My Sister's Grave (7 page)

Did you notice anyone at the competition acting peculiar, hanging around, seeming to take an unusual interest in Sarah?

Did anyone approach either of you, for any reason?

Did Sarah ever indicate that she felt threatened by anyone?

Calloway asked for a list of the boys Sarah had dated. Tracy could not think of a single person on it who would have any reason to harm Sarah. Most of them had been her friends since grammar school.

Her father’s hair, a premature gray, hung in ringlets over the collar of his long-sleeved shirt. Ordinarily it contrasted with his youthful demeanor and inquisitive blue eyes. This morning he looked his fifty-eight years. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses. Usually fastidious about his appearance, several days’ growth competed with his thick mustache, the ends of which he kept long enough to wax into sharp points when he competed in shooting tournaments as “Doc” Crosswhite.

“Tell me about the truck,” her father said to Calloway, and it was not lost on Tracy that it was her father, not Calloway, asking the questions. At parties in their home, her father was never boisterous or demonstrative, but a crowd always seemed to find him. Holding court, Tracy’s mother called it. When James Crosswhite spoke, people listened, and when he asked questions, they gave him answers. At the same time, her father had a quiet and respectful manner about him that made you feel as if you were the only person in the room.

“We had it towed to the police impound,” Calloway said. “Seattle is sending a forensic team to check for fingerprints.” He looked to Tracy. “It appears she ran out of gas.”

“No.” Tracy stood near a red ottoman that matched two leather chairs. “I told you, I filled up before we left Cedar Grove. There should have been three-quarters of a tank.”

“We’ll take a closer look,” Calloway said. “I’ve sent a bulletin to every police department in the state, as well as Oregon and California. Canadian Border Patrol has also been notified. We faxed Sarah’s graduation photo.”

James Crosswhite ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Somebody passing through?” he asked. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Why would someone passing through take the county road?” Tracy said. “They would have stayed on the highway.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed but she caught his gaze too late. He stepped to her and took hold of her left hand. “What is that? Is that a diamond?”

“Yes.”

Her father looked away, jaw clenched.

Calloway intervened. “You’ve reached out to her friends?”

Tracy shielded her hand behind her thigh. She’d spent hours calling everyone she could think of. “No one has seen her.”

“Why didn’t she take her guns?” her father asked, though seemingly to himself. “Why wouldn’t she take one of the pistols?”

“She had no reason to feel threatened, James. I’m guessing she ran out of gas and started walking toward town.”

“You’ve searched the woods?”

“Nothing to indicate she slipped or fell.”

Tracy had never thought that likely. Sarah was too athletic to have tumbled off the side of the road, even in the dark and the rain.

“Sit tight,” Calloway said.

“I’m not going to sit tight, Roy. You know I’m not built that way.” He turned to Tracy. “Get that flier we talked about made up and get it down to your mother. Find a photograph that looks like Sarah, not her graduation picture. Bradley can make the copies for you at the pharmacy. Tell him to run off a thousand to start and put it on my store tab. I want them everywhere from here to the Canadian border.” He turned to Calloway. “We’re going to need a topographical map.”

“I’ve called Vern. He knows these mountains better than anyone.”

“What about dogs?”

“I’ll look into it,” Calloway said.

“Somebody coming home from somewhere? Someone who lives here?”

“Nobody here would do such a thing, James. Not to Sarah.”

Her father looked about to say something else but stopped as if he’d lost his train of thought. For the first time in her life, Tracy saw fear pass over him, something gray and dark and ethereal. “That kid,” he said. “The one they just paroled.”

“Edmund House,” Calloway whispered. He stood, as if paralyzed by the name. Then he said, “I’m on it.” Calloway quickly slid apart the panel doors, hurrying across the marbled foyer to the front door.

“Jesus,” her father said.

CHAPTER 13

T
he Spartan interior of the coffee shop beneath the building that housed the new offices of the King County Coroner on Jefferson Street reminded Tracy of the coffee shops in hospitals, before someone had decided that, just because a relative was sick, it didn’t mean their family had to suffer too. Apparently intended to be some sort of modern decor, the floors were linoleum, the tables stainless steel, and the chairs plastic and uncomfortable. Kelly Rosa hadn’t suggested the café for its ambiance. She’d chosen it for its location: close to, but not actually her office.

Tracy scanned the café tables but did not see Rosa. She ordered black tea and sat at a table near windows with a view of the sloped sidewalk, answering e-mails and text messages on her iPhone. Within a minute of sitting, she recognized Rosa making her way down the sidewalk, despite the hood of a green raincoat protecting her from a light sprinkle. Rosa lowered the hood as she entered the coffee shop and spotted Tracy. She did not look like a person who hiked through hillsides and swamps to find and examine the remains of persons long dead. She looked like a middle-aged soccer mom who drove a minivan, which Rosa did when not searching for human remains.

Rosa gave Tracy a hug before sliding off her coat.

“Can I get you anything?” Tracy asked.

“No, I’m good,” Rosa said, sitting across from her.

“How are the kids?”

“My fourteen-year-old is taller than me. Not a big accomplishment, I know, but she takes great pleasure in hovering over me.” If Rosa hit five feet, it was only by the width of one of her blonde hairs. “My eleven-year-old is starring in the school play.
The Wizard of Oz
.”

“She’s Dorothy?”

“Toto. She thinks she’s the star.” Tracy smiled. Rosa sat forward and gripped Tracy’s hand. “I’m very sorry, Tracy.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you making the time.”

“Of course.”

“You’ve confirmed it’s her?” It was a formality, but Tracy knew from experience that Rosa would have had to run an X-ray of Sarah’s jaw and teeth through the Missing and Unidentified Person’s Unit and the National Crime Information Center.

“Two positive hits.”

“What else can you tell me?”

Rosa exhaled a sigh. “I can tell you that big sheriff doesn’t want me telling you anything.”

“He said that?”

“His intent was clear.”

“Roy Calloway has never been subtle.”

“Good thing I don’t work for him.” Rosa smiled, but it quickly waned. “But are you sure you want me to go through this? These are hard enough when they’re anonymous.”

“No, I’m not sure, but I need to know what you found.”

“How much do you want me to tell you?”

“As much as I can stand; I’ll tell you when I can’t.”

Rosa rubbed her hands together before forming a steeple at her chin, like a child preparing to pray. “As you suspected, the killer used a hole created by the root ball. Shovel marks indicate he tried to enlarge the hole but either misjudged the size, got lazy, or ran out of time. The body was positioned with the legs higher than the head and bent at the knees. That’s why the dog uncovered the foot and leg first.”

“I gathered as much.”

“The position of the body in the hole, with bent knees and hunched back, also indicates rigor mortis prior to burial.”

Tracy felt her pulse thicken. “Prior? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“How much prior to burial?”

“That I can’t be certain. I can make an educated guess.”

“But definitely
before
burial.”

“That would be my strong opinion.”

“Were you able to determine a cause of death?”

“The skull was fractured in the back, just above the spine. Whether that was the cause of death, I also can’t be certain. It’s just been too long. There were no other bone fractures, Tracy. Nothing to indicate she’d been beaten.”

Rosa was being kind. The lack of fractures was not conclusive evidence a victim had not been beaten or tortured, especially when the remains were so decomposed. “What other personal effects did you find besides the belt buckle?” Tracy knew from experience that any organic materials, such as cotton and wool, would have long since deteriorated but inorganic material, like metals and synthetic fibers, would remain.

Rosa pulled out a small notebook from her jacket and flipped through it. “Metal rivets with ‘LS&CO S.F.’ on them.”

Tracy smiled. “Levi Strauss & Company,” she said. “Sarah was a rebel.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Levi Strauss supports the anti-gun lobbyists. We wore Wrangler or Lee, but Sarah thought they made her butt look big so she wore Levi’s. You had to know her to appreciate her.”

“Let’s see. Seven metal snaps.” Rosa looked up from her notes. “I’m assuming from a long-sleeved shirt. Two were smaller in diameter, I’m thinking for the cuffs.”

Tracy reached into her briefcase at the side of her chair and pulled out a framed photograph, the championship photo of Tracy and Sarah and the third place finisher. “Like this?”

Rosa considered the photograph. “Yeah. Though the buttons are no longer black.”

Sarah had worn long-sleeved shirts made by Scully. She’d worn her white-and-black-embroidered shirt at the competition that day. Tracy took back the picture.

Rosa reconsidered her notes. “Bits and pieces of plastic.”

Tracy’s stomach cramped, but she fought to remain focused. Sarah’s killer had had to bend her body to fit her into the hole. He’d also apparently stuffed her into a common garbage bag.

Rosa hesitated. “You okay?”

Tracy took a deep breath and forced herself to say the words. “A garbage bag?” she asked. The bag could be significant. Calloway claimed Edmund House had confessed to immediately killing Sarah and burying her body. The theory was that House had stumbled upon Sarah walking on the road and attacked her. If so, it would have been more than fortuitous if he’d had a garbage bag in the truck to use.

“I think so.”

“What else?”

“Trace amounts of synthetic fibers.”

“How big?”

“The fibers? Fifty microns.”

“Carpet fibers?”

“Likely.”

“You think her body could have been rolled up in a carpet?”

“No. If that had been the case, I would have expected to find remnants of the carpet, or at least a lot more fibers than we did. These were likely fibers that she came into contact with, maybe inside a vehicle?”

Edmund House had been living with his uncle, Parker House, and driving one of the many vehicles Parker restored on his property and resold, a red Chevy truck. He’d gutted the cab down to the metal. Carpet fibers in the grave also did not fit with Calloway’s testimony that Edmund House had confessed to raping, strangling, and immediately burying Sarah’s body. “Anything else?”

“Some jewelry.”

Tracy leaned forward. “What specifically?”

“Earrings. And a necklace.”

Her pulse raced. “Describe the earrings?”

“They were jade. Oval-shaped.”

“Teardrops?”

“Yes.”

“And the necklace, sterling silver?”

“Yes.”

Tracy slid the photograph back across the table. “Like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

“Where are they now?”

“The sheriff’s deputy took possession of everything.”

“But you photographed and catalogued everything?”

“Always. Regular routine.” Rosa gave her a quizzical look. “Tracy?”

Tracy pushed back her chair and slipped the photograph into her briefcase. “Thanks, Kelly. I appreciate this.” She started from the table.

“Tracy?”

She turned back. Rosa continued, “What about her remains?”

Tracy paused and closed her eyes, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead, feeling the onset of a crushing headache. She retook her seat.

After another moment, Rosa asked, “What’s going on?”

Tracy considered what to say, how much to reveal. “It’s better if you don’t know too much, Kelly. You may end up being a witness, and it’s best if your opinions remain untainted by anything I might tell you.”

“A witness?”

Tracy nodded.

Rosa’s eyes narrowed in question, but she apparently decided to let it go. “Okay. But if I could offer a suggestion . . .”

“Please.”

“Let me send her remains directly to a funeral home. It’s easier. You don’t want to have to transport them.”

Twenty years ago, some in Cedar Grove had suggested a service. They’d been seeking closure, but James Crosswhite wouldn’t hear any talk of funerals or funeral homes. He would not hear any discussion that his baby girl was dead. Tracy no longer had any such hope, but now she had something she’d been waiting twenty years for. Hard evidence.

“I think that would be best,” Tracy said.

CHAPTER 14

E
arly on the morning of the third day after Sarah’s disappearance, Tracy opened the front door to find Roy Calloway standing on the porch, kneading the brim of his hat. From his expression, Tracy knew Calloway had not come bearing good news.

“Morning, Tracy. I need to speak to your father.”

Tracy had dragged her parents home when darkness had made searching the hills above Cedar Grove no longer practical. She had worked beside her father, who had been using his den as their command center. He had called police stations, congressmen, everyone he knew in positions of power. Tracy had called radio stations and newspapers. Sometime after eleven, as her father studied a topographical map, Tracy had curled up in one of the red leather chairs to take a fifteen-minute nap. She had awoken beneath a blanket, the morning sun streaming through the leaded glass. Her father remained seated at his desk, the sandwich she’d made him the night before untouched. He was using a ruler and compass to divide the topographical map into quadrants. She got up to make coffee but found a pot already brewing in the kitchen. Her mother had evidently left earlier that morning without awakening her. About to pour a cup for her father, she’d heard the knock on the front door.