the justification to dig further into the money trail.
But it also just might blow her tentative profile of the UNSUB all to h.e.l.l.
The thought had her frowning as she rejoined Sharper. Money was an all too common motivation for murder. But an offender who took the time to paint tiny scenes on bones was definitely outside the norm. It could point to affection for the victim or ego on the part of the UNSUB. The former was far more likely in the case of a serial offender.
Regardless, she needed another briefing with Andrews to update her on the latest development. She stopped a couple feet away from Sharper and pressed the speed dial number for the sheriff. ”We need to talk,” she said without preamble when she got the woman's voice mail. ”Get back to me as soon as you can.”
When she'd finished, she squatted to tuck the phone back in the zippered front pocket of the bag, pretending not to notice Zach's intent stare. ”I'm ready to head out.”
”You get a break in the case?”
She slanted him a glance. Sharper wasn't directly involved in this investigation. The information she gave him had to be guarded. But he wasn't stupid, either. He was going to draw his own conclusions based on what he observed when they were together. What he overheard. And there was little she could do about that. ”Maybe. We'll see.” She stuffed the wrappers into the bag and rose, shrugging into the straps. ”Ready to move?”
The intensity of his stare was its own answer. ”Sharper, I can't discuss it. You know that.”
”Sure.” Unsurprisingly, there was an edge to his tone. ”But you can d.a.m.n well discuss why you need a fingerprint sample. That involves me, right? We can agree on that?”
”We need elimination prints,” she said calmly. But she recognized the storm brewing inside him. Wondered at it. ”If it makes you feel any better, my a.s.sistant and I have to be printed, as well as the officers from the sheriff's department who were at the recovery scene.”
Something in his expression eased a fraction. ”So . . . what? You got a print from one of the bones? Because I didn't touch any of them. I told Andrews that when I reported them.”
Skirting his question, she started walking. ”The more people we eliminate, the closer we get to finding the suspect.” A hand on her elbow stopped her. Her gaze lingered on it for a moment before lifting to his face.
”So you're saying whoever left that print doesn't have a record. Because there's a national database for that, right? If this guy was in the system, you'd already have a name.”
He was, she thought ruefully, entirely too shrewd for her peace of mind. ”I guess that's what I'm saying.”
”Christ.” He dropped his hand but didn't step away. ”Easier to believe it's some big-city bad guy with a sheet a mile long. But this means it could be anyone. A person no one would suspect. Isn't that how it usually goes?”
”You said once you thought the killer was local.” It was looking even likelier after what Drecker had told her today. And although they were a ways from determining that for sure, she was growing increasingly certain he was right.
He gave her a grim glance and began to head out. ”Almost has to be. At least from the area. Walterville, Vida, Nimrod, Blue River, McKenzie . . . someone had to have lived in this area for a long time to know it as well as this guy does. I've lived around here all my life and I never knew that cave existed. Maybe he moved away after living here as a kid, but I doubt he went far. Unless . . . you don't think all those bones were dumped there at the same time, do you?”
She matched him step for step and tried to keep up as easily with the direction of his thoughts. ”No.”
”So the guy made multiple trips. Probably at night. Could have camped somewhere around here. Brought the bones with him, then struck out at night to dump them. But campsites mean people, and that'd be a risk. No, chances are he came in alone, left the same way. How far is he going to drive to get rid of them? Not far, I'm guessing. Not more than a couple hours. Can't risk being stopped and having human skeletons found in the car.”
So engrossed was she in his litany that she narrowly avoided being smacked in the head by a low-hanging branch he'd let go of after dodging beneath it. As it was, the twigs on the branch caught her hair, and she stopped to release it. ”First you say he lives around here, then you say he might be two hours away. Which is it?”
He turned to shoot her an impatient glance, saw her dilemma, and relented. Swiftly he walked back toward her and batted her hands out of the way. ”You're making a mess of it. Let me.”
His hands were quick and curiously gentle as he worked the strands free, but there was no trace of gentleness in his expression when he released her to step back. ”Put your hat on,” he said gruffly. While she dug in her pack, he seamlessly switched topics. ”What I said was, he had to have lived here for a while at some point. Although I guess we shouldn't a.s.sume the killer is a man. Those bags weren't that heavy. Someone in shape, someone like you, could probably have made that climb up Castle Rock carrying the bag. But whoever it is, they knew this place. The way I know it. The way Jim Lancombe, the groundskeeper at the Springs Resorts, knows it. They're familiar with every square inch, same as me. Which makes using that cave as a dump site even worse, in my mind.”
It may have been the longest speech she'd ever heard him utter. It was easily the most impa.s.sioned. ”Why?” Because he'd turned and started walking again, she fell in step, too. But she wanted, needed, the answer to her question. ”Why does it make it worse?”
Minutes pa.s.sed. Long enough for her to think he wasn't going to answer. But finally he said, ”It seems like a desecration, I guess. This is one of the few truly peaceful places I've found on this earth.” He sent her a quick sidelong glance. ”I don't expect you to understand.”
But she thought she did understand. At least a little. She headed for the mountains and forests in Virginia at least monthly, if the job allowed. Immersing herself in the tran quility found there never failed to ease her stress.