The Missing (15 page)

‘About six months. I needed a change of scenery.’

‘Getting burned out?’

‘I was getting dangerously close. The last case I worked on nearly did me in.’

‘Which one?’

‘Miles Hamilton.’

The All-American Psycho,’ Darby said. The former teenage psychopath, now confined to a mental asylum, was believed to have murdered more than twenty young women. ‘I hear he’s gearing up for a retrial because of possible tainted evidence by one of your profilers.’

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

‘Will Hamilton get a retrial?’

‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’

The elevator doors chimed open. Evan suggested
they leave through the back entrance – no reporters there.

The sun was bright and strong as they jogged across the street to the parking garage. Evan didn’t speak again until they were pulling onto Cambridge Street.

‘Banville told me about the listening devices you found.’

‘I’m surprised you persuaded him so easily,’ Darby said. ‘I was expecting more of a fight.’

‘Banville is under the spotlight. He needs to be able to say he exhausted every resource when the Cranmore girl turns up dead.’

‘I don’t think she’s dead.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Rachel Swanson was kept alive for almost five years – Terry Mastrangelo for two. That may buy us some time.’

‘Right now one of his victims is lying in a hospital room. If he’s smart, he’ll kill the Cranmore girl, bury her body someplace where we’ll never find her and then blow town.’

‘Then why would he bother with the listening devices?’

‘I think he’s hoping to discover just how much we know about him so he can change his tactics before he moves on,’ Evan said. ‘What are your thoughts?’

‘He seems very organized, very careful and methodical. I think he watches these women for a
long time, gets to know their habits and routines – I think he had a key to Carol’s house. He brings his victims to a private place where nobody can see or hear them.’

‘And what does he use them for?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You think it’s something sexual?’

‘There’s no evidence of that, although there’s always some sexual component to these sorts of cases. Did Banville tell you about the evidence we found at the house?’

Evan nodded. ‘Our lab is still trying to identify the paint chip.’

‘You didn’t seem surprised Carol’s abductor left a package.’

‘He’s trying to establish control. It’s what most psychopaths do when cornered.’

‘Is that what you think we’re dealing with here? A psychopath?’

‘Hard to say. I’m not a big fan of labels.’

‘I thought you profiling types lived for labels – and acronyms. There’s your fingerprint system. AFIS. You have CODIS –’

‘You can’t slap a label on every type of behavior,’ Evan said. ‘Have you considered the possibility that the man you’re looking for abducts these women simply because he likes it?’

‘There’s a motivating reason behind every type of human behavior.’

‘What made you interested in this field?’

‘Are you profiling me, Special Agent Manning?’

‘You’re avoiding the question.’

‘I took a criminal psychology course in college. After that, I was hooked.’

‘Banville told me you went on to get a doctorate in criminal psychology.’

‘I’m not a doctor yet,’ Darby said. ‘I still have to do my dissertation.’

‘Which is?’

‘I have to pick a case and analyze it.’

‘And you picked the Grady case.’

‘I’ve been toying around with the idea.’

‘What’s stopping you?’

‘There are some missing pieces in the case file,’ Darby said. ‘Riggers, the detective who handled the Belham case, didn’t leave much detailed information in his notes.’

‘I’m not surprised. In addition to being an idiot, the man was lazy. Tell me what you know and I’ll see if I can fill in the blanks.’

‘I was able to look over the evidence files – the chloroform-soaked rag Grady dropped in the woods behind my house and the dark blue fibers he left behind in the bedroom door. I also read a copy of the fed’s lab report. I know they identified the manufacturer of the rag. They narrowed down their search to automobile shops in Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island. The blue fibers
matched the same brand of coveralls used at the North Andover automobile shop where Grady worked.’

‘We found all that out later, after Grady died.’

‘I read that,’ Darby said. ‘I also read about Grady’s criminal record. He had two counts of attempted rape.’

‘Correct.’

‘According to the case file, Riggers was investigating about a dozen or so possible suspects. What made him move Grady to the top of the list?’

‘A tip came through on the hotline about Grady. The caller, a regular customer at the garage where Grady worked, called in and said he saw a pearl necklace on the floor of Grady’s car. The necklace appeared to have blood on it.’

‘But why didn’t the caller report it to the police? Why did he call the hotline?’

‘Because one of the missing women, Tara Hardy, was last seen wearing a pink cardigan sweater and a pearl necklace,’ Evan said. ‘That picture ran in the papers for weeks. It was all over the TV. The caller thought it might have belonged to her. The hotline was being flooded with calls. Everyone was trying to cash in on the reward money.’

‘And then what happened?’

‘Riggers, wanting to be the hero, took it upon himself to search Grady’s house. Riggers found clothing belonging to several of the missing women
and left to get the search warrant. The problem was one of Grady’s neighbors saw Riggers invite himself into the house.’

‘Making the evidence he found inadmissible.’

‘If he had played by the book, we probably would have nailed Grady before he killed himself

‘Did his suicide surprise you?’

‘It did at first. Later, we discovered his family had a history of mental illness. His mother was bipolar. If I remember correctly, his grandfather committed suicide.’

‘I saw that in the notes.’

‘My guess is Grady got spooked after Riggers went through the house. The day he killed himself, we went to the garage where he worked with a search warrant. I think he felt the walls starting to close in on him and took the easy way out.’

‘The case file mentioned that Riggers was bothered by the fire,’ Darby said. ‘He thought someone might have killed Grady and started the fire to burn away evidence.’

‘The fire bothered me too. What bothered me more was what Grady used to kill himself – a twenty-two.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘Cops generally use a twenty-two as a throw-down piece. You ever hear a twenty-two go off? Makes a small pop, you can barely hear it. If someone slipped inside Grady’s house and shot him, you wouldn’t hear
it, especially if something like the TV or the radio was turned on. There were rumors someone clipped Grady. I’m sure you heard them.’

‘No.’

‘I was at Grady’s house the night of the fire,’ Evan said. ‘I was watching his house. I would have seen someone.’

Darby had seen Grady’s house once, at night. She had driven there on her own, about a month or so after coming home. She had hoped seeing the blackened shell of the house would somehow keep the nightmares away. It didn’t.

‘There’s one question you can answer for me,’ Darby said.

‘You want to know if Melanie Cruz was on one of those tapes.’

‘The audiotapes were given to the federal lab for analysis. No copies were ever forwarded to Boston police.’

‘The heat from the fire either damaged or destroyed most of the recordings. It took months to have them enhanced. We had the victims’ families provide us with voice samples for comparison purposes. Melanie’s parents gave us a home movie. Because of the condition of the audiotape, we couldn’t get an
exact
match, but our voice expert agreed that, in all probability, the voice on the tape belonged to Melanie Cruz. The parents didn’t feel the same way.’

‘They heard the tape?’

‘They insisted on it. I played the part where Melanie… She was calling out for help. The mother shut the tape off and said, “That’s not my daughter.” She said her daughter was still alive and we had to find her.’

Darby saw a snapshot of Helena Cruz turning her back to a cold blast ofwind, clutching the sheets with Mel’s picture against her chest so they wouldn’t blow away.

‘Did Mel say anything on the tape?’

‘Not much that I recall,’ Evan said. ‘Mostly I remember her screaming.’

‘Was she in pain?’

‘No, she was scared.’

Darby could tell there was more. ‘What did Mel say?’

Evan paused.

‘Tell me,’ Darby said.

‘She kept saying “Put away the knife, please don’t cut me anymore.”’

Images flashed through Darby’s mind – Mel’s terrified face, the black tears from her mascara running down her cheeks. Stacey Stephens lying on the kitchen floor, blood spurting between the fingers clutched against her throat. Mel screaming as the man from the woods cut her.

Folding her arms around her chest, Darby stared out the window at the fast-moving traffic and thought
back to that cold winter evening in the Serology Lab. The box of evidence from the Grady case sat on the counter. She remembered holding the rag that had been used on Melanie – the rag that would have most likely been used on her if she had gone downstairs.

‘If you decide to go ahead and examine Grady’s case for your dissertation, let me know,’ Evan said. ‘I’ll make you copies of everythingwe have, including the audiotapes.’

‘I may take you up on that offer.’

‘Tell me about your conversation with Rachel Swanson.’

For the next twenty minutes, Darby took him through her first encounter under the porch, finishing with what had happened in the hospital room.

Evan didn’t speak. He seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. Darby could feel the man’s fierce intelligence at work. To be so freakishly smart might be a gift, but Darby was sure it was a lonely one.

‘Banville is mulling over the idea of using a reporter to set up a trap,’ Evan said.

‘You don’t sound convinced.’

‘If we blow the trap and he slips away – if he suspects we’re on to him – he won’t wait to kill Carol Cranmore.’

Chapter 34

Since 9/11, every package and letter coming inside Boston Police headquarters was taken downstairs to the basement levels and X-rayed.

Darby paced the well-lit marble lobby full of patrolmen and detectives. The pacing helped keep her mind clear and focused.

Twenty minutes later, she was running the package, a medium-sized brown padded mailer, up the set of stairs. She didn’t want to waste time waiting for the elevator.

Two white adhesive labels were on the front. The one in the center contained Dianne Cranmore’s name and mailing address. The label in the upper left-hand corner contained only two words: ‘Carol Cranmore.’

Both labels were the same size. Both had been fed into a typewriter – most likely one of those old-fashioned manual models that used an ink ribbon. Darby saw the spots where the ink had smudged on some of the words.

Coop had everything set up inside Serology. Waiting with him were Evan and Leland Pratt. Coop, clipboard in hand, stepped aside to give her some room.

Darby set the mailer on a sheet of butcher paper. After measuring the mailer, she took several pictures, first with the lab camera, then with the digital. The digital pictures would be emailed to the federal lab where Evan had people waiting.

Darby flipped the mailer over and looked for a manufacturer name or any unusual markings. All it said was ‘No. 7.’

‘Sometimes the manufacturer stamps its name inside one of the glued seams,’ Evan said. ‘Check when you take it apart.’

Darby pinched the pull tab between her gloved fingers and opened the mailer. Small gray particles – the shredded filler used for the padding – swam in the air. She turned the mailer over and gently shook out its contents.

A folded white shirt fell onto the butcher paper.

Darby pried open the mailer’s lip. There was nothing else in there.

She unfolded the shirt. A cold balloon of fear filled her stomach when she found the pictures, three in all.

Darby transferred the pictures to a separate sheet of butcher paper resting under the soft afternoon sunlight coming in through the windows.

Here was a picture of Carol Cranmore dressed in gray sweats, scared as she walked with her hands outstretched in a room of concrete walls and floors. There was a drain by her bare foot.

Here was Carol on the floor, stunned and frightened, staring up at the person behind the camera.

The last photograph was Carol stuck in a corner, a scream frozen on her face.

Evan stared down at the pictures with his cold and penetrating gaze. ‘Is Carol Cranmore blind?’

‘No, she isn’t,’ Darby said. ‘Why?’

‘The way she’s walking, bumping into the wall, I thought she might be blind. He must have surprised her in the dark, then.’

Darby held the first picture in her hand, staring at it as though it were a window into Carol’s dark prison cell. Seeing the terror captured on Carol’s face made Darby feel closer to the teenager.

She flipped the pictures over. Taped to the back of the third picture were several strawberry blond hairs. Carol’s hair.

Darby took in a deep breath.
Okay. Let’s do this.

‘Coop, I have some writing on the back of the photo, bottom right-hand corner.’ Darby swung over the desk magnifier to read lettering. ‘H as in Henry, P as in Peter, one-seven-nine. There’s no processing stamp.’

Coop was standing next to her. ‘Could be a photo printer,’ he said. ‘The letters and numbers you found are probably the paper’s stock number.’

Darby checked the back of the second picture. Same writing in the same bottom corner.

‘Let’s get the hairs over to DNA,’ Darby said.
‘Coop, finish up with the mailer. I’ll work on the shirt.’

Evan left to listen to the tape alone in the conference room.

The white shirt, a man’s size large, hung on a hanger, suspended above a table covered with a sheet of butcher paper. Darby worked a spatula over the shirt, scraping for trace evidence that might have been stuck. It was tedious, painstaking work. The entire time she had to fight the urge to rush.