The Stranger You Know (Forensic Instincts 3)

Claire gave him that gentle smile of hers. “Please stay,” she said. “I might have questions for you. If I’m drawn to a particular object, I want you to tell me about it—everything you remember about its place in Jan’s life. You’re her father. You helped raise her. You’d be surprised how helpful your input can be.”

The older man sighed. “I wish Jan’s mother was still alive. She’d remember far more than I do. She was a traditional housewife. She believed in staying home during Jan’s younger years. She was so much more familiar with the details of her life than I am.”

“Jan is an only child?” Claire asked, careful to use the present tense. There was no point in upsetting Mr. Olson, not until they had concrete proof that Jan was dead.

He nodded. “We wanted more children. But it wasn’t meant to be.”

Casey gazed at the room as Claire made her way slowly around. It was the bedroom of an average teenage girl—white furniture, peacock blue walls, a matching comforter and curtains and possessions that ranged from the eye shadow and lip gloss of a young adult to the figurines and stuffed animals of a young girl.

“When did Jan last redecorate?” Casey asked.

“In high school,” her father replied. “The furniture hasn’t changed, just the arrangement of the pieces. She painted the walls and picked out the matching bed and window coverings. But she kept her favorite things from childhood.”

“Is this one of them?” Claire was holding a child’s jewelry box, which, when opened, displayed a little spinning ballerina.

Olson nodded. “That was a gift from her grandparents. She got it when she was six. The jewelry that went inside it changed over the years, but the box itself stayed the same, right down to its position on her dresser.”

Claire was only half listening. She wore a look of intense concentration. “Happy memories,” she murmured. “Lots of warm, positive energy.” She fingered a few of the pieces inside—a slim bangle bracelet, a silver chain necklace, a pair of gold stud earrings—then placed the box back on the dresser and turned to squat beside a book bag. “When did she get this?” she asked, letting her fingertips brush the dark maroon canvas.

Mr. Olson’s expression clouded. “Right before she left for college. Her mother and I used to tease her that it weighed more than she did because of the number of books she dragged around.”

“How did it get to your house?” Casey asked at once. “Did Jan leave it here on her last trip home, or was it returned to you after she disappeared?”

“The latter.” He swallowed. “Columbia returned it to us when they cleaned out her dorm room.” He gestured at the book bag. “Feel free to look inside. Lord only knows that I have, dozens of times. Textbooks, notebooks and her calendar are all you’ll find. I searched every nook and cranny.”

“A calendar?” Casey jumped on that one. “You didn’t mention that in our last conversation. And it wasn’t in the material you brought me.”

Olson sighed. “Like I said, I pored over it time after time. There’s nothing in there but assignments that were due. No names, no specific dates, nothing. I saw no purpose in bringing it. If you feel otherwise, if you think I might have missed something, it’s yours to review.”

Casey nodded. She was watching Claire as she unzipped the book bag and searched the contents. She recognized the expression on Claire’s face. And it didn’t mean anything good.

“We’ll take it with us,” Casey responded. “Plus whatever else Claire zeroes in on.”

Claire raised her head. “Do you have any other items that were returned to you by the university?” she asked.

“Jan’s clothes. Her books. Anything she left at the school.” Mr. Olson spoke painfully. “I’m not a material person. When Jan didn’t come home for a year, I donated most of her clothes to our church, thinking she could buy new ones when she returned. But if you’re looking for whatever’s left of her wardrobe, it would be hanging in her closet.” He pointed to the double sliding pocket doors.

Claire opened them and studied a few articles of clothing, reaching for an occasional sleeve or collar. After a time, and in a deliberate manner, she squatted, picking up a pair of well-worn running shoes. “She wore these a

lot. And not just to get around campus. She was an athletic girl.”

“Yes,” Mr. Olson said. “She played on several teams in high school. I’m not sure how many of them she continued on with at Columbia. Her workload was steep. But, yes, she wore those running shoes constantly. They were too beaten up to donate to charity.”

“I see,” Claire murmured. And she was clearly seeing a lot more than just the objects themselves. She didn’t comment aloud, just turned the running shoes over in her hands and studied the soles. Then she glanced back at the book bag. Her fingertips skimmed Jan’s belongings in a tentative, searching manner. Finally, she stopped. Still clutching the running shoes and book bag, she rose. “May I take these with me?”

“Of course,” Mr. Olson said. “Why? Do you sense something from them?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Claire was hedging. Mr. Olson didn’t see it. But Casey did. Claire was picking up something specific—and negative—from those particular objects.

“I’d also like to take the jewelry box. It’s energy is so positive, it’s an ideal means of comparison.” There was clearly more to that than Claire was saying. But, again, Casey remained silent. She waited for Mr. Olson’s nod, and watched Claire add the jewelry box to her growing collection of Jan’s possessions. “What about the rest of Jan’s textbooks and notebooks? Whatever she wasn’t carrying around?”

Mr. Olson pointed at a cardboard box that was nestled in the corner of the closet. “Anything like that would be in there. You’re welcome to go through it.”

“I’d like to take it with me,” Claire said. “I want to sit quietly by myself and go through all the contents of the box as slowly and thoroughly as possible. Rushing the process would be a mistake. I need to get as strong an awareness of Jan as possible.”

“Fine.” Mr. Olson waved his arm. “Take it. As I said, take anything that might help you find my daughter—or what happened to her.”

Casey sensed that Claire had finished her work here. She glanced down at Hero, who’d been sniffing the carpet this whole time.