Shadow Play (2 page)

*   *   *

But Eve's cell phone rang before she even finished loading the dishwasher after dinner.

“Sheriff Nalchek,” she told Joe with a sigh. “You finish here. I may be more than a few minutes.”

“Dedication and enthusiasm,” Joe repeated with a grin. “At least he waited until after dinner.”

“Not necessarily. California is three hours earlier.” She punched the access button. “Eve Duncan.”

“John Nalchek.” His deep voice was brusque. “Sorry to bother you, Ms. Duncan. I just wanted to make sure that you'd received the skull for reconstruction today.”

“Yes, FedEx is usually pretty reliable.”

“What do you think of her?”

“I haven't opened the box yet, Sheriff Nalchek.”

“Oh.” A disappointed silence. “But you'll do it tonight?”

“Possibly.” No promises, or he might be calling her in the middle of the night. “Or tomorrow.”

Another silence. “Okay. I don't want to rush you.”

The hell he didn't. “There's no rushing a reconstruction, Sheriff. There are several stages, measuring and processes that have to be done before the actual sculpting. It will take as long as it takes.”

“What stages?”

She tried to be patient. “The first stage is repairing, then I go to the measurement stage, which is vitally important. I cut eraser sticks as markers to the proper measurements and glue them onto their specific points on the face. There are twenty points in a skull for which there are known tissue depths. Facial-tissue depth has been found to be fairly consistent in people the same age, sex, race, and weight.”

“What happens next?”

“I take strips of plasticine and apply them between the markers, then build up all the tissue-depth points.”

“It sounds kind of iffy, like connect the dots.”

“If you wish to simplify it. I guarantee it's not simple, Nalchek. And that's only the beginning.”

“Sorry, I wouldn't have sent her to you if I hadn't believed you could do the job. But you are going to put her before the others on your list?”

“I told you I would.” She remembered what she had told Joe. Dedication and enthusiasm might work miracles for that poor child. “I know that you probably had a shock when you found that skeleton. It's never pleasant. But you have to remember that we can do something about it if we work together. We can find her parents, we can find the person who killed her.”

“I wasn't shocked, ma'am. I was in Afghanistan, and I worked as an EMT several months before I went to work with law enforcement. There's nothing much I haven't seen.” He paused. “And I told you yesterday that I know I can help her if you give me a face. I
know
it.”

His voice was so passionate that Eve asked, “Really? And how do you know it?”

“Sometimes you just know. Sometimes you—” He stopped. “Or maybe I just want it so bad. I looked down at that little girl's skeleton all covered in dirt and mud, and I felt like she was calling to me. It was so damn strong, it rocked me. She was so … small and fragile. I wanted to pick her up and take her somewhere safe, where no one would ever hurt her again. Crazy, huh?”

“Not so crazy.” All her impatience had disappeared with his words. When her own daughter had disappeared, she would have wanted someone like Nalchek to be hunting for her. It was a cold world, and men who cared were rare and to be valued. “What can you tell me about her?”

“Nothing much. We think she's nine or a little younger. She died of a blow to the head. She's Caucasian, and she's been buried for a good eight years or more. I've checked the missing persons reports at the time, and there's nothing that matches up to the location or the time frame.”

“She might have been transported from almost anywhere in the state or beyond.”

“I know that. You asked me what I knew. I didn't think you wanted guesses, ma'am.”

“No, I don't.” Nine years old. Buried eight years. If she'd lived, she'd have gone to high-school proms by now. She might have had a boyfriend or had a crush on some rock star or movie actor. She'd missed so much during those eight years. “Thank you. It may help to know something about her.”

“I thought it might. I read a couple articles about you before I sent you the skull. You were quoted as saying that you liked to do anything that brought you closer to the victim. You said for some reason it seemed to make the sculpting process easier. The reporter made a lot of that remark.”

“He was looking for a hook for his story. I made the mistake of giving it to him.”

“It was a good hook. It was what made me send the skull to you. I liked the idea of someone's caring enough to want to get close to a victim.”

“I feel sympathy for any victim, but the closeness of which I spoke only occurs during the actual sculpting process. That's really the only part of reconstruction that has the potential for creativity.”

“And bonding?”

“You're putting words in my mouth.”

“Maybe. I'm trying to make sure I did the right thing, sending her to you. I feel responsible.”

“Should I send that skull back to you?”

“No, ma'am. I didn't mean to offend you. I'd appreciate it if you'd get right on it, please.”

“No offense taken. You just seem very possessive about this skull.”

“That's what I thought about when I researched you, Ms. Duncan. Two of a kind?”

“No.” Though those words were eerily close to what Joe had said, she thought. “Perhaps I do feel a responsibility and closeness to my work while I'm doing a reconstruction, but I'd never feel possessive. I only want to set them free.”

Nalchek chuckled. “I haven't gotten there yet. I feel like that little girl still belongs to me just like the minute we pulled her out of that grave. Maybe after you get me a face, I'll be able to let her go. Good night, Ms. Duncan. You'll let me know how it goes?”

“I imagine that you'll make sure I do,” she said dryly. “Good night, Sheriff.” She hung up.

Nalchek wasn't entirely what she had thought. She would still bet that he was young, but he wasn't inexperienced and had a toughness that made his insistence about her doing the reconstruction all the more puzzling.

A nine-year-old girl, buried over eight years.

I felt like she was calling to me.

“Eve.” Joe was standing behind her in the doorway. He was carrying two cups of coffee. “Done?”

She nodded and took the cup he handed her. “For the time being.” She moved toward the porch swing and curled up next to him as he sat down. She sighed with contentment as she gazed out at the lake. The fragrance of the pines, the moonlight on the lake, Joe beside her at this place they both loved. “Nalchek is very polite, very concerned. And he's going to be a thorn in my side until I finish her.”

“Then don't take his calls.”

“That's one solution.”

A breeze was lifting her hair, and it made everything in this moment all the more wonderful. This perfect place, this perfect man for her.

That little girl had not lived long enough to have a perfect anything. That took time and searching and the wisdom to know it when you found it.

“Then do it.” Joe put his arm around her. “Why not?”

“I'll think about it.”

But she knew she wouldn't do it.

I felt like she was calling to me.

*   *   *

“So did your bone lady come through for you, Nalchek?”

Nalchek looked up as Deputy Ron Carstairs came into the office. He was a friend as well as coworker, and Ron had been riding him since the night they'd found the little girl. He was a good guy, and they'd worked together for five years, but he didn't understand why Nalchek hadn't just dropped this investigation and pushed it into the hands of the medical examiner. “She's not a bone lady. You're thinking of that TV show. She's a forensic sculptor and probably the best in the world.”

“And she's rushing to give that kid a face just because you asked her to do it?” Ron dropped down in the visitor's chair. “Hell, then she couldn't be that good. We're small potatoes out here in the boonies.”

“She's that good,” Nalchek said. He tossed the Eve Duncan dossier to Carstairs. “Take a look for yourself.” He pointed to the photo of Eve Duncan. Red-brown shoulder-length hair, hazel eyes, features that were more interesting than beautiful. “She was illegitimate and born in the slums of Atlanta and had a baby of her own by the time she was sixteen. She named the little girl Bonnie, and the kid turned her life around. The kid became her whole life. She went back to school and then on to college. Then when the little girl was seven, she was kidnapped and killed. It was a terrible blow, and Duncan went into shock. But then she rallied and started to rebuild her life. Duncan went back to college to study forensic sculpting. Since then, she's become the most sought-after artist in forensic sculpting. She works for police, FBI, and private parties.” He pointed to the dossier underneath Eve Duncan's. “That's Joe Quinn, ex-SEAL, ex-FBI, currently a detective with ATLPD. They've been living together for years.”

Ron only glanced at the dossier. “I'll look at them later. Nice looking woman. Not my type. Too intense.”

“She's my type. I want her intense.” He grinned as he leaned back in his chair. “Though I'll probably stay away from Joe Quinn. His reputation is a little too lethal for me.”

“You said he was a cop.”

“There are cops, then there are cops. You know that as well as I do. He's supposed to be totally bonkers about Eve Duncan and very protective.”

“Well, you shouldn't have to deal with either one of them now that you've turned the skull over to Duncan.”

Nalchek's smile faded as he looked back down at the dossier. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Hey.” Ron was shaking his head. “Drop it. Let it go, Nalchek.”

“I have let it go. It's out of my hands.”

“But not out of your mind. There's a lot of talk around town about how weird you've been behaving since we found that kid's skeleton. We all felt bad about what happened to that little girl, but you overreacted.”

“How can you overreact to the murder of a kid?”

“She's been dead over eight years. What are the chances we'll ever find her murderer?”

“Damn good if we try hard enough.” He got to his feet. “And I'm trying hard, real hard. I'll find the son of a bitch. I've got Eve Duncan, and soon I'll have a face.” He moved toward the door. “And right now, I'm going back to that grave site and take another look to see if I can find anything more.”

“You've been out there five times. Don't you think it's a little excessive?”

“No.”

I felt like she was calling to me.

He had said that to Eve Duncan, and he was still hearing that call even though the bones were long gone from that crime scene.

“You can never tell what you'll find if you look hard enough. Want to come along?”

“Waste of time.” Ron grimaced. “Oh, what the hell.” He got to his feet, grabbed the Duncan and Quinn dossiers, and followed him toward the door. “Why not?”

*   *   *

“Are you still going to wait up for that call from Jane?” Joe asked as he paused before going back to their bedroom. “Want company?”

Eve chuckled. “I've got company.” She moved across the room to her worktable, where the FedEx box remained unopened. “No, you go on to bed. You've got to work tomorrow morning. I won't be too long. I'll just take care of the setup and preliminary measuring, then come to bed after I get Jane's call.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He still didn't move. “Sure you're okay?”

“Absolutely.” She started to unfasten the box. “Stop hovering. You're acting like a grandma with her first grandkid.”

“I beg your pardon.” Joe's voice was suddenly deep, silky smooth, and infinitely sensual. “Grandma? Me? I think we're going to have to address that insult when you come to bed.”

She glanced up at him and suddenly lost her breath. Thigh muscles that were compact and yet sleek and full of leashed power. Tight stomach and buttocks. In this moment, he was totally male, completely sexual, and she could feel her own body respond. Even after all these years together, their sexual chemistry was just as explosive as when they had come together when he had been the FBI agent sent to investigate Bonnie's death. “I'll look forward to it,” she said softly.

He grinned. “That was my intention. Anticipation is the name of the game.” The next moment, he'd disappeared down the hall.

She stared after him for a moment before she ruefully shook her head. She was tempted to go after him, but he could just wait until she got the call from Jane. Anticipation worked both ways.

She looked back down at the box and completed opening it. Then she carefully removed the plastic ties that held the skull in place and the protective plastic wrap around the skull itself. “Let's see you,” she murmured as she took the skull in her hands. She always talked to these lost children when she first started the reconstructions. It seemed to aid her in making a connection and helped her over the first painful shock of seeing their remains. She never got used to that moment. She held the skull under the light. “Small. You were small for nine. I wonder if they were wrong about you…” Small, delicate features … fragile. She looked so fragile and vulnerable. Nothing appeared to be broken or devoured by animals.

If you discounted the crushed side of her right temple where her killer had struck the fatal blow.

She'd have to repair that immediately, so that she could concentrate on the actual reconstruction. Her fingers gently touched the crushed bones. “Bastard.” She felt a sudden surge of rage that was as intense as it was unusual. She always felt sad, but it was difficult to focus rage on a faceless predator. She was having no trouble focusing now. This child's killer might only have been a shadow-figure, but it was malignant and evil and Eve felt as if she could reach out and touch him. “But I don't think it could have hurt you for more than a few seconds. That's a mercy. Though I'm sure he didn't mean it to be.” She tossed the box in the trash and spent a few minutes setting up the skull on her worktable. “There you are. Now I'll clean you up and start the measuring. I have to do a lot of measuring before I can start bringing you back the way you were. Were you a pretty little girl? Not that it matters. I've always liked interesting more than pretty anyway. I've had two children of my own in my life. My Bonnie was both pretty and interesting, and Jane is very beautiful. But they both know that it's what's inside that counts.” She was done with the cleaning and tossed the cloth aside. “What's inside you? Maybe we'll be able to see after I finish. Right now, it's difficult, but I've gone down this road before. Okay, that's all. I just had to establish a sense of what we have to do together to find a way to get you back home. From now on, I just work and maybe you help a little.” She leaned back in her chair and gazed thoughtfully at the delicate skull. “One last thing. I always name my reconstructions. No offense. You can have your own name back once that sheriff finds out who you are. But I have to call you something besides ‘Hey, you' when I talk to you or about you. It's just the way I work.” She tilted her head. “What name … Linda? Penny? Samantha is a good name. It's got substance. Do you like it? Maybe too heavy. How about Carrie? Short and sweet. I kind of like that for—